“Hardly. But to know you is to want to kill you, and I think that is the kind of information I deserve to hear before I visit her home, don’t you?”
He laughed—a rough, low sound that made me forget for a moment that we were walking straight into mortal danger.
At least, the horses would be safe; at least, according to Daegel, who’d woven a shadow-shield around them before Thorne had whispered some kind of spell work in their ear that had sent them trotting for Frithhold.
“In that case,” Rydian said, “Her name is Cerynth, and she was just as warm and friendly the first time we met as she is today.”
Slade snorted.
Ahead, the tunnel sloped downward. The deeper we went, the more pressure I felt. I kept glancing up, half expectingcracks or leaks in the walls as the water pressed in, but the magic held.
Eventually, light glimmered ahead until we turned a corner—and the world opened.
The first glimpse of the naiad kingdom stole my breath.
The tunnel emptied into an expanse of light and color that shouldn’t have existed this far below the surface. A city suspended beneath the river, alive and glowing. Coral towers rose in spirals, latticed with pearlescent bridges. Bioluminescent plants pulsed soft light in hues of blue and pink.
Naiad swam through open arches and across glowing currents that flowed like streets, their long tails flashing green or blue or silver. Mer-children darted along, laughing as their tails flashed, reflecting the light off their scales.
Slade muttered a curse at my back. “Look alive,” he warned.
I scanned until I spotted the wide platform just ahead where a dozen naiad guards stood. Two legs had replaced each of their tails, and while their hair still dripped with water, the air around them was dry as they waited for us inside the tunnel’s walls. Their armor was made of shell and light, their spears and tridents gleaming like shards of the moon.
Cerynth appeared on the other side of the tunnel. Her bared skin was covered in scales, and her hair floated eerily around her face in the still water. With a small motion of her hand, she beckoned us toward the platform.
“Welcome Beneath,” she said. Her voice vibrated through the tunnel’s walls, only slightly muffled as it reached us on the other side. “The king is expecting you.”
We climbed up onto the platform, crowding the small space. Above, the roof of the cavern shimmered like an inverted lake reflecting sunlight.
Guards collected our weapons at the entryway. I setDorcha and Latha carefully on the offered stand, the hilts catching the light and setting the gemstones ablaze.
My palms itched to reclaim them the second I let go.
One by one, the others handed their weapons over. Keres was the least willing, scowling and glaring at the naiad soldier as she produced blade after hidden blade.
“Gods Above,” one of the soldiers muttered. “How many does she have?”
Keres shot him an acidic glare. “You better not lose a single one of these,” she warned.
“You’ll get them back when you leave,” he said.
Keres huffed.
We were escorted along a path made of translucent stone. Everywhere I looked, I saw motion: naiad gliding through the currents beside us, markets suspended in bubbles of air, the faint thrum of music that felt like a heartbeat vibrating up from my feet.
Rydian walked beside me, quiet but watchful. The naiad looked at him the way people look at approaching storms—fascinated, wary, waiting for lightning. It made me wonder what had happened during Rydian’s first visit here. Then again, if he’d wanted me to know, he would have already told me about it. Maybe I’d corner Slade later and force it out of him.
At the top of a steep staircase, the corridor widened into a great hall that felt both impossibly grand and ancient. The walls breathed light, ripples of blue moving through them like slow currents.
At the far end sat King Patamoi.
He was larger than any fae I’d met—broad-shouldered, skin the color of pale bronze, hair white as salt. No crown. He didn’t need one. The current itself circled him, ribbons of water that moved like living serpents, coiling and uncoiling around his throne. His head. His biceps. Like thewater itself was a living, breathing army of sentinels constantly on guard.
At Cerynth’s direction, the others halted several yards behind us. Keres and Slade, especially, looking more than fine with that. Rydian, Amanti, and I stepped forward, the object of Patamoi’s scrutiny.
When he looked at us, I understood why even Amanti’s shoulders squared. His eyes were the river itself—clear, endless, old, sharp as a tooth ready to rip out our throats.
“Amanti of the Aine,” he said. His voice wasn’t loud but filled the room, echoing off the cavern’s walls. “You owe me a life debt.”
