Rydian
The hall opened like a bowl cut into the cavern’s side, every rounded edge rimmed in light. Floating orbs drifted in slow patterns above—glass bubbles with captured flame inside, swaying as if by some current. Tables curved in crescents, tier by tier, all pointed toward the high dais where Patamoi sat on a massive throne carved from coral and shell. He didn’t look at me, not directly. He didn’t have to. His guards did it for him.
I’d hoped our arrival would be met with more openness, but it appeared the years since my last visit hadn’t been enough to lessen his ire. And yet, Aurelia had stood with me.
I didn’t deserve that loyalty from her. Not after everything. But I would earn it starting now.
Our table stood alone on the first tier where everyone could watch us eat. Not an honor. A pen without bars.
Slade stopped beside me, his suit tailored perfectly, as was my own. Naliadne’s note that had accompanied the gifts made it clear that to refuse them would have been an insult. And we couldn’t afford any more of those. Besides, it was a rare sightto see my second looking so formal. I planned to never let him live it down.
Slade let out a low whistle. “The naiad know how to party. This place is huge. Why the lifted tiers?”
“It’s an arena,” I said. “They prefer their enemies where they can see them.”
“Not like we have anywhere to run.” He snorted. “Or swim.”
I didn’t let myself think too hard about that fact.
The floor was polished sea glass that gleamed in the lights. Music drifted out from farther inside—strings, low drums, something like a flute but deeper. The smell was salt and citrus and spiced fish. But most of my attention remained fixed on the naiad in attendance. Guests wore shimmery gowns and barely-there coverings made from seaweed silk. Servants wore simple garments in greens and blues that carried just a hint of algae.
“This way, Your Highness,” a female naiad in a blue-gray jacket murmured, leading the way.
Slade and I followed, noting the eyes that tracked us as we walked.
Daegel and Thorne were already at the table, pretending to look bored. Daegel had chosen the seat that kept his back to a pillar and his view on the floor; Thorne had done the same on the opposite side.
“Front row,” Thorne said, not bothering to hide the edge in his tone. “We must be special.”
“We are,” Daegel said. He gestured with his drink to the dais. “Special enough to be the only ones the king can easily toss a trident at if he feels like it.”
Slade took a chair beside Daegel with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll catch it for you, brother.”
“Appreciated,” Daegel said. “I’d rather not be a shish kebab before dessert.”
Around us, conversation dipped and shifted, and the hall turned its attention to the archway at my back. Aurelia stepped through with Amanti and Keres, and for a second, the room went soft around the edges.
Aurelia wore a green dress—deep, river-dark, cut to move like a second skin. It bared her shoulders and cut gracefully across her breasts, the fabric catching light along seams that reminded me of scales. Her hair was pulled back from her face, held fast by combs the color of sea pearls. It was the only jewelry she wore. No crown. No gems. She didn’t need it. Every inch of her commanded attention, and not just my own, if the hush in the room was any indication.
On her left, Keres wore deep ocean blue, laced up her sides like armor. Amanti’s suit was storm-gray, a cape rippling like schools of fish as she moved.
They looked like what they were: royalty fit for the naiads’ halls.
Aurelia’s gaze found mine. Something like fury flashed in her, and then her eyes lowered, and she strode into the room, shoulders back.
I stood as they reached us and pulled her chair out.
She sat, careful not to brush my arm. Up close, I could feel it—the dark, stubborn spark she carried. Fire banked, sitting in a river’s hall and refusing to be smothered.
She’d gone three days without so much as a tinge of smoke, and now her power felt close, burning beneath the surface of her skin. It made me wonder what had happened since we last spoke.
Keres and Amanti sat.
Drinks were served. Then food.
Still, with one eye on the king, we did not eat. Not when he’d yet to touch his own plate. Another reminder of who he was—and where we stood in the hierarchy of this place.Beneath the surface and beneath him. We’d eat when he told us to.
Slade muttered his opinions of that, and Keres shushed him.
