Page 20 of In Rising Tides

The navy of his tail was as dark as the rocks in his territory. But it was the ever-present scowl twisting his features that she remembered the clearest.

The other princes outside of Caspian and Hadrian were vague in her memories, but they were still there, always at her father’s side rendering aid and advice.

Nothing was done in this kingdom without a meeting and approval from them.

“Does the council know about your bargain with the High King?” Lyra asked.

Drystan’s grin fell away, and the gold of his eyes gleamed.

It was answer enough, and Lyra’s lips twitched as she fought back a smile.

“I don’t think they’d take kindly to their future king making a deal with the High King,” her voice had taken on a singsong quality as she basked in her goading.

Lyra blinked, and he was in front of her, wrapping a fist around her wild hair.

He yanked her forward so that they were eye to eye. Drystan squeezed tighter, and burning ripped across her scalp, a few strands of her hair tearing from the root.

The golden amber of his eyes glowed with fury. He took pleasure in angering her.

That much was obvious. So she focused on the pale-pink lines she had carved down his cheek.

“You can tell them whatever your heart desires. It will be a king’s word against yours.”

Lyra pulled against his hold, fighting past the burning to get closer, a mere hairsbreadth from his face.

“I don’t care if you are Ennosidas himself,” she snarled. “You will pay for what you have done.”

His eyes beseeched hers, and he nodded, just once, before releasing his grip.

Drystan stared at the hair still floating between his fingers before shaking them loose. He turned quickly away from her, giving her a glimpse of his back and the shoulders that nearly brushed his ears.

She wished she had said more, wished her magic had replenished so that she could curse him and this entire realm to death and be done with it. But it had not.

“Fang, Angler, see to it that she does not struggle,” Drystan ordered.

Fang and the shark-like guard, Angler, flanked her again.

He had not given the order out of kindness. That wasn’t even a word he understood. It was for humiliation, to weaken her in the eyes of others.

The next hour passed in an endless loop of decaying ships, massive whale skeletons, and undulating pillars of sea kelp.

The smell shifted between death and more death.

Lyra didn’t speak. She picked up murmurings of annoyance about increased ceremonies and some kind of prudish garments, but she blocked them out.

It didn’t escape her notice that Drystan led them away from strong currents, or towards an unusual sight like a wooden chest turned on its side with mortal gold spilling out and a rather lovely statue of a woman with a large vase balanced upon her head.

It was odd, and for a moment Lyra wondered if he had led them away from difficulty and towards wonderful sights for her.

Murky water shifted to crystalline, and it became slightly cooler. They were nearing Atlantis. The pungent smell lightened, becoming more salt than rot.

Drystan slowed, coming up beside her. “Welcome home.”

He gestured with the trident to the kingdom that appeared in the distance.

It was Lyra’s home, orhadbeen.

She knew all the pathways to and from the palace. She knew each spire that speared into the watery light, and the way the visibility of the water shifted between the seasons.