Page 93 of Stolen Magic of the Deep

“My apologies, Miss Sarah. I shouldn't have overstepped.” She draws back slowly, her posture softening almost reverently. “Sometimes I forget my place. Please forgive me.”

She leaves without another word and returns a few hours later to do another healing session, but no words are spoken. And that is how it continues for the remainder of the sea day.

thirty-seven

Sarah

Lady Naeryss continues her work over the next few days, giving me small commands every other session.

"Lift this."

"Bend here."

"Twist there."

Her voice is calm, her touch precise, and every movement she asks of me feels like a test—not of strength, but of patience.

The sessions have grown easier, though no less exhausting. Somewhere between her gentle orders and the quiet hum of magic that lingers in the water, I’ve grown used to her presence. We talk more now. Mostly about her. And I'm thankful she does most of the talking, because I need the distraction, anything to drive my thoughts away from the pain festering beneath my ribs.

She tells me of her childhood. What it was like growing up in a kingdom newly forged after the Great Sea War. Her home had been destroyed and her people scattered, until King Thaldrin opened the gates of Virellan to all who had nowhere left to go. Over time, she honed her gift until healing became both her art and her devotion. When she pledged her loyalty to the royal family, she was appointed noble and later named head speaker of Coravaluné.

Her story is one of survival wrapped in grace. Determination tempered by kindness.

And then, as if trusting me with something fragile, she tells me about the one she once loved. How it began with a glance. How they kissed for the first time beneath the shimmer of a coral archway, shared a shell to sleep in when sea storms grew wild, how he held her when she wept. And how, on the day they were to be bound, she stood waiting for arms that never came.

My heart cracks with every word she utters, the ache deepening with her smile—soft, wistful, and far too forgiving. Even after all that loss, she still radiates warmth, as though she refuses to let grief steal her light. Her position as a healer suits her. If only she could heal herself the way she heals everyone else.

We're near the end of the session when she speaks again, her hands still faintly aglow with magic as they hover over my skin. Her tone carries quiet pride, threaded with hope.

“I think one more session,” she says, the light dimming between her fingers, “then we can try getting you to shift back to your sea form, if you would like, Lady Sarah.”

“Can you just call me Sarah?” I ask, my tone softer than I intend.

“If that is what you would like, I may be able to.” A slow grin spreads across her face, her excitement barely contained, as though the small act of informality feels like a secret shared between us.

She finishes the last sweep of her magic over my ribs and leans back slightly, the faint shimmer fading from her palms. “The king is requesting to speak with you once you are stronger,” she says gently. “He stays while you sleep, but felt that you'd want your space during our sessions.”

My stomach tightens. I’m not ready for whatever conversation that might be. But I know I’m not done here, not truly. There’s still one more current I have to master before I can return home. Maybe that’s what he wants to discuss.

“If you're not ready,” Naeryss offers, “I can tell him I need a few more sessions before allowing him to add additional stress and undo all the progress you've made.” Her grin turns sly, like she enjoys defying her king in small ways.

“No,” I admit, shaking my head. “I won’t let you lie to your king.” Then, quieter, “But I also won’t face him like this.” Heat creeps up my neck as I glance down at myself. “Is there any way I can try shifting into my sea form now?”

The pain while shifting back isn't awful. Soreness unfurls through me, as if I've just finished swimming a marathon, but that's the worst it gets. I thought the pain was going to be more intense, that the strain of returning to my serpent form after just a few days would tear through every muscle. It never comes.

That doesn't mean the first few attempts aren't difficult, though. My magic resists me, sluggish after going dormant. Each shift takes more effort than the last, forcing me to push past the discomfort that lingers in my body until the vibrations of my magic finally respond to me.

So I try again.

And again.

Each attempt is easier and even though the throbbing remains, Naeryss reminds me it'll dissipate the more I work with it. The resistance lessens, little by little until it flows with me instead of against me.

However, I can't stop myself from stealing a glance at my tail once the full shift is complete. A half-circle scar, high along its length, catches my attention—discolored, stretching over much of my lower half. I feel no pain, but the sensation that spreads through me when my fingers trace it is different. The serrated mark pulls my skin taut, the tissue beneath hardened and rigid, resisting my touch as if it no longer belongs to me.

The ocean moves differently around me. Gentle, more accepting. Returning to this form almost feels right, more me than the body I’ve been stuck in this past week. As though this is the version I was always meant to return to.

Once I'm comfortable enough, mind steady, and heart ready for him, Naeryss fetches Orion.