Of Neptune (The Syrena Legacy) (18 page)

Still, both stories sound plausible. But there is more detail in this one. More explanation. And given the recent events in the underwater realms, I’m a tad inclined to believe there was dissention before. But what Reder says next is un-freaking-believable.

“Our society is a great secret, friends, kept from generation to generation of Poseidon kings. We have proof of this tonight, with our dear visitor Emma sent here from King Antonis himself. And with her help, we’ll unite the territories once more. She is a sign, friends, a Half-Breed accepted among our ocean-dwelling brethren. A living symbol that we are on the horizon of great change.”

Ohmysweetgoodness
.

*   *   *

Reder takes the seat across from me at his kitchen table, easing into the chair like it might break. It reminds me of when, in the movies, psychiatrists approach a mental patient with slow, deliberate movements so as not to freak him or her out. They use a monotone voice and neutral words, like “okay” and “fine” and “comfortable.”

This might be why Reder sent Reed and Toby out for ice cream—to remove everyone from this conversation except for him and me. The two variables that matter most. To make it seem like even though this is his kitchen, it’s neutral territory and I should be comfortable here.

Or maybe I really enjoy overthinking things.

My hands encircle a mug of hot chocolate—also a typical scene in the movies when trying to reassure a traumatized person—and I watch as the liquid heat melts the marshmallows into tiny puddles of goo on the surface. I realize then that my attentiveness to my mug and the lack of eye contact I’ve offered Reder in general could be discerned as weakness.

And now is not the time for weakness. “I am not a symbol for Neptune.” There. Conversation started.

Reder seems relieved that I’ve chosen to dive right into the subject. “You could be,” he says, wasting no effort on tact. “If you choose to be.”

“I’m here because my grandfather sent me. It’s not some fulfilled prophecy or anything like that.”

Reder smiles. “Prophecy? Of course not. But why do you think Antonis sent you here?”

The truth is, I still don’t know. I’m sure he wanted me to see that there are other Half-Breeds out there, that I’m not the outcast that I think I am. But what I’m supposed to do with that information, I have no clue.

When I don’t offer an immediate answer, Reder leans back in his chair. “I met your grandfather when he visited all those years ago. He was, of course, primarily concerned with finding your mother. He thought she may have heard of Neptune, may have sought it out.”

“My grandfather said he stumbled across Neptune when he was looking for her.” He never mentioned that he knew about it all along. But that is what the Retelling claims. That all Poseidon kings, generation after generation, have known all about the existence of Half-Breeds. I suddenly feel betrayed. He could have just told me that to begin with. Then again, he probably worried that I would share the info with Galen—and I probably would have.

“Your grandfather has always been a supporter of peace between the ocean dwellers and the citizens of Neptune. But like us, he didn’t know how to go about pursuing it. Until now. Until you. I believe that’s why he sent you here.”

“Be more specific.”

“You’ve already said the Archive council accepted your existence. That they even approved your mating with Galen, a Triton prince. Do you realize the significance in that?”

Maybe I look at the world with a smaller lens than Reder does. “I see why you would see it as significant. But I was the exception.”

Reder nods. “Yes, you were. Think of all the lessons history has to teach us, Emma. Exceptions have always opened the door to bigger change. Your grandfather knows that.”

“I think you’re overestimating my influence in the kingdoms.” By a long shot. When they made the exception for me, the lone Half-Breed, it was that I could
live.
It didn’t mean I was granted voting powers or anything. “Besides, why would you—why would
Neptune
—want to unite with them anyway?”

Reder’s eyes light up. “Think of what Neptune can offer the ocean dwellers. We can provide eyes and ears on land.”

“Galen already does that. He’s ambassador to the humans.”

“Galen is one person. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure Galen has done an outstanding job in that respect. He seems very loyal to the kingdoms. But think of how much more effective an entire town of ambassadors could be. Plus, many of us have the Gift of Poseidon. We could ensure that all Syrena are fed for centuries to come.”

I’m about to bring up the fact that I would never let the kingdoms starve—I have the Gift, too, after all—but I know he’ll use the “how much more so” comparison again. And I can’t bring myself to argue that point. It makes too much sense. “But what does
Neptune
have to gain?”

Reder considers, tilting his head. “When did your father die, Emma?”

