Finn paused, running his tongue over his teeth. “As you wish.”
Pisceon’s eyes sparkled as they traveled over my Siren form. “The more the merrier.”
“What of me?” Edward rose from where he’d been sitting beside me.
“I think I can speak for everyone when I say we’re all sick of carrying you, Drowned boy.” Pisceon cracked his neck.
I placed a hand on Edward’s arm. “Why don’t you return to Thálassa with the others? Use their library—see what you can uncover about the prophecy. Maybe there’s a way Morgana doesn’t have to die.”
I glanced at Finn, his face drawn and eyes off somewhere else. “And,” I said, a bit quieter. “See if you can find out where the rest of Poseidon’s Trinity might be. Whatever Finn’s done, I don’t want tosee him hand his heart over to the shadow of Kyano, and I don’t think Morgana would either.”
Edward grinned. “Seems a sound idea to me.”
“Then it’s settled.” Pisceon clapped his hands together. “We leave at the rise of the sun.”
I tossed restlessly in my seaweed cradle, a hand pressed to my forehead. Once or twice, the thought of seeking out Alexandros for a moment of distraction crossed my mind, but this wasn’t a time to run from my feelings. It was time to face them.
Something was wrong. I could sense it in my bones. Finn loved Morgana; of that, there was no doubt. I felt it in my Siren blood, and the dream he’d shown me had been real. But take a man who’s been tortured, forged into a weapon for his father, taught to bury his heart, and then give him one.
I sat up, shaking my head, the cradle swaying with the sudden movement. Yes, Finn loved Morgana—so much that he would lie to her, even sell his heart and soul to the shadows. But a love like that breeds foolish, reckless choices. And what else would he do? Burn cities of innocent people to the ground only to save her? Maybe.
He couldn’t be trusted.
His love for Morgana was raw magic—a wildfire, fierce and unpredictable. It burned hot and dangerous, capable of consuming everything in its path, even the one he loved most.
Swinging out of the hammock, I drifted to the floor, quickly scanning my surroundings. I hadn’t taken to wearing any weapons, but I did have my priestess of Agápe cloak, the crossbow, and the seaweed net from Pisceon.
I buckled the cloak around my throat, the light translucent materialtumbling over my shoulders, and drew the hood, bundling my net and bow under one arm.
I had to go alone.
The gardens were draped in watery midnight shades. As I slipped toward the gates, my kelp cloak made blending into the shadows easy. The heavy silence pressed against my chest, wrapping me in the familiar dread of being alone. There would be no distractions on this journey—no diversions to help me forget the creature I’d become. No Alexandros and his pleasures to drown out the image of Parker’s blood on my hands, his throat split wide. Nothing to shut out the shame and horror that churned inside me every time I looked at this new body.
Panic tore through me, accompanied by the urge to run back into the castle, curl up in bed beside Alexandros, or wait until morning and allow Finn and Pisceon to accompany me.
I screwed up my eyes.Your friend needs you.
Exhaling in a sea of bubbles, I continued through the dark gardens.
Your friend needs you.
“Where are you going?” Four orange-tailed guards stood before the intricate arched doorway between me and the dunes. They must have heightened their security since Morgana’s capture.
“I’m a priestess of Agápe.” I met their eyes and let a little bit of my magic radiate. “I am doing the work of the Siren Goddess.” I bowed my head, and to my surprise, the guards moved aside as though compelled, and the gate creaked open.
The desert of underwater dunes looked deep blue in the moonlit waters, and so much larger than it had been when I’d passed over them with the others, but I began my trek, breaststroking across the vast sandy wilderness below.
One stroke, then another. Just keep swimming.
We knew Manannán’s lair was in the sunken city of Port Royal—the Wild West of the ocean. I swallowed. But where exactly was that? The Pacific... No, I was sure I’d heard them say Atlantic.Damn it.I wished I’d paid more attention in geography.
My brows pinched as I sank to the seabed, eyes sweeping the terrain. The soft dunes had given way to towering rocky canyons, their sides worn into jagged, organic shapes where the ocean had gnawed at them. Sea life flitted in and out of crevices like ghosts.
Morgana said she had some kind of aquatic sense of direction. Perhaps I had that too. I reached for my magic. I seemed to be able to sense vague directions, but I couldn’t remember which ocean I was supposed to be heading to.
I spun around, taking in my surroundings, my hair swirling in the swell. The canyons loomed, high and misshapen, casting long shadows over the sandy floor below. I continued swimming through a narrow passage between them, the silence pressing around me. My cloak fluttered eerily around my shoulders, and I found my fingers twitching for the crossbow on my back.
Something skittered before me, and my pulse quickened, but when I peered into the darkness, I saw only the shadows at the base of the canyons. I exhaled and kept swimming. A light glowed momentarily before blinking out. A shiver ran down my spine as I squinted into the gloom.
