37. 37
thirty-seven
Sarah
Lady Naeryss continues her work over the next few days, giving me small commands every other session.
"Lift this."
"Bend here."
"Twist there."
Her voice is calm, her touch precise, and every movement she asks of me feels like a test—not of strength, but of patience.
The sessions have grown easier, though no less exhausting.
Somewhere between her gentle orders and the quiet hum of magic that lingers in the water, I’ve grown used to her presence.
We talk more now. Mostly about her. And I'm thankful she does most of the talking, because I need the distraction, anything to drive my thoughts away from the pain festering beneath my ribs.
She tells me of her childhood. What it was like growing up in a kingdom newly forged after the Great Sea War.
Her home had been destroyed and her people scattered, until King Thaldrin opened the gates of Virellan to all who had nowhere left to go.
Over time, she honed her gift until healing became both her art and her devotion.
When she pledged her loyalty to the royal family, she was appointed noble and later named head speaker of Coravaluné.
Her story is one of survival wrapped in grace. Determination tempered by kindness.
And then, as if trusting me with something fragile, she tells me about the one she once loved.
How it began with a glance. How they kissed for the first time beneath the shimmer of a coral archway, shared a shell to sleep in when sea storms grew wild, how he held her when she wept.
And how, on the day they were to be bound, she stood waiting for arms that never came.
My heart cracks with every word she utters, the ache deepening with her smile—soft, wistful, and far too forgiving.
Even after all that loss, she still radiates warmth, as though she refuses to let grief steal her light.
Her position as a healer suits her. If only she could heal herself the way she heals everyone else.
We're near the end of the session when she speaks again, her hands still faintly aglow with magic as they hover over my skin. Her tone carries quiet pride, threaded with hope.
“I think one more session,” she says, the light dimming between her fingers, “then we can try getting you to shift back to your sea form, if you would like, Lady Sarah.”
“Can you just call me Sarah?” I ask, my tone softer than I intend.
“If that is what you would like, I may be able to.” A slow grin spreads across her face, her excitement barely contained, as though the small act of informality feels like a secret shared between us.
She finishes the last sweep of her magic over my ribs and leans back slightly, the faint shimmer fading from her palms. “The king is requesting to speak with you once you are stronger,” she says gently. “He stays while you sleep, but felt that you'd want your space during our sessions.”
My stomach tightens. I’m not ready for whatever conversation that might be. But I know I’m not done here, not truly. There’s still one more current I have to master before I can return home. Maybe that’s what he wants to discuss.
“If you're not ready,” Naeryss offers, “I can tell him I need a few more sessions before allowing him to add additional stress and undo all the progress you've made.” Her grin turns sly, like she enjoys defying her king in small ways.
“No,” I admit, shaking my head. “I won’t let you lie to your king.” Then, quieter, “But I also won’t face him like this.” Heat creeps up my neck as I glance down at myself. “Is there any way I can try shifting into my sea form now?”
The pain while shifting back isn't awful.
Soreness unfurls through me, as if I've just finished swimming a marathon, but that's the worst it gets.
I thought the pain was going to be more intense, that the strain of returning to my serpent form after just a few days would tear through every muscle. It never comes.
That doesn't mean the first few attempts aren't difficult, though. My magic resists me, sluggish after going dormant. Each shift takes more effort than the last, forcing me to push past the discomfort that lingers in my body until the vibrations of my magic finally respond to me.
So I try again.
And again.
Each attempt is easier and even though the throbbing remains, Naeryss reminds me it'll dissipate the more I work with it. The resistance lessens, little by little until it flows with me instead of against me.
However, I can't stop myself from stealing a glance at my tail once the full shift is complete.
A half-circle scar, high along its length, catches my attention—discolored, stretching over much of my lower half.
I feel no pain, but the sensation that spreads through me when my fingers trace it is different.
The serrated mark pulls my skin taut, the tissue beneath hardened and rigid, resisting my touch as if it no longer belongs to me.
