When we were in position, I glanced along the row of Mer and a few Sirens. Many were wearing the indigo sheen of the Thálassian army, their tails gleaming in uniform brilliance. Others were nobles and royals, Porphura and Layla among them. The purple-haired mermaid wore her ponytail like mine, while Laya’s dark braids were knotted into a bun. Both gave me a friendly wave and a wink.
Pisceon swam up and down the line of pairs, his muscular brown arms folded over his torso, cobalt tail swishing. “These Drowned are not like anything you will have encountered. Mer blood fuels them.”
A hissing and muttering traveled through the group.
“Mer drained of blood, floating lifeless in the Atlantic, while darkness spreads from Port Royal like a sickness. The Drowned march in silver-stained groups, rallying more to Manannán’s cause and collecting our blood wherever possible.” Pisceon’s head was cocked in a beast-like tilt as he scanned us from end to end.
I glanced down at Layla and Porphura’s faces, now grave and devoid of color.
Pisceon continued swimming up and down the line. Glacies remained to the side, arms folded over her breastplate, pale eyes narrowed.
“Regardless of their strength, the Drowned are ignorant and brutish.” Pisceon’s eyes flicked to Edward. “We can outsmart them.”
“But how?” cried a young boy. He didn’t look older than sixteen in human years.
“Our powers may be stunted, but we can contain them. We Neptunus Mer can harness the currents, disorientating or trapping them in whirlpools of water. Thálassians’ magic is less practical in combat, but the salt you draw from the Mediterranean can be used to blind them momentarily.”
“Blind them?” A Mer somewhere down the line sniggered.
Pisceon swung to him. “Do not underestimate being prepared and resourceful, unless you want to end up drained and stamped with the Fisherman’s seal.” At this, he beckoned Glacies. “As you know, our friends in the Kingdom of Krumos in the Southern Ocean can draw steel from ice. When we visited them, we forged these.”
Glacies came forward. Her long pale hair streamed in the water as she held up a crossbow and quiver filled with barbed arrows. Their metal tips shone in the watery surroundings as if forged from ice.
“We have a bag of these. Krumos will forge more and bring them to the summit. Today, we will teach you how to shoot. These arrowheads will be difficult for the Drowned to remove.”
Glacies glided back, grabbed a woven seaweed bag full of weapons, and dumped them on the sand beside Pisceon.
“Porphura.” Pisceon nodded at the princess. “Have all your skilled weavers make nets from kelp and bring them to the next training session.”
She nodded.
He picked up the seaweed bag and began handing quivers and crossbows to each pair.
“Can you be trusted, Drowned boy?” He held the weapon against his chest when he reached Edward and me. “We shall see,” he said, handing it to me before moving on with a flick of his cobalt tail.
Glacies followed Pisceon, handing each of us a roughly-hewn metal breast plate.
“Remember, the goal is to hinder.” Pisceon floated before us, just above the sandy training ground. His chest was tensed as he gripped his ice-hewn arrow and fitted it to the bow. “Your target is the Drowned, slippery and savage.” Eyes flicking in Edward’s direction again. “They won’t fall from a single blow. You aim to pierce them with as many arrows as possible. I will demonstrate.”
A guilty lump formed in my throat, and I swallowed it down. I hadn’t mastered a single combat skill with Aranare; mostly, I’d sat pouting on the sidelines while he and Morgana clashed sticks.
Pisceon motioned Porphura forward and held a large dummy piece of sea sponge out beneath his arm. Porphura readied her bow, purple ponytail swirling, the hooked arrow left the weapon with a twang, shooting into the sponge between his chest and bicep.
“Excellent. One of you will act as the Drowned,” Pisceon said, glancing between us, “while the other shoots the weapon.”
My brows kicked up. “Isn’t this a bit dangerous?”
“All the more incentive for you to get it right.” Pisceon’s lip curled as his gaze whipped to me.
Edward and I helped each other into the heavy breastplates and positioned ourselves as Pisceon and Porphura had, Edward with the weapon and me holding the target. Maroon uniform billowing in the swell, Edward cocked his bow. I stiffened, heart pounding, fighting the urge to run as the arrow hurtled toward me, but it pierced the sponge beneath my arm.
“You’re good at this.” I blew out a relieved breath.
Edward nodded at me. “Your turn.”
I lifted the weapon to eye level, the breastplate was too large, and it creaked as I adjusted my stance, fingers fumbling for the trigger. My ankles knocked against each other, stirring up a cloud of sand as they shifted for leverage, and I toppled face-first onto the seabed.
“Again,” Pisceon yelled. His fists were clenched, and veins rippled up his forearm as he swam from pair to pair, surveying us.
