Page 86 of Stolen Magic of the Deep

At the base of the rocks we rest on, several cold seeps dot the sea floor. Small cracks and openings in the sediment release streams of bubbles in all sizes, some no larger than grains of sand, others large enough to hold my attention as they drift upward. They rise through the water, occasionally popping before reaching the top of the dug-out cave we relax inside of.

The cave is no bigger than a few feet on each side and tall enough to accommodate my size. Algae coats the surface of the cave, casting the space in a slightly darker shade than I'd like, though it isn't much of an issue given my ability to see better in the dark.

“You promise it won’t hurt?” I ask, skeptical of the mysterious gas. After years of studying, the only known gases below the surface are CO2, air, and methane, but the latter is definitely not safe for consumption.

“If it were not safe, I would not be on my third intake,” she says confidently. “Orion and I used to come here all the time, but after the duties of being king took over, he hasn’t come to enjoy this with me in a while.”

“You know this is the equivalent of getting high where I’m from?” I smirk at her, realizing she’s the general of this kingdom, partaking in a leisure activity . . . not exactly professional in my book.

“Whatever it is, I do it sometimes to release the stress of being second in command all the time. I didn't choose this life. It was forced upon me.”

I wish I understood that last statement. An unspoken secret she has yet to reveal. I understand not wanting to share it, though. And with that shared understanding, I push past my hesitation as a new bubble forms at the base of our tails. It rises to my eyeline, and I take a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds like she did before and releasing it when my chest starts burning.

Within seconds, my head feels lighter, and the constant chatter in my mind fades. When I glance at Nyxalene, something feels off . . . disorienting. I laugh. Over and over again. Her face blurs, her eyes no longer quite matching.

“Careful, land-dweller, this is your first time,” she says, but bursts into laughter the moment she finishes her warning.

I don’t know when she became comfortable enough to bring me here, or to laugh with me, but I don’t take it for granted. And when I wake the next morning, unsure of everything we talked about, I hold onto one thing—I’m certain we’ve grown closer . . . even if our time together may be coming to an end.

thirty-four

Orion

Virellan greets me the same way every time. A rush of peace and quiet strength moves through me the moment I cross the barrier. At the palace gate, I'm met by bowed heads and the muffled thud of tridents striking the marble floors. Nyxalene waits inside the entryway. Her silk-black hair drifts behind her like shadowed ribbons, her posture nothing short of precise and composed.

I glide through the corridor, the hush of the water deep around us as I swim past her, heading straight for my chambers. Her strokes lengthen as she follows, determined not to fall behind.

“Your majesty,” she presses, her tone carrying restrained urgency. “You've been gone too long.”

My steady pace halts. I turn to her, confusion threading through my thoughts, pulling my brows low.

“Clarify your implications, General.” The words leave me, more command than inquiry. Her statement suggests that my absence has extended far beyond what I intended.

Her stance shifts. She glances toward the warriors stationed along the hall before lowering her voice to a whisper. “Orion, it's been seventeen sea days.”

Seventeen sea days? My mind blanks completely as I consider what this could mean.

I replay the journey in my thoughts. The weight of travel lifts slightly, but exhaustion presses into every muscle. My tail drags through the currents, my arms ache from the effort to return, yet my body isn't to blame. Each movement carries the remnants of the emotions I drew from the ruins—anger, regret, sorrow, triumph. My mind hums with defeat, more from what I endured emotionally than physically.

The ruins themselves had felt heavier upon arrival, though I had attributed it to the events that took place there. That trauma lingered, pressing on me even on the return, folding into every stroke. I didn't question it. I never question fatigue after a journey like this; it feels natural, expected.

By the time I reached the gates of Virellan, my body begged for rest, my chest tight from the burdens carried home. Everything felt right, but seventeen sea days doesn't add up. I had prepared for six, based on how long my warrior’s first journey took. The trip was scheduled appropriately, the effort matched the plan—and still the numbers do not.

“Great, another conundrum to overcome,” I mutter, irritation lacing my tone.

I choose to move away from the puzzle at hand and focus on what matters. “I want a status report on the finlings in Current Two. Given my newfound prolonged absence, I need to know how they're doing.”

Nyxalene drifts back slightly, giving me and the guards a bit of space. Without a word, she turns and heads toward the royal quarters. I follow her lead, her movements slowing as we approach Sarah’s room. Her motions are careful, almost hesitant.

Nyxalene stops short of Sarah’s doorway. She cannot shapeshift as I can, so she merely gestures at the entrance, giving me a slight nod, before slipping away down the corridor.

My gaze flicks toward my own doors. My resting place is so close, yet entirely out of reach, for now.

I catch the subtle drop of her shoulders as she rounds the corner, though I cannot tell whether it stems from relief that I've returned or that she no longer has to bear the weight of ruling in my stead. Nyxalene was never trained for the crown. She was shaped for battle.

I enter Sarah’s chambers without announcing myself. The bed is unmade, and small trinkets scatter the space, her daggers among them, carelessly left across the coral dresser. All signs point to her attendance, but her presence is nowhere to be found.

Shifting to human form, I sink onto the edge of her bed after grabbing the torn shorts from my shark hide satchel and placing them on. I trace the coral frame’s curves and twists, letting the quiet wrap around me as time passes.