26. 26
twenty-six
Sarah
Imanaged to get a few hours of sleep, but when the guards changed shifts, the scrape of weapons and steady movements outside my room woke me. After that, rest was impossible.
I scoured the silent halls and found Nyxalene running drills in silence.
Everything in the palace was still dark, the minerals above glowing only when disturbed by movement.
I enter the sparring room; the whole chamber is bright and alive, stirred by the force of her strikes.
She only stops when she finishes a full spin attack, one that comes close enough to my braid that I instinctively flinch.
I linger in the doorway for a while, watching her in quiet amazement. The way she moves with the water is seamless, every strike precise, every motion powerful. She drills herself with the same intensity she demands from me during training.
Given this is my first Wave Rite, I have no one to celebrate it with. Nyxalene seems to be the same way. After all, she is down here instead of spending time with Orion.
I decide to take a chance, speaking up before I chicken out and retreat back to my room.
"Mind if I join you? I'd like to get a jumpstart on the next current, since I start tomorrow."
She gives a curt nod in response. And that's the only answer I get.
Defymin enters the sparring hall shortly after we start, still recovering from the injury he sustained during our duel. "Is there room for one more to join?" he asks.
I look at Nyxalene, puzzled.
"Nobles are always invited to stay at the palace during the holidays, and Zevrin must have extended that courtesy to the finling," she clarifies.
"I had already completed my duel from Current One earlier this week, but the Tidewarden requested I duel you anyway.
You were the last one who needed to complete a duel, and with no one left to face—or better skilled to keep up with your stature—he chose me because he knew I would challenge you without overwhelming you.
" His explanation comes quickly, offering it before I can question him fully.
I choose to ignore it, simply nodding my head at him the same way Nyxalene did to me allow him to join us. Mainly out of guilt. His wound is my fault, after all. Not that he wants help—he works through the same drills beside us, pushing himself to recover.
Nyxalene starts me off with the usual warm-ups, only this time she layers on more. The equivalent of deep lunges that burn the upper muscles of my tail and core are meant to build strength for tight pivots in combat, awkward strikes that test my flexibility, and above all, drills for grip strength.
“Grip is everything,” she explains. “Especially now that you are training with daggers. Lose your weapon in battle, and it could cost you.”
I still haven’t been told much about Current Two.
Every time I ask Orion, he only says I'd find out soon enough and not to worry about it. Easy for him to say. Every day, something new is dropped on me, and I’m still scrambling to catch up.
At least Nyxalene admitted that one of the main focuses was learning how to regain your weapon after losing it in battle. But beyond that, she stayed quiet.
She’s been different with me lately. Softer, maybe. I haven’t brought it up, not after her background story before the dagger ceremony, but her patience feels earned now, like she’s starting to trust me.
After the ceremony, she escorted me back to my room and helped me piece together an outfit.
We tested how far my magic could stretch when it came to attire, and I stressed about what gift to offer Mother Ocean.
I eventually gave in and asked the question that had been scratching at the back of my mind since that moment in the corridor with Orion.
"What are sea mates?"
The words slipped out before I could stop them. Nyxalene froze, after her head snapped in my direction.
“Why are you asking that?”
“Orion . . .” I managed, though the rest caught in my throat.
The look Nyxalene drowned me with after I forced Orion’s name out would have killed me, if not for the fact that she clearly knew why he had mentioned it in the first place.
That was when I begged her to tell me anything she knew, because Orion had avoided the subject ever since he first admitted the possibility.
My curiosity has been eating me alive. I want answers so badly I’m surprised my brain hasn’t devoured itself just to get them.
We spent the rest of our time before the Rite plotting ways to test how much Orion could deflect before cracking, for dropping yet another distraction in my lap instead of keeping it to himself.
Somewhere in the middle of it, we discovered I could shift my scales into whatever colors I wanted.
I am basically carrying around an endless wardrobe with the flick of my wrist.
Next came the gift for the Rite. With Nyxalene’s help, I repurposed some of the old belongings I had brought with me to Virellan, molding the garments into a decadent necklace set with a single pearl. That pearl would be my offering. Small, simple, but mine.
On our way to the Rite, Nyxalene tried to ease my nerves, insisting it was impossible for me to be his sea mate because I’m human.
The only answer I had for that was: magic wasn’t supposed to be real either.
Yet here we are. If I were back in my penthouse, I’d already be pouring myself a heavy glass of bourbon.
Regaining my focus, Nyxalene presses on with instructions. She pairs me with Defymin, just like in our duel, and tells us what to start with. He is to strike hard enough to knock the weapons from my hands, and I'm to regain them before he closes in.
She’s just starting to explain how exactly I’m supposed to do that when my magic stirs.
That’s when I fully turn toward the doorway.
Orion floats there, tall and resolute. He refuses to look at me. Instead, his eyes remain fixed on Defymin. I keep staring, expecting him to shift his attention, but he doesn’t. His focus never wavers.
Nyxalene falls silent, and Defymin falters under the weight of Orion’s stare. He stiffens, then straightens, before letting his weapons drift slowly to the palace floors.
“Good tidings, your majesty. Wonderful holiday we're having,” he says, the words tripping over each other.
Tidings? Of course, that’s what they say down here, all currents and tides.
