Page 5 of Taken By the Crab King of Atlantis

“Show me.” I take her hand and look at the tiny sliver of wood embedded under her skin.

“Brave girl,” Kilandra adds with a small smile, and Marina’s lips quiver as I pull at the splinter with careful fingers. It’s quick work, and I kiss her fingers before I let go.

I’m rewarded with a beaming smile, pain quickly forgotten. “Thanks Grandpa!” She takes a pencil from a pencil-holder on my desk and opens my top drawer. She sees what’s in it and turns to me, grinning. I ignore her and rifle through the drawer to pull out a notebook and pack of colored pencils. She takes them, wiggles off my lap and retreats to her own desk in the corner.

“This desk needs repairing,” I say to Kilandra, and run a hand over the edge of my desk where Marina hurt herself.

“Well, it was imported in 1953,” Kilandra says dryly. “You know, furniture can be replaced if we trade with the surface.”

I suppress a wave of irritation. “We are not opening trade with the surface. Besides, we have nothing to trade. We are and always have been a sacred city.” I rub at a twinge of pain in my right shoulder. The royal physician says it’s caused by stress-induced muscle tension. Gods are not supposed to ache so much.

“Atlantis has many wonders. Deep-sea produce and cultural exports.”

“Tourism,” I say, my mouth twisting in distaste. “We have been fine as we have been for the past two hundred years.”

“Without trade, the city will not survive, my lord.”

“There will be no trade!” I slam a hand on the desk. Marina looks up at me with wide eyes. I settle back, guilt sinking into my stomach. “I know you mean well, Kilandra, but trade won’t fix what’s wrong with the city. The city will be well once the sacrifice is done.”

Kilandra bows, her face composed. “I’m sure the sacrifice will help smooth things over.” She’s too young to believe in the sacrifice's magic. She believes in commerce and the modern age. It makes me feel old. “As you have chosen someone who is not from the city or of any underwater people, many parties will be unhappy.”

“I have considered that. I’ve asked the Zodiac Association to amend the contract. It now includes two nights. We shall hold a ball.”

She raises an eyebrow. I hate formal events. “Perhaps the sacrifice is magical after all.” Her tone is deceptively neutral. “Of course Marina will have to be at formal events also, as your only living kin.” Her voice is light, but her gaze is sharp.

My heart squeezes in my chest, but I ignore it as I raise my gaze to meet hers. “Naturally.”

“I’m glad you’ve become more comfortable with having her in public.”

“It is time.” My voice is gravelly with distaste.

“I’ll make arrangements.” She bows. “Marina, I’m passing the kitchen. Would you like to see if they have cupcakes?”

Marina’s eyes perk up, and she stands to take Kilandra’s hand after a glance at me, leaving her notebook and pencils on her table.

After she’s gone, I open my top desk drawer and pull out the single piece of paper resting on top — the first page of the dark-haired girl’s profile, with her picture. There are many more pages, but I don’t need them. I have them memorized.

It’s hard to explain how the right sacrifice is chosen. It’s a feeling, a humming under the skin. A calm that settles over me when I look at her picture in particular. The feeling that her eyes follow me around the room, even when the image is put away. The urge to meet her, to get to know her, to keep the image of her close.

But I’ve felt this before. I put Yen’s image back in the drawer and pick up the shell next to my photo frame, toying with the smooth surface while I stare at the image of my granddaughter. I stare for so long my eyes lose focus and I see only my reflection in the glass.

My god’s body doesn’t age, and my long dark hair doesn’t tangle, but I see the years on me still. A permanent crease sits between my furrowed eyebrows, and frown lines mar my once ageless face. My antennae droop sadly.

“You look like shit, little brother,” a voice says. I close my eyes and take a deep breath before looking up at my eldest brother.

He sits facing my desk, one leg crossed over the other, one hoof dangling in the air.

His yellow eyes twinkle with amusement, ram’s horns curled in tight spirals on either side of his animal head. A glass of scotch rests in his hand. He’s naked, and his body is strong and muscular like mine. He emanates power, and I wonder if I still have that effect on the mortals around me. Kilandra isn’t a good measure.

“I’m over 200 years old, Aries. I’m allowed to look tired. Don’t suppose you brought me a drink too?” I avert my gaze from his body. It’s been a long time since I was exposed to the casual nudity of my kind.

He clicks his fingers, and a glass of scotch appears before me. “You stayed in this world for all this time, then? Is that why you’re dressed like an accountant?” He cocks an eyebrow and raises his glass to me.

I ignore his first question. “My advisor tells me clothing makes people feel comfortable.” I lift my glass and drink, savoring the burn. I wish alcohol were more effective on our kind.

“Why would you want people to feel comfortable?”

“Why are you here, Aries?”