“You may be louder but I promise I am quicker,” Yemi said coolly.
Helene hesitated, moving herself backward away from the spear until she was pressed against her vanity’s mirror.
“What is the meaning of this?” she hissed.
“You have my ships. Why?” Yemi demanded.
“I have no—”
“Six Ixian ships,” Yemi clarified testily. She had no time for lies. “Three merchant vessels and three from my naval fleet lie in a trench beneath your city, guarded by your Hollow and some behemoth. A man who until recently had been human—and one of mycommanders—was murdered and devoured in these waters. I will have justice.”
Helene scowled, the royal rigidity returning to her spine. “Have you lost your mind? Struck your little head on a rock somepla—”
“So a thief first and now a liar?” Yemi scoffed.
“Howdare—”
“Her Majesty requires tribute in exchange for honesty, too, I take it? So be it.” She ripped the medallion from her neck and tossed it on its broken string into the space between them. In the instant Helene snatched it away, the room pulsed. Just once, like the concussive aftermath of a distant explosion. Yemi frowned, startled, and observed the sway of objects around them as if to confirm she hadn’t just imagined it.
Helene appeared to recoil as she inspected the medallion, her lips tight, lashes batting in confusion until her eyes drew wide and in some way… soft. She was different.
She sank to the floor, gazing longingly at the token as if it were some recovered treasure.
Yemi began again, only vaguely interested in why the queen looked so small now.
“Now I’ve seen enough of the city to know you barely have anyone left to rule,” Yemi mused. “The Hollow have devoured them, too, or they’ve left you for better. The Hollow seem likely—if feral—replacements in your desperation. Your military’s left to legend. There’s no force even here for you to offer, which would have been an acceptable reason to dismiss me before, even if it’s embarrassing. The piece I can’t fit is the question ofwhy. Why any ships at all, really, but especially mine?”
Helene flicked her eyes in Yemi’s direction as if seeing her for the first time.
“Where did you get this?” she asked in a singular voice, gentle and free of the menace of her divine authority.
“A witch in my family’s employ.”
“Selah.” The name came out low and quiet. Wistful, even.
“Yes. I’ve heard you’re familiar with her.”
“Like the beating of my own heart.” She caressed the embossed surface. “I lost her. My sister first, both of them to treason. I have only ever loved traitors. The only assurance I’ve had that she still lives is that I haven’t died. I never thought I’d get to hold her again. Not with these hands. She promised…” She paused, marveling at her own fingers, seemingly having missed them, too, and the fog flickered over her eyes again. “She—she promised…” she repeated, her voice rising in panic.
“Who promised?” Yemi asked, concerned now. “Promised what?”
Helene seemed startled to find her there and squinted at her in surprise. “Ari?” she said breathlessly.
“What?” Yemi frowned. Was the Mer Queen in some kind of fugue state? Was the medallion at fault?
Helene shook her head, her brow furrowing and lips going tight again. “No. Who are you?”
“What is this?” Yemi backed away.
The room pulsed again, this time in reverse, pulling Yemi toward the queen instead of pushing her away. Helene screamed and released the medallion to clutch her own head with both hands. Her multitude of voices returned, and Yemi felt like twelve people were shrieking in pain in her ears.
“No! Release me. I’ve paid! Unhand me!”
Another pulse. Yemi looked around nervously. She was sure there were only seconds left to get answers before the guards heard their queen.
“You,” Helene growled, dragging herself upright. “She’s in you, isn’t she?She sent you.You’ve lost your throne and have come for mine.”
Yemi backed away. “What? No, I—”
