I know what you really are, and it disgusts me. When enough time has passed, I’ll get rid of you.
Five nights. Five short nights until my wedding. I imagined one of us would kill the other. They’d marry us and send us off to his bedroom, expecting us to make love. Instead, we’d make war. It would be a contest for each of us, waiting for the other to fall asleep first.
I primed myself for the task, my hand wrapping around Naheso’s knife in my memory, working up the courage to do it again.
“It worried me at first, when Thaan found you,” Selena said, her voice slipping past the cage of my thoughts. “A young Naiad from waters that belong to a rival colony, unaware of her abilities, an obvious strength deep within her. Naïve, alone. I thought he might try tocordaewith you.”
“But he didn’t,” I said. I’d have taken the flame of the stake—of that I was certain.
“No, he didn’t,” Selena murmured to herself. She released a long sigh, chest falling as her breath hit the air. “But don’t think just because he didn’t, he has no other personal arrangement for you. With your loyalty vowed to him in blood, as yourVidere, he could compel you as easily as you couldincantany human, and you’d have no defense, no choice but to obey him.”
My lips parted, but nothing came out. I swallowed disgust down my throat. The topic of my Naiad monarch made me antsy, and I already had enough of that today on my own.
“How long can aViderelive?” I asked, angling for a change in subject.
“If I’m being honest, Aegir could alsocordaewith you,” Selena said, ignoring my question.
“Aegir?” I glanced out at the wide sea, as though the tall, powerfully built Naiad could hear us. “I’m not part of hisDomus,” I argued.
“You needed salt water to transition, and you used his waters. He could claim you if he chose.”
I flicked my pale-gold tail, agitated. I couldn’t help it. Half-buried in water, it cut through the waves, zagging in one direction and then the other, sending ripples out towards the sea. The air tasted heavy. I was ready to move, to leave. Lounging here on the island gave me a feeling of insatiable edginess.
“He won’t, Maren. Calm yourself.”
“I am calm,” I lied.
Selena smiled patiently. “Thaan protected you with your own blood. He claimed you first. Aegir won’t try tocordaewith you while you still owe Thaan your loyalty. It would start a Naiad war, and Aegir isn't stupid.” She stretched her own tail, her fins burrowing into the rocky pebbles. “Besides, in five days you’llcordaewith the prince, and it’ll hardly matter. Aegir would have even less use for you.”
A cloud shifted in the sky, casting us in shadow. We each gazed up at it. Selena exhaled loudly. “Hundreds of years.”
“What’s hundreds of years?”
“That’s how long aViderecan live.”
I glanced sharply at her. Selena’s mouth curved, a soft smile on her lips, though it held little humor.
“How?” I asked, though I felt apprehensive about learning the answer.
“What else?” Selena said. “Blood.”
44
Istared at my mentor.Blood?
Selena sighed. “’The blood of my blood will give me life. The blood of my enemy will grant me a death.’”
Moon-damned Naiad riddles. I snorted at her. “What does that mean?”
Shifting in the pebbles, Selena cocked her head, considering her answer. “When a colony member passes on, they offer their blood to theirVidere. Well, not all. It’s a choice many make to extend theirVidere’slife. To safeguard the next generation, to protect the colony. Did you know Sidra is over a thousand years old?”
“No,” I said quietly, surprised by the mention of the Naiad queen.
“The blood of theDomus,of any colony member,is a gift. But the blood of an enemy isn’t. It’s taken by force, granting aVideremore power than they would’ve inherited from the colony or lunar absorption. AVidereis very strong and, usually, very old. The descendants of aViderecan pull from the inherited strength of their blood.”
“Wouldn’t the entire colony be descendants of theVidere?” I challenged.
“No.” Selena dragged her fingers through the waves. “The early days of any colony are a patchwork of Naiads as strange and diverse as any other kingdom. A jumbling of river folk, looking to settle into the safety of a group, with no common blood to be found.
