Unwanted Changes #2
Progress is made on my third try. I shift without overthinking it, angling my hips and straightening my legs just as I hit the current. It moves me forward, gliding me with surprising grace.
I last about half a second before losing the current, my arms flailing.
Kyros’s lips twitch into a smile. “Again.”
His budding smile falls as a familiar orange-tailed Mer weaves toward us.
Mavek.
He approaches quickly, though not carelessly. There’s purpose in every stroke of his massive tail, and by the time he reaches us, Kyros is on the ready. He’s placed himself between Mavek and me, creating a physical barrier.
I peer over his shoulder.
Mavek’s expression is tight, his attention fixed wholly on Kyros.
“Oshea,” he says.
Kyros clicks his tongue. “What is it?”
Mavek’s gaze darts toward the dark outer edges of the city, then toward the white, spiraling buildings behind us. His jaw is tense.
“The lower gardens are dying faster than expected,” he says. “The current is weakening near the eastern channels, and we lost another bed of kelp this morning.”
Kyros blows out a breath, bubbles erupting.
“How much?”
“Nearly all of it.”
I don’t know much about underwater city planning—and I definitely didn’t expect to ever need to—but even I can read the urgency in Mavek’s expression. This is bad. Exceptionally bad.
Kyros drags a hand down his face, his irritation shifting into something thoughtful. It’s the same expression Dad wears—wore—when storms roll in and things suddenly become dangerous.
Stress. Resolve. Leadership.
I hate myself for seeing similarities between Kyros and Dad—a man I so deeply respect. Kyros doesn’t deserve it.
“Has Daros seen it?” Kyros asks Mavek.
“Yes.” Mavek’s orange-speckled eyes cut briefly to me, then back to Kyros. “Seraya believes we should begin rationing.”
“No.”
Mavek hesitates. “If the upper channels fail—”
“They won’t.” Kyros’s voice is sharp enough to cut. “Redirect the southern lanes. We’ll pull from the western reef before we ration. Stressing the pod so close to the red bloom will have devastating effects, and we can’t risk any more instability. Not now.”
Mavek licks his lips.
“The western reef is already strained,” he finally says.
“Then close the ornamental routes.”
That surprises Mavek enough that he blinks, his tail snapping. “There will be complaints.”
“I don’t care.” Kyros leaves no room for argument. “The food routes, medical channels, and hunting grounds will remain open.” He turns toward the city. “Anything decorative can, and will, die before my people do.”
Dad would’ve said something similar. The thought makes my stomach churn. Kyros doesn’t deserve to remind me of him.
For a moment, nobody speaks, then Mavek inclines his head slightly. There’s respect there. Genuine respect.
My stomach roils.
Dad inspired respect, too. When things got rough on the boat, the crew listened to him. He was a strong leader, and he always put our safety first. We trusted his decisions because we knew they were in our best interest.
Bubbles erupt from Mavek’s nose. “There’s more.”
Kyros shuts his eyes. “What?”
“The children in the western quarter have begun hearing the gaps.”
I frown. They’ve officially lost me.
“Hearing the gaps?” I ask.
Mavek continues, ignoring me. “If the current song dies…”
Kyros looks toward the city again, his lips pressed firmly together. He looks burdened, as if every weakening current and dying bed of kelp were being stacked directly onto his shoulders. As the pod’s Oshea, I suppose it is.
“What do you need from me?” Mavek asks.
Kyros doesn’t hesitate. “Pull the strongest swimmers from the northern guard and send them to the western channels. Rotate every two hours so none of them collapse.”
Mavek nods once.
“And move the mothers and younglings away from the outer reef,” Kyros continues.
Another nod.
“If Seraya objects, tell her she may bring her concerns to me directly.”
Mavek’s mouth twitches, almost amused. “She’ll love that.”
“I’m sure she will.”
Mavek shoots me a pointed look. It’s only for a split second, but it’s long enough to remind me that he views me as an inconvenience.
“If the black siphon remains intact much longer…”
He doesn’t finish his sentence, but he doesn’t need to. The pod will die without the Great Current, and I’m their best chance at restoring it. Everybody here will die without my help. God. I don’t want this.
Kyros sucks his cheeks into his mouth. “I have it handled.”
“I trust you do.”
Mavek pushes off into the current. The moment he’s gone, the water feels lighter. Or maybe that’s just me.
Kyros turns fully back toward me.
“Again,” he says.
I blink. “What?”
“Let me see you ride the current again.”
I stare at him. He stares back.
Then, with the city starving behind him and half the ocean apparently threatening to fall apart, Kyros flicks his tail toward the current and says, “If you’re to survive the black siphon, your form cannot remain this pathetic.”
I gasp, my eyes narrowing as Kyros shoots me what I’m certain is a smug look. He’s so fucking rude. Still, against all reason, a laugh bubbles up out of my mouth. I move toward the current before he notices.
I don’t make it far.
Kyros wraps his tail around me, crimson coiling at my waist, and drags me behind a jagged coral formation.
“What the—”
“Quiet.”
His voice is barely more than a whisper.
I clamp my jaw shut, then peek around the coral. Four figures appear along the city boundary, their movements subtle as they slink over a wall of stone. Mer. Their tails are darker than any others I’ve seen—deep gray and black scales that blend in almost perfectly with the surrounding ocean.
I doubt I would’ve been able to see them yesterday, but my eyesight is rapidly improving.
Are these Mer from a different pod? The Coveborn?
They drift along the city boundary, their movements deliberate as they scan the water. They avoid the large predators that border the dark waters beyond the city, moving around them with what seems like practiced ease.
Kyros’s arm tightens slightly around my waist as they pass, disappearing into the currents beyond the city.
I twist toward him.
“Coveborn?”
“Yes.”
“And you just…let them go?”
“We can’t stop them without provoking a conflict.”
He worries his bottom lip between his teeth, his gaze traveling over the spiraling towers that make up Tideborn. He looks exhausted as he rubs a hand down his face.
Maybe even a little defeated.
He’s afraid.
The realization hits me in the chest, and I swallow down the pity threatening to rise. I refuse to pity this man. He tried to kill me, for fuck’s sake.
“We don’t have the numbers to fight, or the resources,” he admits. “Not without the Great Current.”
I frown. “Do you really think destroying the siphon will fix all of this?”
“We have to try. We die otherwise.”
The quiet admission makes my chest tighten. Kyros is still the person who killed my father, but he’s also carrying a heavy burden. I still hate him, but I understand him.
I wish I didn’t.