The ocean moves differently around me. Gentle, more accepting. Returning to this form almost feels right, more me than the body I’ve been stuck in this past week. As though this is the version I was always meant to return to.
Once I'm comfortable enough, mind steady, and heart ready for him, Naeryss fetches Orion.
As I wait, I sit on the ledge of the healing spring, my tail drifting lazily through the water while my fingers trace idle circles in the sand.
The stillness here feels sacred. The soft hum of blue bioluminescence above me paints the chamber in gentle light, and the spring responds to the slow movement of my tail, rippling in quiet harmony.
This place is so beautiful, I almost wish I could take it with me.
The water remembers everything, each whisper or cry of pain I’ve released into it.
I can almost feel the ache it has absorbed from me, the way it cradles and carries it away.
It’s as if the spring has accepted my injuries as its own, so that I might be whole again.
“Reminiscing, Snapdragon?” Orion’s voice slips through the silence, low and rough at the edges.
I peel my gaze from the circles I’ve been tracing in the sand and look up.
He floats near the archway that rises above the narrow river entrance feeding into the healing spring.
Just below it, a flat stretch of rock rests at the water’s surface—the passage Naeryss swims beneath to come and go during each session.
The clear barrier hums faintly between us, separating the spring’s concentrated magic from the open waters beyond.
Light from the barrier glimmers across his face, catching on the dark strands of his hair that fall messily around his temples.
He looks disheveled, like he hasn’t slept in days. Shadows cling to him, the usual regal sharpness of his posture dulled by exhaustion. The faint glow of the spring light traces the dark hollows beneath his eyes, the toll of too many sleepless nights written plainly across his face.
“I see your magic has awoken,” he says, a small smile curving his lips despite the fatigue weighing on him. “How does it feel? Does anything hurt?”
His eyes peer down my tail, inspecting my healed injury. The brief silence after his question speaks volumes.
“Better than I imagined,” I answer, my tail flicking idly beneath the surface. “Like slipping on your favorite pair of pajamas.”
He raises an eyebrow, that faint spark of amusement glinting through his weariness. “Am I supposed to understand what that means?”
A soft laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “Silly of me to assume you would,” I murmur, the corners of my mouth lifting despite the nervous flutter in my chest.
He returns my smile, but not in the same way he usually does. There’s something strained about it. Gentle, yes, but distant enough to unsettle me.
“I have a few things I need to admit to you.” His voice shifts, all warmth replaced by gravity. “That challenge was unlike anything I've ever witnessed. Not because of the beast you fought, but because you were in the arena, and I couldn't do anything to stop it.”
My heart races. I know where this is going. He’s going to bring up the sea mates thing again.
“Orion, if this is about us being—”
“Please, for fucking once, just let me talk!” His voice cuts through mine, echoing off the cave walls and creating ripples in the water between us.
“I felt everything . . .” His voice sounds defeated, the truth of the words dragging through the water between us.
“You turned yourself into a sacrifice—a target—so your teammates could get their strikes on the beast. I don't blame you for the route you had to take to win that battle, but you knew it would come at a cost, didn't you?”
I nod, slowly, unable to meet his eyes.
“Sarah,” he continues, voice breaking on my name, “I felt it. The moment your life started to slip away. I felt the agony with every shift of the Mordyth’s grip around your body.
And when it released you, when you started to drift down, I felt your final breath.
The moment your mind could no longer hold on, when the light within you flickered out. ”
He pauses, closing his eyes briefly, drawing a shaky breath before forcing himself to go on.
"I had been gone for seventeen sea days, Sarah.
Seventeen days on a mission that was supposed to only be four at most. And when I returned, I couldn't let another moment pass without knowing what it felt like to have your lips against mine.
Even if it meant I would only ever have that one moment with you.
I needed to know. And when I kissed you, something changed.
That was when I finally accepted what I had been fighting all along.
I stopped questioning the bond. Stopped trying to understand whether it was real. I accepted it. Accepted you."