Of Neptune (The Syrena Legacy) (12 page)

Did Emma stay? Did she go home? Did she come to look for me?
He hopes she didn’t go in search of him and stumble across Tyrden herself.
Or what if she did?
He quickly dismisses the thought. If Tyrden had Emma, he would have already used it against him.

The older Syrena leans back in his seat. He forks a big chunk of fish into his mouth and moans in appreciation. The plate could easily feed two. “I have some more questions for you, Highness. I’m hoping you answer them this time, because to miss out on a meal like this would be a shame.”

Watching Tyrden eat makes Galen slightly delirious. Even more so than the hovering and cutting technique his captor used the day before. But it’s not so much about enduring the agonizing hunger as it is about regaining some strength. Each day he stays here without food or water, he loses energy and strength—both things necessary to escape. And by how comfortable Tyrden has made himself here, he looks like he might be in it for the long haul.

My best chance
is
to escape—but how?
For all he knows, there could be someone standing guard at the door, though only Tyrden comes and goes. Galen remembers the men who captured him in the woods. Where are they now? Not to mention the thick ropes holding each of his limbs to the metal chair, cinched so tightly they threaten to cut off circulation.

“What do you want to know?” Galen grinds his teeth.
Think of the energy food will give you.

“Emma already divulged to Reed how you came to be in the good town of Neptune. So Antonis sent you here. Why do you think he would do that?”

“Reed?”

“Oh, yes. They’ve been spending all their time together. Does it hurt not to be missed?”

The idea of Emma spending enough time with Reed to tell him anything worries Galen, but at least he knows she’s not being held prisoner somewhere like he is. Still, Reed has the presence of a trumpet fish slithering around, stalking its colorful—and unsuspecting—prey on the reef. So slow and casual that it looks harmless. Until it strikes.

Galen clears his throat of bitterness and concentrates on the question.
Why would Antonis send us here?
“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask Reed? He seems helpful enough.”

Tyrden helps himself to another heaping bite, taking his time to savor it. “Reed is an entitled fool who uses his daddy’s position for his own gain. I have no use for Reed.”

Galen can’t decide if Tyrden is purposely all over the place or if he’s genuinely skittish.

If he’s not on speaking terms with Reed, where is Tyrden getting his information? Then Galen realizes the full picture. He must be getting the information from Reder himself. Reder must be the one who ordered his capture. It makes perfect sense, given the way Reder was withdrawn at dinner, the way he scrutinized Galen under the pretense of hospitality. Reed must tell his father about his ventures with Emma. Then Reder tells Tyrden.

Which means Tyrden could just be a pawn—pawns are much more pliable than leaders.

Tyrden seems to read his mind. “I’ll tell you a secret, Highness, about Reed’s father. Reder isn’t all he’s cracked up to be. He’s not the savior of this town, as he would have you believe. Too soft, if you ask me.”

This is too soft?
“When will Reder be visiting us?”

Tyrden tilts his head. “Why would you think Reder would bother himself to come visit you? Maybe he wants to give Emma and Reed a chance to bond. Get you out of the way for a while.” At this he seems amused. “Seems to be working all right.”

“Reed is not Emma’s type.”

Tyrden swallows another bite and leans forward, eyeing Galen. “No? But what if it’s not about types? What if it’s about what Reed can offer her? That’s one thing I’ve learned about women. They like security.”

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s say you get out of here by some miracle and somehow you two run off into the sunset. All you can offer her is a life of hiding what she is. Or … you’re
not
considering living in the ocean, are you? Let her surface for air every few hours like a whale?” Tyrden chuckles. “Reed—Neptune—can offer her so much more. She told him all about how your Archives begrudgingly voted to let her live. How generous of them.”

Galen closes his eyes against the truth. “Neptune is still in hiding. You’re not all completely safe from humans.”

Tyrden makes a show of looking around. “What humans? Oh, you mean the rest of the world? Let me tell you something, Highness. The rest of the world couldn’t care less about this little speck of a town. Do you know what I do for a living?” Tyrden sneers. “There’s a cannery on the edge of the city limits. Real shack of a place. We’ve got three full-blooded Syrena, descendants of Poseidon himself, using their Gift to keep the cannery busy stocking fish. We’ve got shipments going out daily to big cities. We can hardly keep up with the demand. To them, we’re just a quiet little fishing village etching out an existence in the mountains. We’re beneath them. What do they care about us?”