But the word catches me off guard, tugging at memories of the surface.
And then it hits me—I don’t know when, or if, I’ll celebrate any holidays up there again.
If I miss Christmas, that also means I’ll miss my birthday—six weeks before.
I suddenly feel a pang of sorrow. This holiday, their celebration, is pushing me back to the reality of everything I'm missing at home. I set out on the expedition with Leo in August. I've already been in Virellan for well over two months, which means my birthday is coming up soon. But from what they’ve explained, time moves differently here. Could it be that these many weeks I’ve spent below the surface are only a short couple of weeks back home?
Why does time have to be so confusing here?
“Why are you here, Defymin?” Orion’s voice cuts through the water, cold and commanding.
He moves to my side, and Defymin looks absolutely terrified. His tail trembles, curling inward as if trying to make itself smaller beneath Orion’s sheer presence. But why isn’t he afraid of me? I’m larger than him, too. I wrecked his fin. If anything, I should be the one haunting his nightmares.
“My—my apologies, your majesty,” Defymin says quickly. “The Tidewarden offered me quarters for the night so I wouldn’t have to fight the strong currents with my injured fin.”
Orion’s shoulders ease slightly, as if the reminder of Defymin’s injury softens his stance.
“Understood.” He turns to Nyxalene. “My apologies, Nyx. I must steal Sarah away. We are to meet with Velmira in the archives shortly.”
Nyxalene gives a small nod. Without another word, Orion lifts his arm, offering me the lead. Together, we leave the sparring chambers and slip into the long corridor, currents guiding us toward the looming, hidden entryway for the archives.
It’s been days since Orion and I touched on kingdom lore or history. Between the duel, my dagger ceremony, and the Wave Rite, lessons have slipped aside.
Now he’s chosen the archives as our meeting place. A chamber reserved only for the royal bloodline or those granted rare permission. Its wards make it one of the most secure places in the palace, hidden from prying ears and traitorous eyes.
Which tells me this conversation isn’t meant for anyone else to overhear.
Probably about the sea mates thing . . .
Which I'm not ready to discuss. He’s still a king, after all, sworn to protect his kingdom.
And now, apparently, me. That note in the bottle made it clear enough, dragging my name into whatever shadows linger from his father’s past.
The archives open before us, vast and echoing with quiet weight. I drift toward the chaise—my spot. It’s becoming the one corner of this palace that feels like mine. A place of knowledge and whispered secrets, and honestly, a seat made to fit me perfectly.
Orion doesn’t sit.
No, he paces. His tail coils and uncoils through the currents, a restless rhythm that brushes against me with every subtle shift. A thread of worry weaves between us, sharp enough to notice, yet it doesn’t belong to me. It’s him.
He glances my way now and again, but says nothing.
A soft knock at the archive’s doorway signals Velmira’s arrival. By now, most of the people I’ve met in Virellan no longer send me spiraling with nerves, but that doesn’t mean the weight of their magic doesn’t still unsettle me.
She glides into the room, her hand resting lightly on Orion’s as he escorts her toward the study desk. With practiced ease, he helps her into the high-backed chair behind it.
Her attire is the same as always, shifting only in color as the occasion demands. From what Orion has told me, Velmira is the oldest of Virellan’s seers, one of the last who remain. She has lived since before the kingdom itself was founded. Her knowledge is what he relies on most.
As she settles into the chair she murmurs, “Your future has shifted, land-dweller.” Her voice is low and thrums against my eardrums. The words don’t fall directly toward me. Instead they drift, slipping past the desk, dissolving into the water like smoke thinning into air.
“Velmira,” Orion says, his tone deep and regal, “I need any information you can give on sea mates.”
From the other side of the desk, his gaze is fixed on Velmira. He doesn’t look at me. My chest tightens. Did I do something wrong? Have I upset him? Or did my little trick at the Wave Rite hit a nerve and cause his demeanor to start cracking?
“Mates of the sea are not rare,” Velmira admits, her voice lilting in that half-riddle cadence of hers, “records of their existence is rare, but their tether is a choice. The bond does not bind until one heart calls and the other answers.”
A shiver runs through me. That would explain why, after I accepted the magic inside me, Orion’s pull only grew stronger. As if the ocean itself was tugging me closer, the more I let myself belong to it . . . and to him.
Her milky-white eyes blink with anticipation, as if she is seeing the world from a different angle.
“If one holds a conflicted soul, the bond will never be complete,” she states.
Her words are always hard to decipher. Orion seems to understand what she means, as he lowers himself down to the desk and raises his hand, running it down his face, holding his chin in his palm.
“Both mates must have a peaceful mind and soul. Once that has been achieved, the bond will tie you to each other,” she reiterates.
“I can already sense Sarah’s emotions. Would that not mean our bond is complete?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
“A bond is not forged through feelings alone,” Velmira replies. “Emotions may be sensed, but a true connection lies within the soul. Your power has always allowed you to hear her tides—yet the sea mates bond amplifies them, until even her quietest stirrings cannot be hidden.”
My mouth drops open. He’s always been one step ahead. I used to chalk it up to charm. Or luck. But now . . . I realize it’s not luck at all. The realization hits like a slap to the face. And anger flares in my chest. He’s been reading me this whole time? Why didn’t I see it?
What absolute bullshit.