And I am the only one who knows.
The Council would exile him if I told. They wouldn't care about the charm, only that he crossed the wall. They'd detect the sulfur, find the obsidian, mark him tainted. Rank, home, life, all of it forfeited to the executioners.
I cannot tell Taren. He follows the rules, would report Vaelis out of duty.
This falls to me.
I bypass the barracks, avoid the spires and plaza. My path leads to the Silt District. It's the lowest ring where waste collects, the part of the Reef we pretend doesn't exist. Cloudy water heavy with rot carries the sharp taste of old blood from the butcher.
Pulling my dark cowl up, I conceal my face, my markings. Down here, I am not Mira the Vanguard. Just another shadow seeking a dark remedy.
The fissure appears, a narrow crack in the reef's foundation marked with bleached urchin spines and tied with black kelp.
I squeeze through.
The cave behind the fissure is tight. The air is filled with ancient magic. Rough walls, lined floor to ceiling with sealed glass jars. Pickled sea-toad eyes. Dried puffer-sacs. Bundles of toxic kelp, tied tight.
"You swim too loud for a guard," a voice croaks from the deepest shadows.
My hand drops to my knife. "I'm not here as a guard."
Something large uncoils. Something wrong.
It is not a creature I know, but something that has forgotten its own shape. Ancient. Older than any Elder. If she was once a mer like us, her scales have long since dissolved into memory, replaced by loose, pinkish-gray skin that hangs in sickly folds. She is blind, her face a smooth expanse of slick mucus. Barbels, long and impossibly sensitive, wreath her jaw, twitching as they taste the water, tasting me.
"You never are," Oona wheezes, coming closer. She turns her eyeless face toward my voice. Her barbels twitch, tasting the fear bleeding from me. "My visitors are desperate lovers. Or righteous killers. Which are you today, little bright-scale?"
"I need to break a hold." My voice stays steady.
Oona laughs. A wet, bubbling sound. My skin crawls. "A hold? A love-knot? A binding spell of the heart?"
"A siren's hold," I say.
The laughter dies.
Oona's head tilts. Her barbels twitch again. "There are no sirens here. The Reef is too loud. Too bright."
"Not from the Reef," I say. "From the deep. A Basalt-Kin. A shark-mer."
Stillness.
"Ah," Oona breathes. "The heavy ones. The deep hummers." She swims closer. Her face almost touches my cowl. She smells me. "You carry the trench on your skin. The bitter scent of betrayal."
"I need to stop its song," I say, ignoring her taunts. "It has someone I care about. It has confused him. Twisted his mind. He thinks he's safe in the dark. I need something powerful. Something to break the charm."
"A potion won't break a shark's charm, foolish girl. It's not magic. It's biology. They vibrate the bones of their prey. They make the victim's heart resonate with their own."
"Then how do I stop it?"
"You stop the vibration," Oona says simply, turning away from me. "You take the dark instrument away."
"I can't fight it," I say, frustration sharp in my voice. "It's too strong. If I strike and miss, it will tear me apart. And if I somehow manage to kill it, the one I am trying to save might completely break over what I've done."
I know Vaelis. Vaelis would never, ever forgive me if I murdered his captor in front of him. I saw the terrifyingly gentle way he touched the beast. If the shark dies a bloody death, Vaelis will turn him into a martyr. I do not need the shark to be dead. I need the shark to be useless. I need it to be pathetic.
Oona hums. A low, grating sound of approval. She floats slowly toward a high shelf crowded with dark, jagged bottles.
"Not a loud death," she mutters to herself. "Just silence. Yes. Absolute silence is the true opposite of the deep."
