No. Not after the lies. Not after what they’d stolen from me. And yet—
Only they held answers. Who I was.WhatI was. If poachers gutted them before I could demand those truths, then I would never know.
The chamber simmered with discord, voices colliding like waves against stone. I lingered in the archway’s shadow, careful to stay unseen.
“They are not to be trusted,” Veyrion’s voice cut through the chaos. “The Tidekeepers cloak neglect in ritual and arrogance in law. I will not watch anymore innocents suffer for it.”
Silence followed—taut and wary. Even the fire seemed hesitant in its crackle.
His words caught on something inside me, a thread I hadn’t expected. Veyrion—who had threatened and bargained, cornered me until I’d bared teeth—speaking with such fierce certainty about protecting those who couldn’t protect themselves. It shouldn’t have mattered. It shouldn’t have moved me. It was easier when I thought he was only monstrous. Easier when I had nothing to question but myself.
I pressed my forehead to the cold stone wall, pulse thundering in my ears. I didn’t want to go back—not yet.
What if I’m not ready?I didn’t want to face Meris—not after the betrayal, not after the hollow comfort of her lies. The thought of looking into her eyes again, of hearing her voice, made me nauseous. I’d wanted to have all the pieces of the crescent before I confronted them—undeniable proof of what they’d taken, and no space left for them to deny it.
Another voice, deep and rough, spoke over the table. “And the poachers are already moving in. They’re circling the reefs, dragging nets. They can sense the weakness.”
“Merfolk have already gone missing,” a third voice added, dread weighted in every syllable.
My stomach lurched. Faces flickered through my mind—neighbors, friends, children I’d known in passing. Maliea rose there too—soft and unguarded, eyes bright as tidepools. And behind her, all the others who would be caught alongside her, tangled and helpless.
The winter solstice had just passed. I could picture it as clearly as if I were there—garlands of kelp strung through the arches, shells chiming in the currents, voices lifted in song as newborns were welcomed into the sea. Every year, the solstice brought new life—fragile, untested. So many babes would have been born in the last few tides, their scales still soft, their songs barely begun. What chance would they have against poachers’ nets? Against hooks, Silver Salt, and barbed steel? I couldn’t abandon them. Even if it meant walking back into the very lies I’d tried to escape. The realization hollowed me. I pressed closer to the door, desperate, leaning into the shadows could pull me nearer to the sea.
Eira slammed her hand on the table. The crack of wood echoed through the chamber.
“We cannot afford to waste time bickering over blame,” she snapped. “Whether it’s the Tidekeepers’ neglect or something else, the Veil is failing. Thalassia is unguarded for the first time in centuries. Without the Veil, the reefs become open water—visible, reachable, harvestable.”
“We do not have the forces,” someone said.
Silence fell—heavy and grim. It was too much. There was no time to sit around a table arguing over maps and blame, deciding who should act and when. The Veil was failingnow. Every hour wasted here was another net cast. Another child dragged screaming from the reefs. Thalassia was more vulnerable than ever. I had to go back. Quickly.
But how? Swimming would take too long. Even if I pushed until my fins tore, I’d never cross the distance in time. And the waters surrounding Ymirskald were brutal—ice-laden currents that would sap my strength and freeze me solid before I made it beyond the fjords.
No. I needed another way.
My thoughts snagged—unbidden—on sails, rigging, the crack of canvas in the wind. I’d spent enough time on the Black Marrowto learn a ship’s rhythm. To watch how a crew moved like one body—every knot, every line, every turn of the wheel keeping her alive.
I had never set sails myself. Never took the helm. But I had watched.
Learned. Absorbed. Now I would have to make do.
Veyrion’s fleet sat moored at the port—Covenant ships feared across the seas, serpent prows cutting the fog, sails marked with the wolf sigil of his house.
I could steal one. No—borrowone. The thought made my pulse thunder, equal parts terror and exhilaration. A single woman, doing what usually took dozens.
Alaric would say it was too dangerous. He always had.
Stay back. Don’t risk it. Don’t—
His words were meant as comfort—safety—But they caged me tighter than any bars.
And Veyrion? Infuriatingly calm, glacier-eyed, patient to the point of cruelty—he’d tilt his head and tell me to wait. To trust his timing. His control. Would he still be calm if I stole one of his ships? If I took a serpent-prowed Covenant vessel right out from under him and sailed it back to the Veil?
The thought almost made me smile.
What other choice did I have?
My hands trembled. What if I failed? What if the sails tangled, the ropes shredded my palms, the ship refused to answer? What if I sank before I’d even left the fjords?
