30. 30
thirty
Sarah
The sea day is well over by the time I return to Drekaris. The trench is hushed, the only movement coming from the finlings standing watch along the gates. I assume it’s part of their training—learning vigilance long before their currents are complete.
Orion and I swim back together, though he peels away as we approach the gate.
Our practice session for the mind speaking didn’t last much longer.
After Nyra, he had me test my new ability on Ildrina, deciding it was best to keep the skill hidden.
Every skill, actually. Apparently, knowledge of us being mates could be used against him.
Against us. Though I’m still not sure I fully believe being mates is possible.
It sounds too much like a fantasy story.
Nyra has to stay outside the gate, according to Ildrina. The Snapdragons aren’t allowed in Drekaris territory. She and I will continue to strengthen our bond when I train my magic with Orion.
Defymin waits on a stone bench right inside the entrance. He looks more alert than I feel as I drift closer. “What are you still doing awake?”
“Tidewarden gave me the task of escorting you to your quarters.” His tone is clipped, before softening with curiosity. “Where did the king take you?”
“He was training my magic. Teaching me new skills.” My instinct is to share every detail with Defymin, him being a reminder of my friendship with Leo.
A tangle of knots hangs low in my stomach.
Call it betrayal, call it intuition, or call it obeying the orders of a king.
Whatever the fact, sharing this moment of success feels like a stab in the back to Leo, so I hold my tongue.
We glide side by side into the trench, past rows of carved dwellings hollowed into the walls. The deeper we go, the quieter it gets, until he leads me to the section set aside for me, the space carved wider than most, accommodating my size. I drift inside, my body grateful for the stillness.
Defymin lingers near the threshold. “Sounds interesting.”
“It was infuriating,” I murmur.
“I can imagine. What magic did you work on?” he asks, his curiosity slipping from him.
“It wasn’t really magic,” I say, masking the truth with a tired shrug. “More like . . . learning how to think differently. Exhausting, not glamorous.”
Defymin hums, but there’s something in the sound that lingers, like he expected more of an answer.
His gaze holds mine a moment longer than necessary before he finally looks away.
“I wouldn't know. Very few of my kind are born with powers. Mother Ocean has never seen us as the race that can handle it.”
He doesn’t press after his statement. Instead, he drifts closer to the opening and draws the seaweed back into place, allowing me to have privacy.
Before the strands fully settle, Defymin turns and swims away. I catch only a brief glimpse of his fin—but it’s enough.
While we practiced battle sequences during the holiday, I hadn’t looked closely.
Hadn’t allowed myself to. Now there’s no avoiding it.
The fin that was once whole is torn clean through, the current pulling it apart as he swims. He compensates without thinking.
It’s his tail doing the work now, carrying the weight of every movement.
He'll carry this for the rest of his life. And it's because of me. The thought causes my heart to ache as I force myself to return my attention to where I'll rest.
The space consists of two things—a stone-carved bed and a seaweed blanket. Cozy.
The well-rested person I usually am would normally find these circumstances to be a form of torture, but my body and mind are so tired, I don’t give the situation another thought before I lie down and drift into an endless sleep.
A blaring noise rips through the water like the horn of a ship, jolting me awake. My heart pounds as I scramble upright on the stone bed, seaweed blanket tangling around my tail.
Outside my little carved space, voices and movement swell. Through the thin slits of the seaweed curtain, I catch flashes of fins and tails darting past, slicing the water with practiced rhythm. No one looks confused. No one hesitates. Everyone seems to know exactly where to go.
I shove free from the blanket and push aside the seaweed curtain, slipping into the crowd of finlings as they file into a cavernous chamber lit by more marilume embedded high in the walls.
Long stone tables stretch from end to end, already lined with finlings taking their seats.
Food is passed down in sea glass bowls—strips of raw fish and some kind of kelp.
I hover near the entrance, unsure where I belong. My stomach twists, reminding me that I haven’t eaten since yesterday, but my chest tightens more at the thought of sitting among strangers.
“Sarah!”
Defymin waves me over from a table halfway through the chamber, his expression easy and inviting. Two other finlings sit across from him, both turning their heads at my name. Their faces are unfamiliar, though curiosity flickers in their eyes.