“Someday they will.”

Tyrden waves in dismissal. “Just like a Triton to be skeptical. We’ve survived this long without discovery, haven’t we? Heck, we’ve survived this long without even the kingdoms knowing!”

Galen can’t argue that.

Tyrden places the fork on the plate and slowly lowers it to the floor next to his chair. He clears his throat and dabs the corner of his mouth with his shirt collar. When he looks at Galen again, he’s all focus. “Tell me about Jagen.”

This is unexpected. Galen’s mind races. How does he know about Jagen? How does Neptune connect with Jagen’s attempt at taking over the kingdoms? Galen decides to use a favorite strategy of his—answering a question with a question. “What about him?”

“Are Jagen and his daughter Paca in power yet?”

“No.”
Yet
. So Tyrden and Reder don’t know that Jagen’s attempt to rule the Triton kingdom failed. Galen figures it’s a good exchange, trading simple answers for telling questions.

And this answer seems to infuriate Tyrden. He sits straighter in his chair. “What happened?”

Galen glances at the food on the floor. “Don’t I get a bite first?” The sound of longing in his voice is genuine.

At this Tyrden’s lips pull up in a menacing smile. “Excellent idea, boy. We’ll swap, you and I. A bite for an answer.” He picks up the plate and forks up a piece of fish—smaller than Galen would have liked—then gestures for him to open his mouth.

Galen complies, and Tyrden makes a point to jab his tongue with the fork before retracting it. But Galen doesn’t care because the fish is delicious and warm and his stomach seems to bubble up in anticipation of the next bite.

Tyrden waits impatiently while Galen appreciates the small sample. “Now, tell me what happened.”

“Do you think I could have some water?”

Tyrden’s eyes narrow. “Oh, I’ll give you plenty of water. After you tell me what I want to know.”

Galen thinks about negotiating, but he can tell Tyrden has reached his threshold for patience by the way he taps the fork on the edge of the plate. “Jagen was removed from power when we discovered that Paca was a fraud. That she didn’t really have the Gift of Poseidon.”

“And how was that discovered?” Tyrden holds up another forkful of fish. Instead of tapping the fork, the energy moves down to his leg, which bounces with a fast rhythm.

“Emma. She showed the council her own true Gift, which proved that Paca’s was inferior.” Galen remembers the pride he felt when Emma put Paca on the spot, telling her to save her father from two sharks that Emma would have ordered to kill him—or so Paca thought. Paca crumbled right then and there. If Emma wouldn’t have come to the tribunal, Galen is sure that things would have turned out differently. The Royals would no longer be in power, and Jagen would be ruling the Triton kingdom under false pretenses.

But how does this relate to Tyrden? To Reder? What interest do they have in Jagen’s rule? Were they the ones who trained Paca to use hand signals to control the dolphins? He accepts the next bite of food from Tyrden, watching his captor closely. Something about his expression has changed.

“That’s very inconvenient,” Tyrden says.

“Inconvenient for who?”

“Shut up.” Tyrden pauses. “Where are Jagen and Paca now?”

No wonder they’re so hungry for information about the kingdoms. Now that Jagen and Paca are imprisoned back home for what they did, Neptune has probably had no communications about the kingdoms—until Galen and Emma showed up.

“Where are Jagen and Paca now?” Tyrden barks.

“They’re in the Ice Caverns. Where they belong.”

Tyrden stands with the plate and scoops more fish onto the fork. He extends it to Galen. But just before he can wrap his mouth around it, Tyrden snatches it away, pitching the fish to the floor. Then Tyrden puts all his strength and frustration into throwing the entire plate of food at the wall, shattering the glass and scattering what was left of Galen’s meal.

“Enjoy dinner, Highness,” Tyrden snarls. “Now for dessert.” He rears back and Galen closes his eyes, preparing for the blow. There is more anger behind it than he originally expected.

Tyrden’s fist connects with Galen’s cheek, whipping his neck back. The impacts don’t stop there. They keep coming from each side, different angles, landing blows on his nose, his jawbone, his mouth. Over and over and over.

Galen tastes blood, feels it running down the back of his throat. Feels it pooling in his ear.

Then everything goes black.

