Page 45

That has never been the part that frightens me.

“Yes, Móðir, I’m aware,” I rumble back. “But she loves her town. I won’t force her to abandon it just to satisfy my own kraken greed.”

Solveig descends farther into the trench, crowding the space between us while I keep one tentacle locked around the ridge. The current shifts with every movement of her limbs, but I refuse to give her the satisfaction of seeing me retreat.

“This is the most logical outcome, Móðir. Valerie has a life on the surface, and I have no right to take it from her.”

“You hide behind your logic, Sigurd.” Solveig moves slowly around me, keeping me in her sight. “You claim to protect her by staying away.”

I turn enough to follow her movement, irritation tightening through every limb. “I give her freedom. I refuse to trap a surface-dweller in the abyss.”

Solveig comes to a stop directly in front of me. For several seconds, the only movement between us is the slow drift of silt through the water.

“You give her silence.”

The words land differently from the blows. I stare at my mother, but before I can find an answer, she continues.

“You pass silent judgment on a woman who bested me in my own hall. You decide what she can endure, what she should want, and where she belongs without allowing her a word in the matter.” Solveig’s gaze remains fixed on mine. “Have you actually asked the human if she wishes to leave?”

The current rushes past my ear slits while my grip on the rock slowly loosens. Every argument I have used for the past few weeks suddenly sounds different when she says it aloud.

I never asked Valerie.

Valerie had told me the day she’d awakened that she wanted to go home. But things had changed since then. I could see it in her eyes, in the way she’d tried to reach for me when I’d given her the flower.

“We haven’t spoken about it,” I admit. “Not for a while.”

“Then stop sulking in the trench,” my mother says. “And go talk to your mate.”

She turns and swims toward the upper trench, her immense shape gradually disappearing into the darkness. I remain anchored to the ridge for several moments after she is gone. I listen to the current move through the rocks while her words continue to follow me.

The ache in my flank is easy enough to ignore. The possibility that my mother is right is considerably harder.

The fortress feels almost unnaturally quiet this morning. I walk through the residential corridors in a soft shirt and loose trousers. Without hundreds of dignitaries crowding every archway or music drifting through the Great Hall, the place seems larger than it did last night.

I slept badly. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Sigurd standing across the hall. The adrenaline that carried me through the reception is gone now, leaving the frustration underneath it much harder to ignore. I have no idea how to reach a man who refuses to stand close enough for me to try.

A shadow shifts farther down the corridor, and Ysra rounds the corner carrying a large, dark bundle against her chest. Her shoulders hunch beneath the awkward load, and she has to adjust her grip twice before she reaches me. The familiar scent of oceanic iodine follows her through the hallway.

“That looks like it weighs a ton, Ysra.” I step forward and reach for the bundle. “Let me help you with that.”

“I was hoping you would.” She shifts enough of the weight toward me that I can get an arm beneath it. “Madam Solveig sent it. It has been in deep storage for quite some time. It’s for you.”

That gets my attention. “For me?”

Ysra nods toward the archway behind me. “Let’s get it inside first. It will be easier to explain once you can see it properly.”

Between the two of us, we maneuver the bundle through the archway and into my quarters. Ysra knows where to support it, so the weight is awkward rather than impossible. She directs me toward the open floor beside the bed. Once we lower it safely, she begins undoing the old metal fastenings that keep the material folded together.

The bundle takes shape beneath her hands. Reinforced sleeves emerge first, followed by a thick chest piece and heavy joint seals. Last comes a broad collar fitted with a curved glass visor. Faint runes glow around the metal rim. They’re dim enough that I only notice them once Ysra turns the collar toward the light.

“What exactly did Solveig send me?” I ask.

“An old pressure suit made for surface-dwellers.” Ysra spreads one of the sleeves flat and checks the seams as she speaks. “The wards protect against the cold and pressure outside the dry sections, and the helmet provides breathable air. It has limits, of course, but it was designed to let a human move through the inhabited trenches safely.”

I kneel beside her and press my fingers against the chest piece. The fabric gives slightly beneath my hand before resisting again. Up close, it looks like industrial diving gear built by someone who expected the ocean to fight back.

Ysra watches me examining it, then rests one hand against the reinforced collar. “I know what you’re thinking. Yes, it works. I wore this one myself for years.”