Page 24 of Stolen Magic of the Deep

I look at him, his expression unreadable. “Close? To where?” I ask curiously.

He ignores my question and motions me forward to the door. “Nyxalene will bring you clothing,” he adds, gesturing vaguely at my attire. “You will not keep wearing . . . that.” He starts to drift away, then pauses. “And forget about swimming off, there are guards posted throughout the palace. Some in the corridors, others in the open water. If you try to leave, Nyx will know. And then, I will.”

I raise my eyebrows slightly, refusing to enter the room. Not yet. “So, I’m a prisoner here?” I stare him down. Two guards appear, floating in front of Orion.

“You two are to remain posted by her doors at all times until relieved by shift change.”

They bow their heads and post themselves on either side of my door.

Orion gives one last glance once they are in position, then turns and glides back down the corridor, disappearing along the spiral.

eleven

Sarah

Iturn my attention to the doors in front of me. It’s easily a floor-to-ceiling door made of pure sea stone, like the rest of the castle’s structure, curving at the top. I glance at the doors across the hall, assuming that's where he rests.

Sleep pulls at my eyelids, so I lean my shoulder heavily into one side of the massive door and push. It doesn’t budge.

How do I open these damn doors?

It glistens as if responding to my touch. I caress my fingers over the surface of the doors and watch the ripple of magic around it. Weird. It resembles the rift from the other day, but now, even as I touch it, nothing surges or shifts.

I place both hands against the doors, and give them a slight push, only to realize they're already moving on their own.

Am I doing that? I jerk my hand away, holding them out in front of me. My eyes scan every inch of my palms, half expecting to find glowing veins or shimmering magic clinging to me skin.

The doors are only partially open when I swim through, immediately dropping to the floor. The water stops at the doorway, leaving me to crash onto the floor of the dry room as the breath is knocked from my lungs.

I take a moment here on the floor, trying to collect myself, confident now that I’m dreaming. Stone lines the floor beneath me, cool and solid. Scattered throughout the space are thick mats of what appears to be sea sponge, shaped and placed like rugs.

After a moment, I realize my breathing has adjusted. No burning or coughing comes, as if my body knew what to do before I did. I scan the room and push myself to stand, trying to understand how everything else outside these doors is wet, but this room stays dry. I turn, facing the doors and what lies outside them—water.

I stick my hand through the doors and into the water beyond. I am allowed in, but somehow the ocean itself doesn’t follow; held at bay, perfectly still at the threshold. But how?

When I pull my hand back in, I notice the shimmer between the doors and the water. There seems to be some kind of barrier. So the original rift I saw before entering wasn’t on the doors themselves; it was to prevent the water from coming in.

I caress the handles at first, resembling coral, but looking and feeling stronger than the sea’s ordinary treasures. The coral is white, spiraling into a perfect circle while keeping its jagged, natural texture. The handles are on the inside of the room, and I grasp them firmly now, closing the doors softly behind me.

I savor the quiet, a welcoming break after the day I’ve had. I walk hesitantly around the room, my glare hyper-focused on the bed before me. The base of the bed is made of the same white, twisted coral as the door handle. Spiraling upward toward the ceiling, sea silk creates a fabric-like barrier, wrapping around the tops of the coral pillars, draping down and encasing the bed with a dreamy look to it.

Above the bed lies a glimmering, bell-dome of a jellyfish. No tentacles, just the dome-shaped, umbrella-like top part that typically pulses to move a jellyfish through the water. It doesn’t move, but it hasn’t dried or shriveled either.

Preserved by magic, maybe?

Most bells are transparent or translucent; however, this one is milky white with a tinted pale pink color to it. Jellyfish are mainly made of water. Once dead, they do tend to turn a milky white, but if not preserved in some way, they shrink and become a rubbery texture. Climbing onto the bed, I reach for the top part of the jellyfish’s bell and trace the body of it with my fingertips. It’s still soft.

I quickly search the remaining parts of the room and notice that several items are imbued with magic. I can’t see it, but I can feel it. Almost like it’s pulling at me, informing me of its presence. The bed even has what appears to be natural ivory-colored sheets, and makeshift pale pink curtains hang from what are supposed to be windows.

The windows, a curve bore at the top, coming down to form a skinny half circle. Another magical barrier covers the openness of the windows, same as the entryway, the ocean stretching out beyond as I look down at the kingdom below.

Small white crystals rest on each side of the open windows at the top. They each seem to be holding an eerie glow to them, which must be what is keeping the room dry . . . for me.

Are these the crystals Orion referenced while we were in the dining room? Why do this for me? Is this supposed to be an apology for forcing me down here?

Don’t be naive, Sarah. He doesn’t care about you.

I hate this entire situation. I didn’t ask to be brought into this. Yet I barely fought him when he said where he came from and where we had to go, almost as if I subconsciously wanted to experience this.