It was clear to Theo that calling upon Niamh was a favor he’d never forget. When this was all over, he'd find a way to pay Wyn back, if that was even possible.
Theo spent the night in his cabin, aimlessly attempting to sleep. Wyn stood out on the deck of his ship, unable to take his eyes off the trail of sparks in the sky, and the yellow underbelly of the serpent whose trail they followed, brighter than any star in the sky.
Lyra was notafraid of the water. It would be horribly embarrassing if she were, and downright difficult to function. But now, for the first time in her life, Lyra was terrified of the cold, deep waters of the Atlantic.
She was clutched in Cliodhna's grasp, the goddess keeping her gargantuan form as she slipped through the water, moving far more efficiently than a creature of her size. The inky depths blocked out all but a precious few rays of sun. Lyra shivered, holding on to the smallest bit of hope of being reunited with Keira.
At least now I'll be able to see if she is alive.
The irony wasn’t lost on Lyra that her Keira was caught trying to sneak away to see a boy. Despite all her judgments and warnings, Lyra was in a pretty damn similar position.
Curse Theo and that goddamn smile of his.Lyra tried to summon any anger or resentment towards him for getting her into this entire mess.
It's not his fault, though, is it?Her brain helpfully supplied, further aggravating Lyra.Just like his tall frame and wide shoulders aren't really his fault, either... Gods be damned!
Of all the times to be horny, wrapped between the massive fingers of a deadly goddess intent on killing you wasn't the time. It might be for some, but Lyra firmly wasn't in that camp.
They moved in almost perfect silence as Cliodhna navigated through the depths with ease, the magic in the water shifting ever so slightly. Lyra could tell when they were leaving Scottish waters, the magical signatures of the Scottish and Irish tides intermingling. Over the years, they'd maintained distinct identities, even if most people around the world grouped them. When Cliodhna finally spoke, Lyra nearly jolted in surprise. It was impossible to forget she was there—Lyra was, once again, trapped between her fingers—but she'd pleasantly drifted off in her own thoughts. Her ability to disassociate served her well in terms of her propensity to stay calm.
“I have to admit,” Cliodhna nearly purred, sounding far too satisfied with herself, “I was hoping something like this would happen.”
Lyra fought to keep some of the condescension out of her tone. She was smart enough to know that a goddess like Cliodhna wouldn't take well to sass. Even if it was Lyra's default setting.
“You were hoping for this?” Lyra wasn't surprised.
“Of course.” Cliodhna grinned, looking at Lyra for the first time. Cracked lips revealed rows of sharp, nearly black teeth. Lyra had to force her stomach to stay still as she fought the urge to gag.
“It is so much more interesting when people don't play by the rules. It'd be much less fun if you did exactly as I'd asked. Besides, a little fae prince in love with a siren? That's too easy, of course. But you’re falling in love with him?” Cliodhna laughed again, shaking Lyra in her grasp as her whole body shook. “How delicious!”
Lyra said nothing. What was there to say? Love was a strong word, but sirens weren't exactly known to do things in moderation. There was an old wives’ tale among sirens, cautioning one another to be careful in returning men's affections.
The water started to lighten, betraying their movement closer to the surface. Lyra began to make out the shoreline far ahead, where the shelf break appeared. It was a wall of rock, stretching deeper into the abyss, an intense drop-off under the water where no one above the surface would even know it existed. A cave was carved out of the stone, whether by magic or nature, Lyra couldn't tell, and Cliodhna steered them straight for it.
Cliodhna released Lyra, waving her fingers as seaweed appeared out of the abyss, binding itself around Lyra's wrists. Cliodhna shrank down to a more reasonable size, although still a few feet taller than Lyra, and grabbed Lyra's hair at the base of her skull. She forced her forward, both women swimming towards the cave’s mouth. Lyra couldn't see anything at first, until a few floating seashells within the cave's mouth came into view. They glowed with a soft bioluminescence, nature's own magic, and Lyra's heart sank to her feet when she got her first look at the grotto illuminated by light.
Keira was sitting against the cave wall, her hands tied behind her back, mirroring how Lyra was now bound. She heard their arrival, sprang upward, and moved towards the entrance.
“Lyra!” Keira shrieked, equally horrified and elated. Her face was etched with fear, and Lyra could see her sister's shoulders shaking even from a distance.
“Such a pitiful display,” Cliodhna hissed, snapping her fingers. The seaweed around her wrists tightened, pulling her back towards the rock wall.
“Stop that!” Lyra couldn't stop herself from trying to reprimand the goddess. “She just wanted to see me.”
“It was fun for a while, toying with all of you,” Cliodhna grunted, tossing Lyra towards the opposite wall of the cave. “Now, I'm thinking I should have simply killed the lot of you when I had the chance. You've dragged this out long enough.”
Lyra fought against the urge to look at Keira, chained to the opposite wall, knowing she'd lose her sense of composure as soon as she did.
“All of this over your pride,” Lyra sneered. “For a little tribute, nearly thirty years ago?—”
“Silence!” Cliodhna spun around, striking Lyra across the face. “The audacity of a siren to speak to me about pride. I should cut all that pretty hair off and see what your little prince thinks of you then.”
Lyra’s stomach lurched. It was hardly the worst thing Cliodhna had done to her, but it was a demeaning threat at the very least.
“Never mind.”
Cliodhna growled, cracking her knuckles and losing a fingernail in the process. She was constantly decomposing, a curse of being the queen of the banshees and the sea, always stuck in the least appealing part of the cycle of death and rebirth: rot.
Cliodhna waved her hand in a presumably meaningless gesture until two wraiths slowly floated into view. They appeared at the cave's entrance, not moving, only floating and almost perfectly still. They rose from the depths, covered in seaweed, like someone would wear a sheet as a ghost costume. The water temperature plummeted several degrees as they floated closer.
