“You are mistaken.” Arion spins around again, the skin of his throat flushed with anger. His jaw clenched. Even his wings flex and beat forward when I step too close. I glare at the bristling feathers, daring them to try to hit me again. “Mortem was God of Life before a common mermaid wretch deceived him. There has never been agoddessin our pantheon.”
He spits the word like a curse.
I force another laugh, only now the sound is devoid of humor. “Four seas, four kingdoms, four gods—humans have split the world into a perfect square. Except the world isn’t perfect. It’sneverbeen perfect. There was one sea before humankind partitioned it with fucking walls, and there were five gods before one died. Vila was the Goddess of Life. And then your precious Mortem killed her.”
“That’s bullshit,” he snarls.
I lift my chin, refusing to back down. “No, it’s not. Mortem tried to seize control of Abysses. He tried to take everything Vila loved so he could control it—so he couldruinit. He waged war. He slaughtered merrow. He turned Abysses into a bloodstained relic of the past, and Vila had no other choice. When she called him to meet with her at the edge of her crumbling utopia, she deceived him, yes. She carved out the source of his power—the source of hisevil—because she thought it would save everyone. Mortem loved her to the point that ithurt her, warlock, and it destroyed the entire worldaround them. Can you… can you understand that?” My voice cracks with repressed pain, repressedmemories. The hideous darkness of an adamant castle edges my vision as I speak, and my hands tremble.
I swallow hard, forcing myself not to break. “Merrow tell stories of how Vila buried his heart in a cursed chest so he wouldn’t ever access the full of his abilities again. So he would be left with the Fathoms and only the Fathoms. But before he fell, he unleashed what terror he still could. He murdered the Goddess of Life and dragged her down with him.”
A curt shake of Arion’s head. “There is no evidence of that—”
“What good would it do for humankind to acknowledge the existence of a divine mermaid? What good would it do foryouto know your god is pure fucking evil? Vila has never served the human narrative, and so you bury your heads in the sand and act like you’re all spawned from the seed of a saint.”
His mouth snaps shut, even as his muscles coil tighter with—not rage anymore, but frustration. His eyes rove my face almost desperately, and I know that expression as well as I know myself. He’s searching for a way out.
Until I save his sorry ass from sudden death, however, we don’t have one.
“Your idea of history is the fabrication of demons,” he finally says, voice low and rough. “You would cast yourself heroes in the story, as villains always do.”
“Villains?”
“You know what those merrow did at the palace.”
“I know it was probably in retaliation for something you did first.”
My skin flushes, and my chest heaves. I glare at him. He glares at me. There is no compromise here, no understanding to be reached. His people are murderers, and my people—we’ve risen above being the victimstheycreated.
He shakes his head, shoving a hand through his hair with an exasperated growl as his wings flex again. “You are infuriating, and your problematic conspiracies aren’t helping.”
“Myconspiraciesare all you have, warlock.”
This idea seems to unsettle him more than the rest, and heleans against a cracked banister. Dragging a hand down his face, he pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales. “Yes,” he finally says, startling me. “They are. Whatever else is true, I can’t go back to Mortia, and you don’t stand a chance of moving through any kingdom with that fucking hair.”
I plant a hand on my hip. “What’s wrong with my hair?”
He glances at me through his periphery. “It’s pink.”
“And beautiful.”
“It’spink.” He repeats the word as if it alone is enough to wrench him into the Fathoms. “You’ll be spotted a mile away. Our lives are tied. And…” He exhales again, this time even heavier. His gaze lifts back to mine. “I need that heart, Zephyra.Weneed it. With it, I could access the magic of a god. I could break this damned bond and sever the debt between us. We would both be free.”
My eyes narrow. A convenient solution. Forhim. And when something sounds too good to be true, it usually is. “How do you know that’ll work?”
“The elders who taught us. It was part of our lessons, learning about Mortem before we crafted ourselves in his image. Our wings. Our eyes. Our stature.” He gestures to each respective part of himself, and it’s no wonder I despise him so much. He is an echo of a divine murderer. “We learned where magic comes from—warlock teachings are said to have been passed down by Mortem himself. We access it through a beating representation of our souls. Ourhearts. Mortem’s heart isn’t just a story, Zephyra. If your people have heard of it too—regardless of the differences in our tales—that means some part of itmustbe real.”
I stare at him.
I could break this damned bond and sever the debt between us. We would both be free.
Of course we have to break the bond, but that word—free—silences me. It rushes through my veins like salt and silt and blood.Freedoesn’t just mean escaping Arion.Freemeans escaping the sorcerer too. And maybe… maybe with this heart and Arion’s warlock magic, there could be a chance. A chance to leave him behind. Forever. A chance to move on.
I swallow hard, and a future flashes before my eyes that I’ve never been able to consider. Not hiding in the deep forest of some human kingdom, but me, my tail, my scales. Back in the ocean. The Syl. Swimming and sunning and seeing my family again.
I shake my head, even as hope clenches my heart between desperate fingers. “We’re chasing a dream.”
“Do you have a better idea?”
