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Lirana lets out a hiss. “The mate challenge is happening whether or not you want it. You can’t risk swimming against the Seamother’s currents this time.” She pauses, and a shy grin spreads over her face. “I saw one of them arrive early this morning. He has muscle enough to strangle a dragon with his bare hands.”
“How appealing.” I sigh, biting back another sharp response. This day has seen enough atrocities and hardships. I don’t want to add a quarrel with my oldest friend. Still, I can’t help the jealousy that flashes through me. Lirana is an honored warrior in the Atathari tribe, but she isn’t a chieftain’s daughter and therefore doesn’t have to marry for power or political alliance. If she ever takes a mate, it will be for love.
“Scoff if you want. I only hope you favor a strong contender.” Lirana’s voice turns sadder. “Find a mate who will help us sink King Falamar in the deepest trench in the sea.”
Her words conjure unsettling images in my mind. More drowning, more death. How much blood can the sea hold?
“It’s not like you to wish death on anyone, even the elven king,” I say. That is an understatement. Once Lirana sought to live in peace with the elves, just as I did. But those days are long gone, destroyed when Raith Dalzana persuaded the noble elven houses to turn against the tuath tribes. Though Raith is long gone, the shadows of his treachery and malice still loom large over the peoples of Tandith.
“I don’t truly wish for his death,” Lirana says quietly. “But what else could end this war?”
I have no answer. No one does.
That’s why my mother wants me to be mated. If I join with a powerful warrior, our combined magic could give the tribe a new advantage over the elves. But I pity any man who would bind his soul with mine, blood-soaked as I am.
Of course, if my mother has her way, my mate will have a mind and body made for war. The thought sends a shudder of revulsion through me. Such a union would be disastrous. Because of the intensity of the soul bond that forms between mated tuath, couples fare best when they have complimentary traits. If I join with a man who is as steeped in warfare as I am, I fear we will spur each other on to more bloodshed until we forget even the memory of peace.
Maybe I shouldn’t pity my future mate, whoever he ends up being. Maybe I should fear for myself and my people. What will we become if I join with the sort of battle-hungry chieftain that would win my mother’s approval?
“I will favor the man who is best for our people.” It’s the only answer I can give my friend. A dark foreboding in my heart tells me that my mother and I will have very different ideas on who is best.
Lirana gives a satisfied nod, then closes her eyes and lets me pull her through the water without another word. The sea feels endless when the waters are so clouded. The swim between the northern shore and the underwater ridge usually takes less than an hour, but I can’t tell how time is passing. We speed on and on, over beds of kelp and outlying ridges of volcanic stone.
My thoughts swirl like currents in the deep. I try to set aside the fears, reminding myself that I can’t judge these men until I meet them tonight. Perhaps I’m wrong, and the Creator will send me a mate who is good and noble as well as powerful. Perhaps together we will find a way to end the war.
A fragment of melody threads through my mind along with these feeble hopes, conjuring a sense of peace that is strange and welcome after the turmoil of this day. The familiar notes are gentle and lilting. They wrap around my thoughts like a blanket. The song carries me back to the time I first heard it, while I was scouting along the western shore alone on a cloudless winter night.
I linger in the memory. I’ve never seen the elf who comes down to the shore and sings over the waters on moonlit nights. He’s little more than a fantasy, but his songs whisper forbidden hopes to my heart. Sometimes I even dare to believe he dreams of peace as I do.
“I’ve never heard that song before.” Lirana’s voice pulls me from my musings.
I don’t realize I’ve been humming aloud until the notes catch in my throat. Alarm flares within me, and I stifle the melody. “It’s nothing,” I say quickly. “Just a refrain I heard somewhere.”
“It sounded like elven music.”
I press my lips together, hoping she won’t push for a reply. I’ve never told anyone about the dream-singer—not even Lirana. If the Seamother were to learn I’ve been venturing close to shore to listen to the song of an elf, she would hunt the singer down and put a spear through his heart.
The dream-singer will always be just that—a dream. At least I have the memory of his songs to comfort me at times such as this.
We swim on in silence. It seems like an eternity before the gleam of rune-light cuts through the darkness and I see the towering walls of the palace loom before me.
On any other night, the palace would be mostly dark so as not to draw the attention of elven dragon riders who might pass overhead. Tonight, though, it blazes with light. Strings of small, illuminated orbs are strung along every contour of the massive structure, sparkling white and green and blue.
I pause for a moment to take it in. It has been a long time since I had a chance to appreciate the underwater palace in its full glory. The enormous structure is a marvel, carved long ago from a mountain of volcanic rock. The dark gray stone rises from the sea floor in towering hexagonal columns fused together into sturdy walls. At its highest points, the palace stands hundreds of feet above the sea floor so that the uppermost towers breach the surface of the water.
Inside is a vast maze of corridors and chambers painstakingly hollowed out by the Atathari over centuries. The walls, both outside the palace and within, bear the marks of the artistry our tribe was known for before our lives were consumed with war. Every door and window frame is studded with pearls and bits of reflective glass that sparkle in the rune-light. Bas-relief carvings depicting scenes from our history adorn nearly every vertical surface.
It is the epicenter of our culture, and it has been my home for most of my life. It was once a place of light and music and dancing, where the Atathari would hold festivals and host foreign visitors. But when King Falamar and his soldiers descended on us five years ago, the palace became too great a target. Now we keep the lights dim and only the lower levels are occupied.
Tonight, however, I feel I’ve stepped into the past. The entire palace is alive with voices and movement. The massive central gates stand open, flanked on either side by a dozen spear-wielding warriors decked in polished plates of abalone armor.
Everywhere I look, clusters of people mill about the open expanse of water in front of the gates. Each group wears the traditional garments of a different tribe, from the sealskin cloaks of the northern Fethani to the golden shell headdresses of the equatorial Morda. There are scores of sea-dwelling tribes—or merroc, as we call ourselves—throughout the oceans of the world. Nearly all of them swear fealty to the Seamother because of the strength of her magic, which means they also have a vested interest in my choice of mate.
The beautiful sight sets my heart pounding with anxiety. If dragon riders venture out to sea tonight, the palace will be an easy target for their attacks. If that happens, it won’t only be my tribe who suffers, but everyone who has journeyed here to witness my mate challenge.
“We’re inviting disaster,” I mutter as we approach the open gates. “I told Mother we should have gathered on one of the outer islands instead.”
Lirana shakes her head, giving a smile that is taut with pain. “You know the Seamother would never break tradition by holding a formal gathering somewhere other than the palace.”