This is unexpected, and I almost sputter into my hot chocolate. “Three years ago. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Was your father rich?”

I shrug. He was a doctor, so we weren’t poor by any means. But we didn’t have a maid and a butler, either. “No.”

“Say he was. Say he was abundantly wealthy. And say, he left most of his wealth to you. How would you feel?”

Still not getting where this is going
. “Grateful?” is what I hope he’s looking for.

“Of course you would. But—what if your attorneys found a glitch in your father’s will, a technicality that, by law, kept you from enjoying your inheritance? What if other people named in the will could enjoy what they inherited, but not you? Because of that one little legal stipulation, you were kept from what you were meant to have. Then how would you feel?”

Ahhhh
. Reder views the ocean as the legacy of all Syrena. Except there is that one glitch, as Reder said, that one tiny law separating Half-Breeds from their birthright. And in his eyes, I’ve overcome that glitch. “I still don’t understand how I can help.” That one tiny law, after all, is centuries old and deeply entrenched in the minds of the kingdoms.

“I’m not asking you to shoulder the burden of the world, Emma. I’m just asking you to try to open up communications between Neptune and the underwater realm. Starting with your grandfather.”

Deep down, I know what my answer is. Because deep down I want it, too.

24

“LET ME
go, Galen,” are the words he wakes up to. At first, they echo around him in Rachel’s voice. Then gradually they manifest themselves into Emma’s.
Why would Emma be telling me to let her go?

His mind floods with images of their last words together, their heated exchange.
Surely she’s not giving up on us?

It takes several moments for his brain to register that it was all just a dream, then several more for his eyes to open, to focus on reality. When they do, he’s startled to find Tyrden sitting in front of him. His expression is grim. In his hand he turns his knife over and over.
What now?
“It’s time for you to make the phone call. You can thank Reder for that.” He pulls out Galen’s cell phone and starts scrolling through the numbers.

Think
. His consciousness fights for orientation, for a grasp on what might have happened while he was out.
Why can I thank Reder?
Inevitably, he wonders if Emma is okay. But his brain stops at the possibility that she might not be.

He wiggles his wrists and tests the ropes on his ankles. Somehow they feel even tighter than before. Then he remembers that Tyrden noticed his efforts to loosen the knots.
Was that before or after he drugged me?
Galen can’t remember.

All he knows is that he has to get away. Life or death. If Tyrden dials Grom, Galen has to warn him of danger. He can’t let his brother walk into the trap that is Neptune. He squirms in his seat, not caring if Tyrden notices or not. The ropes hold him in place, offering no comfort for what’s coming.

It’s not ideal circumstances for his escape, not by any means. The ropes are inflexible, no matter how hard he strains against them. Tyrden is armed and hostile, getting angrier by the second as Galen struggles to free himself. But it’s his last chance. His only chance. He feels it in every cell of his body. There is a crisp look of irrationality in Tyrden’s eyes, of instability.

This is going to hurt.

Tyrden holds up the phone. Grom’s name and number light up in front of him. One touch to the screen is all that stands between Galen and Grom.

“Listen to me very carefully, Galen.” Tyrden’s voice is calm. Controlled. “Before we call Big Brother, I want to rehearse what you’re going to say.”

Galen licks his lips, then makes a show of eyeing the blade in Tyrden’s hand. He needs the element of surprise.
Tyrden needs to believe I’m afraid, that I’m cooperating.

And I have to get closer to him.

A brief look of relief flashes across Tyrden’s face. “Good.” He clutches the phone against his chest, tapping his index finger against the back of it. His eyes go blank for a few seconds. “You’re going to warn your brother of an attack.”

Galen blinks. “What?”

Tyrden nods hurriedly. “Yes, yes. That’s what you’ll say. That you and Emma are being held hostage in Neptune.”

“Emma? Where is Emma?” His gut flips over in his belly. All this time, he’d assumed she was safe, what with the barrage of pictures of her and Reed that Tyrden insists on showing him. But something has definitely changed. Something that Reder has done.

“Shut up, boy!” Tyrden springs from the chair, sending it sprawling toward the wall behind him. “I’m talking.” He scratches the back of his neck. “You’ll tell Grom that you are hostages. That Reder is holding you. Yes, tell Grom that when he comes, he’ll need to bring plenty of reinforcements. That the best strategy is an offensive attack on Neptune. To take out Reder first.”

