I turned back to him. “Wait. The box?”
“Keep it in your room. I will get the key from Inegar and find you.”
I dragged my gaze to Edward. He still had the string bag across his back, the silver box glinting inside it.
At the center of the wall stood an arched doorway, its stone frame intricately carved. Flanking it were elegant minarets, where two Mer guards watched from above, their saffron tails flickering in the current.
Aarna lifted a hand to one of the guards. He gave a curt nod but remained rigid, shoulders squared and spear crossed firmly over his chest.
As we passed under the intricate archway, the door creaked open, and the gardens appeared. Groomed ribbons of sand led the way to the palace, flanked by rows of carefully curated seaweed that rippled with the current. At the center, a glistening pool mirrored the palace’s grandeur in its still surface.
My breath hitched as I lifted my eyes from the palace’s reflection to the structure itself. No sea life clung to its walls, which were constructed from white marble. It shimmered in the water, its minarets, vast domes, and graceful arches rendered in a pale mother-of-pearl.
We had reached the Kingdom of Okeanós.
53
Aranare
Smack. The punching bag swayed with the force of my fists. I grunted as I threw in an uppercut. Sweat was dripping from my shirtless back and chest as I pounded the bag again and again.
Smack, smack, whack. I threw in a roundhouse kick.
The summit. That’s what was consuming my mind. The chain rattled as I threw in another uppercut. All the pompous pureblood Mer and some Siren houses would be there, houses that looked down on my family. On my clan.
Smack, smack, whack.
Then, of course, there washer. Skye. My heart quickened, heat rising to my cheeks as she swam into my thoughts—the idea of seeing her again, meeting her mahogany eyes once more. The Tidescar on my heart purred at the thought.
Smack, smack, whack.
I had so many burning questions. Questions that kept me awake night after night, tossing and turning or staring at the dark ceiling, since sheleft. How had she changed? How would she receive me? And most of all, could I face her without letting these all-consuming feelings take hold?
I grabbed my towel and dabbed the sweat from my brow and heaving abs. Then I reached for my water bottle, gulping down the cool liquid before squirting some onto my face, shaking my head as the droplets scattered.
My mind remained turbulent as I showered and tossed my gym bag into the back of my truck. Damp hair clung to my neck, leaving droplets on my jersey as I climbed into the driver’s seat.
I exhaled, my hands tapping anxiously at the wheel. My shoulder had healed where her blade had sliced through my flesh, but a pale scar remained, like moonlight slipping through a closed curtain. The disfigured flesh posed another question: would the mark linger, signifying the beginning of something, or would it always be a reminder of its end?
My parents’ house was a simple stone cottage at the end of Saltmarsh Row. As I pulled into the drive, the Ranger’s headlights wavered across the tightly packed gray bricks, casting them in flickering light.
Dad and I would be diving beneath the waves tonight for the summit, but first, we’d all share a meal as a family.
Mom turned from the bubbling pot on the stove and beamed as I pushed open the front door. A fire was crackling in the stone hearth, filling the cottage with a comforting warmth. Dad sat at the roughly hewn wooden table, his hair tied up in its usual topknot, peeling carrots.
My father was the epitome of salt of the earth. Though gifted with High Siren powers, he rarely used them, preferring to fish, mend what was broken across the family’s businesses, and spend time with those heloved. He adored my mortal mother, even as her hair turned silver and time etched itself into her face while he remained less touched by age.
He didn’t see any of that; he only saw her. There was no doubt he carried a Tidescar on his heart bearing her name, but in his case, it was something wondrous: a lifetime of love that still burned as if it were new, for someone who loved him just as fiercely. I could only hope to have something like that one day.
“Will Skye and Morgana be at the summit?” Mom asked, watching me with that all-knowing gaze only a mother could give, like she could see exactly what was churning in my mind.
At the sound of Skye’s name, the Tidescar scrawled across my heart throbbed, burning beneath my skin. “I hope they make it there.” I slid into the seat beside Dad and pulled some carrots toward me, setting to work chopping them.
“They’re strong girls.” Mom leaned over, scooping up the peeled carrots and dropping them into the pot.
“Aye.” I nodded in agreement.
She stirred the pot, then set the lid in place before sweeping over to sit beside Dad, slipping her fingers into his calloused hand. “Just try not to get too caught up in the politics of it all.”
