Page 34 of Stolen Magic of the Deep

I sit up slowly, dragging a hand through my hair. My limbs feel heavy, not from sleep, but from the relentless pace of the last few days. The constant travel, the revelations in the scroll, the truth it whispered about my father . . . and Sarah. Meeting her, watching her unravel everything I thought I understood—it is all lodged beneath my skin. I've been pulled in too many directions, and my body knows it.

I rise, the base of my tail pressing against the cool, smooth stone of the floor, and stretch the tension from my spine with a quiet breath. I need clarity. A moment to shed the weight of everything.

I don't bother summoning a servant as I make my way through the arch on the far side of my chambers. The kelp drifts aside as I approach, their fronds parting like they recognize me—like they missed me. Just beyond them, my private bathing chamber waits, settled into a reef and open to the filtered shifts of the sea.

I slip into the tide-fed inlet, the water embracing me with quiet that no throne room can offer.

“Finally,” I murmur, letting the word melt into the current.

The cleansing kelp greets me, its soft surface brushing along my skin and scales, releasing faint iridescent oils that polish away remnants of travel and tension. Tiny, cleaner fish dart close, moving with instinct and routine, picking at the edges of my tail and shoulders without fear or hesitation.

I tip my head back, letting the water glide through my hair. Here, I am not a king. Not a ruler. Just a tide-born serpent, carried and reclaimed by Mother Ocean, who knows my needs long before I give them voice.

I linger longer than I should, letting the last of the kelp trail along my arms before I exit. The currents shift as I move, slicing along the grooves of the stone chamber, as if reluctant to let me go. But duty awaits.

I glide from the bathing chamber into the main space of my quarters, the water parting and swirling around me in lazy eddies. My hair floats back from my face, still haloed by the motion of the currents. In the bathing chamber, my magic goes dormant. As if it knows it is not needed there. Once back in my bedchambers, it returns. A subtle pulse ripples through the space as light threads and unravels like moonlit tides before awakening once more—a familiar presence on my skin.

Only now, when my runed magic glows across my skin, do I feel the slight burn spreading over the left side of my chest. Most of the runes signifying my power, my strength, are swirling symbols from a language lost to the Great Sea War. No one has uncovered a single clue that might help us understand the ancient script woven across my body.

When I was born, my father explained that, as my mother's life slipped away, a surge of power descended from the sky and struck me. I drowned from within. He said I glowed from head to toe with a brilliant teal light. Several minutes passed as he watched it condense, collecting beneath my skin. That was when the first rune appeared—the first sign of my magic. Powerful waves were etched into my upper arm, divided by a single line that rose from the sea and reached toward three stars aligned along the point of my shoulder.

Over the years smaller runes and intricate designs have continued to appear. Each one felt no worse than the bite of sea lice as it etched itself into my skin. The rune igniting across my chest now is nothing like those. Pain consumes me, blurring the edges of my vision until darkness creeps inward. I manage to keep myself upright for now, but the agony coursing through me shows no sign of easing. I sink into my tail as it instinctively curls around me, bracing my body while a tsunami of pain crashes through me.

I grit my teeth for longer than I'd like, but the rune finally dims, the vibrant color bleeding away as the pain fades with it. I trail my fingers across the design while looking down, and I honestly cannot even begin to decipher what it means. If it weren't a part of our tradition for magic wielders, I would be angry about having this etched permanently into my skin without knowing its meaning. But that would be disrespecting Mother Ocean and I can't bring myself to do that. The answers will be revealed when Mother Ocean decides I am ready for them, just like the other I have. Until then, I have more pressing concerns.

I draw a breath, redirecting my thoughts back to Sarah. The way she looked at me yesterday—conflicted and as sharp as the Snapdragonis race she has been compared to. She is stirring feelings I haven't allowed myself to feel in years, and the scrolls revelations only tangle those feelings further.

I move with fluid precision to my chamber doors, fully expecting to find silence in the corridor beyond. Her chamber sits directly across from mine, and I mentally prepare myself to have to knock, to wake her, to face her groggy frustration this early in the tide.

But when my doors part, I stop. She's already here. Idling just outside her chamber, her hair flowing smoothly with the soft flow of the morning tide, a light blue dress clings to her frame as if the sea itself is dressing her. She is poised and alert, watching the guards posted outside her doors, unaware that I have been brought up short just by the sight of her.

She is composed, far earlier than I expected. The sight is unsettling me more than it should.

“Wow, it seems I have misjudged your abilities to adapt,” I say, my surprise evident, like the slow, inevitable pull of the deep.

She turns, facing me, a small smile forming on her lips. “Yeah, I didn’t feel like getting another commanding entrance from the king. He wasn’t too pleased with my late awakening the day before. So I thought I’d learn some things before I went to sleep last night.”

“Oh, really, and what would that be?” I say, mouth parted in excitement, anticipating her responses. But she stays quiet, smiles at me, and descends to the Trident Hall, leaving me behind.

Gliding up next to her, I match her pace, which is much slower than an average swim down here, but still faster than the average human.

We make our way through the palace corridor, the silent hush of the morning still lurking behind every corner. I nod to every guard who salutes as I pass. They all appear somewhat on edge, hard to see typically, but I know my guards. Anticipation leaks from them as they try to maintain a mask of indifference.

The council waits on the other side of the grand doors. They'll expect answers.

Though, I'm not the one who holds them. My father made certain of that. Severing his magic from within himself and hiding the truth, waiting for someone else to absorb it so the truth could reveal his lies. His secrets. No. He wouldn't. And for that someone to be human? To be someone as curious about the ocean—and as well versed in its mysteries—as Sarah?

All I can hope for is that she's prepared for the storm waiting beyond the doors of the Trident Hall.

Sarah and I float in silence, the weight of the future pressing in. Her dress drifts around her legs, it's pale blue fabric nearly blending with the soft hues of the surrounding water. She keeps an arms length between us, with her arms stroking against the currents, but I can feel the anxiety between us as we move through the halls. I don’t speak. Neither does she. The silence says more than words ever could.

I nod to the Pearlguard, and the towering doors of the Trident Hall sweep open. The uproar of my nobles crash over us like a breaking wave.

fifteen

Orion

The throne room stretches before us, vast enough to humble even the most seasoned of leaders. A path of polished pearlstone cuts through its center, beginning at the entrance and leading to a broad set of steps that ascend to the royal dais. At its summit rests the throne, carved from gleaming white stone and accented with gold veined coral, while a smaller seat waits just to its left for my future queen. High above, marilume weaves throughout the vaulted ceiling, glowing in muted shades of teal and sapphire. The light gathers around the dais until the thrones are bathed in a warm, golden radiance.