Page 66 of Stolen Magic of the Deep

Regaining my focus, Nyxalene presses on with instructions. She pairs me with Defymin, just like in our duel, and tells us what to start with. He is to strike hard enough to knock the weapons from my hands, and I'm to regain them before he closes in.

She’s just starting to explain how exactly I’m supposed to do that when my magic stirs.

That’s when I fully turn toward the doorway.

Orion floats there, tall and resolute. He refuses to look at me. Instead, his eyes remain fixed on Defymin. I keep staring, expecting him to shift his attention, but he doesn’t. His focus never wavers.

Nyxalene falls silent, and Defymin falters under the weight of Orion’s stare. He stiffens, then straightens, before letting his weapons drift slowly to the palace floors.

“Good tidings, your majesty. Wonderful holiday we're having,” he says, the words tripping over each other.

Tidings? Of course, that’s what they say down here, all currents and tides. But the word catches me off guard, tugging at memories of the surface. And then it hits me—I don’t know when, or if, I’ll celebrate any holidays up there again. If I miss Christmas, that also means I’ll miss my birthday—six weeks before.

I suddenly feel a pang of sorrow. This holiday, their celebration, is pushing me back to the reality of everything I'm missing at home. I set out on the expedition with Leo in August. I've already been in Virellan for well over two months, which means my birthday is coming up soon. But from what they’ve explained, time moves differently here. Could it be that these many weeks I’ve spent below the surface are only a short couple of weeks back home? Why does time have to be so confusing here?

“Why are you here, Defymin?” Orion’s voice cuts through the water, cold and commanding.

He moves to my side, and Defymin looks absolutely terrified. His tail trembles, curling inward as if trying to make itself smaller beneath Orion’s sheer presence. But why isn’t he afraid of me? I’m larger than him, too. I wrecked his fin. If anything, I should be the one haunting his nightmares.

“My—my apologies, your majesty,” Defymin says quickly. “The Tidewarden offered me quarters for the night so I wouldn’t have to fight the strong currents with my injured fin.”

Orion’s shoulders ease slightly, as if the reminder of Defymin’s injury softens his stance.

“Understood.” He turns to Nyxalene. “My apologies, Nyx. I must steal Sarah away. We are to meet with Velmira in the archives shortly.”

Nyxalene gives a small nod. Without another word, Orion lifts his arm, offering me the lead. Together, we leave the sparring chambers and slip into the long corridor, currents guiding us toward the looming, hidden entryway for the archives.

It’s been days since Orion and I touched on kingdom lore or history. Between the duel, my dagger ceremony, and the Wave Rite, lessons have slipped aside.

Now he’s chosen the archives as our meeting place. A chamber reserved only for the royal bloodline or those granted rare permission. Its wards make it one of the most secure places in the palace, hidden from prying ears and traitorous eyes.

Which tells me this conversation isn’t meant for anyone else to overhear. Probably about the sea mates thing . . . Which I'm not ready to discuss. He’s still a king, after all, sworn to protect his kingdom. And now, apparently, me. That note in the bottle made it clear enough, dragging my name into whatever shadows linger from his father’s past.

The archives open before us, vast and echoing with quiet weight. I drift toward the chaise—my spot. It’s becoming the one corner of this palace that feels like mine. A place of knowledge and whispered secrets, and honestly, a seat made to fit me perfectly.

Orion doesn’t sit.

No, he paces. His tail coils and uncoils through the currents, a restless rhythm that brushes against me with every subtle shift. A thread of worry weaves between us, sharp enough to notice, yet it doesn’t belong to me. It’s him.

He glances my way now and again, but says nothing.

A soft knock at the archive’s doorway signals Velmira’s arrival. By now, most of the people I’ve met in Virellan no longer send me spiraling with nerves, but that doesn’t mean the weight of their magic doesn’t still unsettle me.

She glides into the room, her hand resting lightly on Orion’s as he escorts her toward the study desk. With practiced ease, he helps her into the high-backed chair behind it.

Her attire is the same as always, shifting only in color as the occasion demands. From what Orion has told me, Velmira is the oldest of Virellan’s seers, one of the last who remain. She has lived since before the kingdom itself was founded. Her knowledge is what he relies on most.

As she settles into the chair she murmurs, “Your future has shifted, land-dweller.” Her voice is low and thrums against my eardrums. The words don’t fall directly toward me. Instead they drift, slipping past the desk, dissolving into the water like smoke thinning into air.

“Velmira,” Orion says, his tone deep and regal, “I need any information you can give on sea mates.”

From the other side of the desk, his gaze is fixed on Velmira. He doesn’t look at me. My chest tightens. Did I do something wrong? Have I upset him? Or did my little trick at the Wave Rite hit a nerve and cause his demeanor to start cracking?

“Mates of the sea are not rare,” Velmira admits, her voice lilting in that half-riddle cadence of hers, “records of their existence is rare, but their tether is a choice. The bond does not bind until one heart calls and the other answers.”

A shiver runs through me. That would explain why, after I accepted the magic inside me, Orion’s pull only grew stronger. As if the ocean itself was tugging me closer, the more I let myself belong to it . . . and to him.

Her milky-white eyes blink with anticipation, as if she is seeing the world from a different angle.