“Come sit with us,” Defymin urges, patting the empty stone bench at his side.
I glide toward them, feeling the weight of a few too many eyes following me, then slip onto the bench beside him. A bowl of food is pushed into my hands before I can protest.
“Sarah, I would like to introduce you to Aniah and Keil.”
The two finlings appear very similar in appearance, as most Neravyn do. However, these two look identical—same cone-shaped nose, same slim horizontal eyes, and the way their chins curve almost perfectly. The only major difference is that Aniah is clearly female and Keil is most definitely male.
“They wanted me to introduce you to them,” Defymin adds.
I nod my head in their direction, a small gesture meant to be a greeting.
"So you're the land-dweller that wrecked our friend's fin?" says Keil. His voice is deeper than I thought it would be.
A flash of Defymin's damaged fin crosses my mind, bringing back the weight of what I did and the guilt I've been trying to push away.
I ignore the question, instead stuffing my face with the food placed in front of me. Their eyes widen at how quickly I eat. Within seconds, my bowl is empty, while my comrades have barely started.
Yesterday drained me mentally and left me exhausted physically, but I didn’t consider how hungry I would be the moment food was set in front of me. I hadn’t thought about taste or savoring—only about getting it into my body. The primal serpent instincts must be taking over my human mind.
The emptiness between words grow as I set the bowl down, my stomach at last content. Heat creeps up my neck under their stares.
“My apologies,” I murmur. “I haven't eaten since midday yesterday, and magic lessons from Orion have wasted my energy to nothing.”
The two finlings exchange a glance, then look back at me as though I’ve said something improper.
“What?” I ask, brows knitting.
“You refer to the king with his sea-given name?” They say simultaneously.
I pause at that, unsure how to answer. He isn’t my king.
I was forced here. But I also can’t deny how this world is reshaping me, little by little.
Every day is something new. And every day, I find myself leaning toward him.
Whatever this bond is between us, I can’t ignore the comfort I get from his presence.
Plus, he’s never once told me to call him anything else. In fact, the rare times I’ve said his name aloud, I’ve seen it—the brightness in his eyes, the faintest curve of a smile. As if he could listen to me say it constantly.
“She's not from here. Let her call him what she wishes,” Defymin says, his tone calm but firm enough to settle the matter.
The twins ease, accepting his words without protest.
Relief loosens the knot in my chest. “Thank you,” I whisper, grateful for the support. It feels good to have someone step in on my behalf, especially when I already feel like an outsider at every turn.
Defymin inclines his head, an easy smile building, almost reassuring. “Of course.”
The days press on much like the ones before: breakfast, warm-ups, and endless training. Between drills with the other finlings and my attempts to wrestle new magical skills from Orion, I feel as though I’m back in Current One—repeating the same motions, the same lessons, the same fatigue.
The difference? Endurance.
Each day comes a little easier, my body hardening to the strain, my mind sharper against the weight of exhaustion. Strength is becoming second nature.
Defymin and I often break away to train on our own, expanding on what’s given during the sea-day sessions. In many ways, he’s begun to feel like an echo of Leo, someone I can lean on. And I miss Leo. More than I want to admit.
Most evenings, after dinner, Defymin and I slip past the others, heading to the small rooms carved into the training cavern. At first, I worried we would draw unwanted attention, but most finlings barely glance our way anymore. The routine is familiar now, no longer questioned.
On that very first night, Defymin had explained it away with ease, using Orion as his shield.
“His majesty ordered it,” he told them simply, voice clipped with authority. “Extra training sessions for the human wannabe.”
The words stung, though not from him. He only repeated what others already whispered. Some finlings keep their respect in check, but others can’t quite hide their disdain at having a human woven into their private, disciplined world.
Our training group for Current Two is composed of many different finlings.
Some scrawny and thin, others thick with muscles so big you wonder how they got that way when the underwater pressure is so crushing.
I tend to ignore most of their comments or stares.
However, Carella—a finling in the top of our group—confronts me just about every evening at meal time.
Between bites of my food, I steal quick glimpses of her from behind Keil, watching her intently, waiting for her to swim toward us. It has become routine at this point.