“He’ll be fine, Bahi,” my father says, gesturing for me to walk out. Luckily, the council members have all dispersed, leaving just the palace staff as they attend to their duties. I take in the white stone walls decorated with tapestries and paintings that depict important events and portraits of rulers from the past. Looking up to the large five-tiered golden chandelier lit with spelled flames in glass orbs three stories above me, I feel myself gettingemotionalover a damn light.
I wonder if that’s the thing about leaving the place you’ve called home your entire life—suddenly the colors of everything are sharper, the details more finely tuned. A slight panic that this may be the last time I’ll be here, in this room with these people, overtakes me, and there is nothing I can do to stop the tears that finally well in my eyes.
“Oh, my rose,” my mother says, drawing me in for a hug. “Remember who you are, who you’ve always been. Regardless of what happens over the next three months, you werealwaysworthy of this. You, Bahira Rose Daxel, may be the princess of the Mage Kingdom by title, but you are, and always will be, so much more than that.”
I hug my mother fiercely, my hand cupping the back of her head and all that curly dark brown hair that is twin to my own. “I love you, Mother.”
“I love you too.” She pulls back, wiping my fallen tears with her fingers and cradling my face as she kisses my brow. Time suspends when I turn to look at my father. He stares at me with such adoration, suchlove,that it leaves me feeling as if I might not be able to do this. Maybe I’m not truly the person he thinks I am. I lay my cheek on his chest, the scent of leather and cinnamon strong with my deep inhales while we embrace.
“The first mage in two hundred years to be invited—more or less—to visit another kingdom,” he ponders, pulling back from me and tilting his head to the side. “And I can think of no one else more worthy of going, my Bahira. Your name means ‘brilliant beauty,’ and you are those things. But it’s your resilience and your pursuit of knowledge that will make this journey one that will be recorded in history books across all of the kingdoms one day. I know it.” His hold is firm, love and strength pouring out of him, and I greedily accept it for myself.
Agreeing to meet them back outside at the carriage in ten minutes, I dart up the stairs to the third floor, passing a few guards on my way.
“Safe travels, Your Highness,” Barron, a longtime guard, says from his post at the top of the stairs.
“Thank you, Barron. You keep this place from falling apart until I get back, alright?” His warm chuckle draws a slight smile from me while my heart pounds to the beat of my steps as I walk the long hallway to my room. Muffled voices sound farther down the hall, coming through the door of Nox’s room. Curiosity briefly has me taking a step towards them, but when the voices grow more tense, I enter my room instead. Rifling through my closet first, I change into a fitted black top with shortened sleeves tucked into tailored dark blue trousers and sandals that tie around my ankles.
On the nightstand next to my bed is a pile of mage journals that I hadn’t finished reading through yet. I grab those as well asmy personal journal, bundling the collection into a leather pack I snagged from my closet. Giving my room one final scan, my eyes catch on something leaning against the wall.
“Why not,” I mutter to myself, walking over to my spear and sliding my hand down its shaft before grabbing it and heading out of the room. I don’t look back as I shut the door and make my way down to join my parents outside.
We stop at the library first so that I can grab another set of journals to bring, as I’m sure I will have ample reading time on the ship at the very least. Walking past Elisha with a wave of my hand, I quickly climb the stairs and make my way to the back shelves where the ancient journals of the king’s council are kept. Sliding a ladder that is attached to a track on the wall, I climb up to the top shelf and gather as many of those older journals as I can without tipping over.
When I have all I can carry, I carefully climb down and make my way to the exit. Elisha warns me that the magic that protects the journals may falter in the Shifter Kingdom, as it’s been a long while since they’ve tested such a thing. Promising to keep them in excellent condition, I say goodbye and head back out to the carriage, carefully laying them in my trunk and wrapping my clothing around them to ensure they stay safe. My parents cast me an amused look as I climb in before I shrug my shoulders and the carriage takes off.
My last stop before we go to the beach is my workshop. Opening the door to the place that has held so many failed attempts feels almost cathartic. Maybe because now, mixed in with all of those failures, there is a new discovery. With the intent of grabbing my magnifier, I walk to the back of the room. I am wrapping my hands gently around it when my attention is drawn to the counter that holds the glass bottles containing my experiments. I peer at the one that somehow had a delayed growing reaction. Perhaps I can still study it, and though I don’texactly know what else I’m expecting to find, an intuitive feeling says to bring it with me. Grabbing a cork, I close off the top of the bottle and then race back to the carriage, packing both items carefully into my trunk.
