Page 93 of Drown Me Gently

She sighed, long and hard. The wind caught a few strands of hair, which danced in the air. Instead of answering him, her eyes grew distant, maybe a little tired. It was the first time he’d ever seen his mother this way.

“I forgot how nice it is. The wind. The warm breeze. Sand between my toes,” she said, wiggling her toes in solemn delight. “But I made my choice. A long, long time ago. Now, my precious son, it is time you make yours.”

At Auren’s wide-eyed look of shock, she threw her head back and laughed, a trilly sound like the call of birds. Not the Queen of the sea.

“Did you think you knew me so well?” She laughed, slender shoulders shaking. “No, I’m afraid you don’t know me at all, and I do not know you. That is my fault.”

She twirled a finger in the sand.

“As Queen of the sea, mother of Poseidon’s heirs, I don’t make it a habit to reveal my heritage. But I suppose, Auren, that as you stand on the cliffside of a choice, the same cliffside I once stood on - I can impart this wisdom.”

Auren stared at his mother, and it felt like he was seeing her for the first time. Not as an untouchable entity, but as a person. As his mother.

“I was born on land, the daughter of a sea merchant. I came into this world with legs and no tail.” She shuffled her long legs as though reveling in the feeling of them. “When my father’s ship was lost at sea, my entire family succumbed to the ocean’s wrath. And I would have been part of that number if I hadn’t been offered a choice. A choice to live lifetimes, to bring about the next generation of half-gods into the world, to witness things a sheltered human girl could scarcely imagine. I had a choice, and as I stood on that cliffside, I chose to jump.”

Auren listened without interruption. But her words struck a sort of sorrow he hadn’t expected. Had she really been given a choice? Bear the burden of being one of Poseidon’s chosen, or drown. In Auren’s mind, that wasn’t a choice at all. Yet now, he faced a very similar fate.

“I tell you this so you know the gravity, the permanence of your choice. I gave up my human life in exchange for another. I cannot take that back.” She straightened, then, “Nor do I want to. I am satisfied with what the centuries have given me, most of all my wonderful children.” She smiled at him then, and fresh tears prickled the corner of his eyes.

“Make a choice you won’t regret, my son. I have given you temporary breath on the surface, but it is a small blessing. You must choose quickly.”

With that, she stood, brushing sand from her legs. The motion was so natural, so human, that Auren was taken aback. She approached him, all youth and elegance, as the wind rippled the hem of her dress. Her gaze drifted to the scorch-mark silhouette in the sand.

“He made his choice,” she said. “Now it’s your turn.”

Auren’s chest cracked open. “He saved me.”

Tritheya nodded. “He did.”

“He broke his oath for me,” Auren said.

“He did.”

“He…” A fresh sob overtook him. “He loved me.”

His mother’s voice softened. “Of that, my son, I have no doubt.”

Hearing it from her broke him open all over again. He folded over the sand, weeping. Tritheya laid a hand on his back.

“Choose, Auren,” she said, her voice like a lullaby. “But do not forget… no matter the path, you are the descendant of a god.” Then Queen Tritheya bent low, placing a soft kiss on his forehead. Auren closed his eyes, sinking into the moment, and when he opened them, she was gone.

He stayed crouched over the shape of Ulric, trembling, teeth gritted against the war waging inside him. Anger and grief battled for dominance like waves pounding on a cliffside, trying to tear it down inasmuch as the rocks held their ground.

Choice. As though he had one. What was his choice? To say farewell and return as prince of the sea? To die on the sand in the shadow of his lover?

That wasn’t a choice, because no matter which way he went—Auren’s life was over.

No.

No.

No!

His hand gripped the blackened sand. He snarled, slamming his palm into it.

Fuck this.

He didn’t want peace. He didn’t want closure.