17

IT TAKES
a minute to adjust to the darkness, even though we made a gradual descent into the cave. Reed swims ahead, as if he can see perfectly or as if he’s been here a million times before. Probably both.

Maybe my eyes don’t adjust as well in freshwater. Maybe the saltwaters of the oceans help them in some way, which strikes me as funny. Usually saltwater in the eyes sucks. Unless you’re part fish, or fish mammal, or whatever. Either scenario, Reed is impatient to get started. “Are all ocean dwellers this slow?”

He grabs my wrist and pulls me behind him. His pulse wraps lightly around me, like the whisper of a fishing line not pulled tight. A tangle of sensations. “Can you sense me?” I say, almost to myself.

“Of course. Don’t you sense me?”

“I do, but it feels different than the way I sense Galen.”

“Oh, geez.” Reed rolls his eyes. “You don’t believe in the pull, do you?”

This is the legend that Galen is on the fence about. Normal Syrena tradition says that when a Syrena male turns eighteen years old—or “seasons”—he suddenly becomes attracted to several match-worthy females—females who would complement him well. Then he gets to “sift” through them, which is the Syrena version of dating. But in cases of “the pull,” the male is only attracted to one female, and that one is supposedly the perfect match in every way. The explanation is that the pull produces the strongest offspring possible, that it’s some natural phenomenon among Syrena that ensures the survival of their kind.

Galen didn’t believe in the pull—until he met me. Now he’s torn, because I’m the only one he was ever drawn to. Our mating would actually back up all the hype behind the pull, and since I have the Gift of Poseidon and Galen has the Gift of Triton, our offspring could potentially have both.

Still, the law and Syrena customs appear to be crunked-up superstition. If our child was to possess both gifts I’d rather chalk it up to genetics than to some magical, whimsical myth that always makes the Syrena generals right.

“No,” I pronounce. “I don’t believe in the pull exactly. I believe in love. And genetics.” I didn’t mean for it to sound like, “so screw you,” or anything, but by his expression, I think Reed takes it that way.

“I told you I get it, Emma. You’re in no danger from me stealing you from Galen.
Great guy that he is,”
he mutters. He swims close to me, so close I think he’s going back on his word. His mouth is just inches from mine when he says, “Not that I don’t want to steal you away. Oh, I do. And would if I thought you’d let me.”

I try to back away, but he holds my wrist. I could snatch it out of his hand if I wanted to, but his eyes tell me he’s being sincere instead of creepy or possessive. “I would steal you in a heartbeat, Emma McIntosh,” he continues, his voice devoid of any kind of games or sarcasm or Reed in general. “But I’d have to kiss you first, and I don’t want to do that.”

For some reason, I’m offended by that. He notices and smiles.

“Don’t get yourself all worked up. You’re very kissable. But I won’t kiss you. Not until you want me to. Because I know if I do, I won’t be able to turn back. I won’t ever be the same.” He leans impossibly closer, tightening his hold on my wrist, and I swear I’m being bombarded by both his heartbeat and his Syrena pulse. “So know for sure, Emma. When you kiss me—and I think you will—know for sure who you’re going to choose.”

I ease my wrist from his grasp and give a lighthearted laugh. Even though lighthearted is the opposite of what I’m feeling. Reed seems so easygoing and laid-back, but now he’s practically handing me his beating heart for me to do with as I please, which kind of waylays me. I mean, what kind of crazy speech is this? We’ve only known each other for days and he’s putting this on the table for me to consider. Does he think we’ve been going on dates or something instead of him just acting as my (devoted) tour guide?

I feel guilty now. Because spending more time with Reed feels like leading him on. It’s clear his intentions are not strictly platonic, but I’ve been transparent from the beginning that I love Galen. Our relationship is obviously not perfect, but isn’t that the “work” part of it? I’ve always felt that the dynamics between us are like a musical snow globe. Wound tight sometimes, shaken and shaken, but never broken. Always intact and really something to behold on the inside.

It would help if Galen showed me a sign that he still loves me. That our snow globe isn’t leaking. Or worse, shattered.

And there is still my need to explore Neptune. Reed is my guide—and that’s all. I’ve already chosen who I want. A kiss from Reed will never change that. I’ll simply continue to rebuff him, and eventually (freaking hopefully) he’ll lay off the whole “let me love you” spiel.