I allow myself to really take in the landscape of our kingdom one more time, knowing it will only be three months until I return yet still feeling like things might change before then. My parents talk quietly, their voices working to settle some of my anxiousness as I watch the trees pass by quickly through the window.
The briny scent of the ocean fills the air as the carriage comes to a stop, one of the mages who sat out front opening the door for us. I move first, grabbing my spear and my backpack, and exit the carriage with a jittery step. Looking out to the water’s edge, I can practicallyfeelKing Kai’s eyes on me though he is too far away to make out his features.I do not cower to anyone, let alone an arrogant, egotistical ass of a king. I will be strong at this moment. For my kingdom and the people in it, and for myself.Standing up tall, I slide my spear into the loops at the top of my back, the leaf-shaped tip reaching over my head. My father carries my trunk as he and my mother lead the way, walking through the remaining crowd still gathered at the beach. I’m nearly to the Spell, marked by its iridescent shimmering magic, when Daje calls out my name. He pushes his way through the throng of people, his eyes wide when they collide with mine.
“Bahira,” he says again as he stops right in front of me, his hand reaching out to grab my wrist. The emotional toll of the past hour feels even heavier when he speaks. “I’ll wait for you. I’ll wait, and when you come back, we can talk about what it means for us.” The words come out on a ragged breath, his fingers flexing against my skin. The familiarity of his stare, of his unwavering dedication, momentarily snaps the mask I’ve donned in half. The tip of my finger caresses the inside of hisown wrist, but where I imagine there should be heat or longing or desire ofsomesort, there is nothing.
“I’ll see you in three months,” I say, quickly turning around and walking through the Spell.
Chapter Four: Aria
Three hundred and forty-seven.
That’s how many things I have collected from the ocean floor. I clutch a small jeweled dagger in my hand, the silver metal glinting against my dark brown skin in the sunlight that streams in through a hole in the rock at the top of the cave. The green and purple gems catch the light and reflect tiny colorful flares—it’s how I had found the small weapon partially buried in the ocean floor’s sediment.
My small cave of keepsakes is tucked between an outcropping of ancient coral and rock, hardened and leached of color by time. I discovered this place by accident nearly two years ago, when my mother had made me take my first life.When she had forced me to—
I stop the thought before the memory can replay again in my mind. I lay the dagger on the naturally indented rock shelf next to a golden pin fashioned into the head of a roaring lion. Though the metal is rusted around the edges from its time in the water, the bright green of the emerald eyes still shines. My ruby-red braids float around me as I study my refuge, my one safe spot in the entire ocean because it is known only to me. Here, I don’t have to pretend to be anything harsher or scarier. I can honor those whose lives were cut short by my sisters and me. By my mother. By mykind.Though no one else—let alone the dead—will ever see it, I still feel a sense of duty to preserve their memory insomeway.
To appease some of the guilt I feel.
The water is warm thanks to the summer sun, and though siren skin is made to withstand all temperatures under the surface, this time of year is my favorite. The warmth caresses my soft curves when I swim as opposed to the more piercing waters of winter. Plus, the need to change into my mortal form means that going onto the beach in the winter is extremely unpleasant. I shiver merely from the thought.
I wish I could stay here all day, basking in the sense of security this hidden cavern gives me, but I am due back in the capital for aparty. Gritting my teeth, I cross a pouch made of deep blue woven eelgrass over my shoulder, its weight digging into my muscles, and slowly turn towards the sea kelp growing high from the ocean floor that hides the small second entrance to the cave. I prefer to enter and leave through this one, as it is less conspicuous than the hole in the rock far above. My hipsundulate, working my red to yellow to green gradient tail in smooth motions to keep me hovering in place while I tentatively peer through the kelp.
When I see that no other sirens are nearby, I dart out, traveling quickly to a valley between two smaller seamounts that reach up about halfway to the surface. I propel myself with the help of the current back towards home.
Home.
It is the only place I have ever known, yet I often wonder if perhaps I am not meant for this world. It feels like a volatile, dangerous place, and I’ve never once known what it is to fully relax here. I may have been raised in a palace of gorgeous coral and seashell, but my soul often feels like I am entering a battlefield with zero advantage every time I go near it. And if the palace is a battlefield, then the other sirens who reside there are split into two hugely unequal groups: the too-few allies and the many I have no chance of befriending.
A passing school of zanclus fish draws me out of my thoughts, and I dip my chin in thanks to their thin black and yellow striped bodies as they separate so I can swim up the middle of their grouping. While siren magic doesn’t give us the ability tospeakto the creatures of the sea, they do seem to know what our intentions are—good or bad. It is the way of all beings who inhabit the ocean, an instinctual understanding of not only the water we call home but the others who live here as well.