What?
Now Galen is conflicted. This is exactly what he was going to tell his brother, provided he had time to fit it all in—and with the exception of eliminating Reder before hearing his side of the story.
Now Tyrden
wants
me to warn Grom of danger?
Something is off.

Galen works quickly to process this new information. In his grueling experience of Tyrden, he’s learned that the old Syrena doesn’t have a charitable bone in his body. What’s more, he’s displayed a vendetta against Reder the whole time.
Is Reder really holding me here? Or is Tyrden?

Whatever Reder has supposedly done, it has foiled Tyrden’s plans—which Galen hasn’t quite figured out yet either. “Why do you want to help Grom?” Galen blurts.

Tyrden stops pacing and gives him a severe look. “We’re friends now, remember, Highness? We’re on the same side, you and I.”

Galen nods slowly. Tyrden really has lost his mind—or what was left of it. Somehow he has to earn Tyrden’s trust. Somehow he’s got to close the physical distance between himself and his captor.
Not yet,
he tells himself.
Be patient
. “I couldn’t help but notice that I’m still tied up. That’s not very friendly, if you ask me.”

Tyrden shakes his head slowly. “You think you’re so clever,” he growls.

“I’m clever for wanting to be untied?”

Tyrden considers this. The fact that he considers this alerts Galen to the possibility that Tyrden is not paying as much attention as he should. “I’ll untie you as soon as you call your brother.”

“What if he doesn’t come?” Galen tries to sound concerned. This is what Rachel used to call buying time.

“It’s your job to convince him.”

Galen shakes his head. “But what if Emma and I are not important enough to him to risk coming to land? Or what if he wants peace?” He nearly rolls his eyes at that unlikely scenario. Grom will come, and he’ll bring an army with him, just as Tyrden wants.

Tyrden’s face darkens. There are shadowy circles under his eyes that Galen hadn’t noticed before. His mouth tugs down in a scowl, the lines of which cut deep into his features. It would appear something has been bothering his captor. “If you and the girl are not important enough to Grom, then you’re not important enough to me. I hope we understand each other.”

He said “me” not “Reder.”
Reluctantly, Galen nods. “I’ll need one of my hands untied. It will sound more natural to Grom if I’m holding the phone.” He glances meaningfully at Tyrden’s own hands, which are now shaking uncontrollably. “Do you need help dialing?” Galen offers.

“Why do you want to help me now, Triton prince? What game are you playing at?”

Galen keeps his expression solemn. “Emma is my life, Tyrden. I can’t let you hurt her. If calling Grom is the only way to prevent that, so be it.” The sincerity in Galen’s voice is bittersweet and genuine. Emma is his life. But he’s not going to call Grom.

Satisfied, Tyrden stalks toward him, and with one stout tug on the rope, Galen’s left hand falls free. Tyrden offers the phone in his outstretched hand.
Now is the time.
Galen fights the hesitation, fights the self-preservation screaming at him not to do this. Everything is at stake, he tells himself.
This could break your fin,
his subconscious screams back.

But he does it anyway.

His transformation to Syrena form knocks Tyrden off his feet.

25

I WATCH
as Reed impales the egg yolks on his plate, then whisks them into the grits with his fork. All the while, he holds his coffee cup level, ready to sip at all times. A true breakfast artist.

“We don’t have time to eat.” I move the scrambled eggs around on my plate.

The sheriff and his posse didn’t turn up anything last night with their search. Which means today—and every day until I find him—will be devoted to searching for Galen. No more playtime in Neptune.

Especially now that Reder thinks I’m the Chosen One or whatever. But I don’t mention that to Reed. It’s not that I don’t want to help, that I don’t want Neptune and the underwater kingdoms to come to peaceful terms and coexist. It’s just that I don’t have any pull whatsoever in the territories. The confidence I felt in myself and in Reder’s cause has definitely faded since last night when we discussed everything over a comforting mug of hot chocolate. I mean, as far as usefulness goes, I’m as effective as cutting a rib eye with a plastic spork. What business do I have promising to help with this mess? I don’t even know where to begin.