“You know the king well?” I ask. We’re in a long corridor filled with statues of Mer folk and strange monsters with fantastical shapes. Their marble shines with a cold gleam.
Marin looks back at me. “I should do. I am his son.”
I stop dead, stunned. “Oh my god,really?”
His eyes twinkle. “I would not make it up, Cary. To do so would be to invite instant death.”
“I’m s-so sorry, Your Majesty.” I direct a killing glance at Sigurd.You could have told me, I mouth.
Marin waves a careless hand. “To my friends, I am just Marin, and so I shall be with you.”
“But I won’t be here much longer.”
He and Sigurd exchange a lightning-fast glance, and Marin turns back to me. “Does friendship only survive on proximity, then?”
“Well, no.”
“Then I am your friend.”
The corridor branches out, and I hear a low, rumbling noise in the distance. It’s people talking, I realise with a sense of shock. Until now, it has been entirely quiet.
Marin grimaces. “Behold the court.” We turn the corner and come out in front of golden doors that are easily twelve feet high and carved with images of strange fish and symbols. Guards bar the way, carrying sharp-tipped spears that look quite lethal, but they part before Marin, bowing their heads low.
“My prince,” one breathes. He looks the eldest of the three—a stocky merman whose long, dark hair is touched with grey. “And Sigurd. It is well to see you, dragon.”
Sigurd grins and pats his back, sending the older merman back a few inches. “You look hale and hearty, Calder.”
Marin pats Calder’s shoulder affectionately. “What news?”
Calder clicks his tongue at the guards, and they move away. He turns back to Marin. “Not good, my prince. Your father has argued with the queen and is in sour humour.”
Marin grimaces. “Perfect timing as usual. And is Melusine’s family in there?”
“Yes, sire. They have been talking for a while.”
“I’ll expect to hear news of a tidal wave engulfing Padstow by noon, then,” Marin says glumly. He sighs and turns to Sigurd. “Ready?” he asks.
Sigurd nods and gestures for me to stand at his side. I look down, and the path has changed. It’s wider and embedded withjewels that sparkle blindingly. I put out my hand, and Sigurd squeezes it.
The huge golden doors swing slowly open, and we step inside. We find ourselves in a chamber with a roof so high I can’t see it. Stone walls line the expansive room, filled with portraits of fierce-looking merpeople, all wearing golden crowns set with jewels and carved with octopus tentacles. I spy Marin, the crown on his head almost smothered by his mass of black hair. The artist has perfectly caught his mischievous expression.
Torches light the room, their flames fierce and bold, but they gleam with a sickly green light that makes eerie shadows. The chamber is full of merpeople talking amongst themselves, their tails full of scales of different colours, and a quartet plays, the music scratchy and yet eerily hypnotic. The noise level is very loud, but it falls to a startled hush as we step forward. We pace down the path with Marin at our side, and I can feel the court’s gazes on me and hear the murmur of startled comments.
Trying to ignore the stares, I scan my surroundings. There are mullioned windows on the walls, and through them I can see a coral reef. The orange colour is psychedelic in the light, and I gasp in pleasure as I see a shoal of fish dart in and out of the coral.
Sigurd squeezes my hand in warning, and I look ahead of us. At the end of the room are two huge thrones made of gold. On the biggest one, a man lounges. He has thick, long, grey hair and a long, bushy beard that reaches his navel. His tail is bedazzled in diamonds, and he’s wearing the same crown as in the portraits. The jewels on it throw dazzling fire.
Two Mer are positioned next to the king. The man is thin with long, grey hair and a pinched expression. The woman is very beautiful with long, golden hair touched by silver. Her face has a patrician haughtiness, and her lips are drawn tight. The man is whispering into the king’s ear, his hands moving as hetalks, but the woman stares at us, her gaze never deviating as we draw near.
The king stirs as we stop a few feet away from him. He snaps his fingers, and the man moves away, temper flaring briefly in his eyes.
“My son,” the king says in a booming voice. “You arrive with guests and one of them is human.” His mouth twitches. “Unless you have brought me some supper.”
Sigurd’s hand tightens on mine, and I repress the instant urge to flee. The court titters and whispers until the king shouts, “Quiet!”
The silence is the loudest quiet I’ve ever heard. It almost pulsates with interest.
“It is good to see you, father,” Marin says quietly. He turns to us. “Behold, King Llyr, the Magnificent. King of the Ocean.”
