It feels surreal, and anything I could possibly say dies on my lips. But Rakan isn’t finished, not just yet. “You don’t need to agree to this. You don’t need to understand. I’ll protect you anyway.”
Smoke erupts around us all over again, more powerful than ever before. It fills the apartment in seconds. And then there’s nothing left but the darkness and his grip on my wrist.
His voice comes from somewhere too far away. “Don’t fight it. Just let go. You’re safe now.”
No, I’m not. I’m afraid I’ll never be safe again. But it’s too late for me to protest. The smoke takes over my senses, and the world melts away into nothing.
9
To Preserve
Rakan
Iris is beautiful. I’ve always known this, from the very first moment we met. But her beauty lies in her humanity, and that’s also what makes her so frail.
When I cradle her close to my chest, her body feels almost impossibly small. “You really weren’t wrong when you tried to chase me away,” I whisper into her soft hair.
She doesn’t reply. The shock of the transportation has knocked her out, no doubt a consequence of her panic.
My penthouse greets us with utter silence. I step out of the shadows, straight into my bedchambers, and lay her across the sheets.
When I set her glasses aside, she doesn’t stir. In sleep, her face loses the wariness she carries through the waking world. What’s left underneath it is younger than I expect. I’ve watched this city burn and rebuild itself twice over. I forget, sometimes, what twenty-five actually looks like.
I pull the blanket to her shoulder and straighten up.
I stay at the foot of the bed longer than I need to. My penthouse has housed heads of state, relics that would destabilize governments, secrets older than most human civilizations. It has never once felt full. One sleeping woman in a corner of one bed, and the entire space has shifted around her without asking my permission.
I reach into the air beside me. The phone forms in my palm, its casing the color of cooled volcanic rock. I’ve had it four years and the screen is still cracked in the upper left corner. Kasim’s return has been testing my self-control more than I’d like.
I take it to the window and dial Sigurd’s number. He picks up on the first ring.
I don’t even bother with a greeting. At this point, it’s not necessary. “Well? Did you find it?”
“I found where it might be,” Sigurd says. “But there is some bad news. Are you ready?”
His tone tells me immediately that the situation is dire. I brace myself and clutch the phone harder. “I’m always ready. Tell me.”
“It’s deep. Deeper than I’d like. The currents carried it away from where I knew it to be. The route runs through contested water.”
Contested water. Fuck. That’s worse than I thought. The wars of oceanic creatures have never been merciful, and modernity hasn’t changed that at all. “So there’s blood in the water. Anyone you know?”
It’s not just a self-interested question. Sigurd’s family lives in the very depths of the ocean. For all I know, they may be in danger. It seems unlikely, since few things are dangerous for a kraken. But stranger things have happened. Like a djinn falling in love with a barista.
At the other end of the connection, Sigurd lets out a small huff. “There’s a leviathan that’s been pushing into merman territory for the better part of a year. The clans have been holding the line, but it’s split them.”
“Wonderful.” I grimace, feeling a headache begin to pulse in my skull. “That’ll take years to solve.”
“If we’re lucky,” Sigurd confirms tightly. “Two of the main factions aren’t speaking, and right now neither will grant surface access to anyone.”
“And your neutrality makes it worse still.” Outside my penthouse, the city keeps moving, unaware of our monstrous secrets. I turn away from it, for once unable to face its petty spectacle. “I realize I’m asking a lot.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sigurd replies. “You’re only asking for what needs to be done. Be at ease. There’s a matriarch in one of the factions. She owes me a debt that predates this dispute by several centuries. I’ll go to her directly. I’ll get us a window, and the moment everything’s in place, we move.”
“We’ll be ready,” I offer, though that’s an assurance I can’t possibly make.
The silence that follows has nothing to do with the connection. I’m already anticipating what comes next, and I don’t have the energy to deflect it cleanly.
“How are you holding up?” Sigurd asks me. It’s a question I expected, but it still somehow hurts.
