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Larimar, Ullan sneers, what do you think you’re doing?

He jerks me downward, and I cry out. I always try to give him nothing, since my reaction is what he wants. This Syren lives to torture me, and I’ve been fair game ever since Sipha died and the kingdom fractured.

Always going for the surface, he says, hands digging into my shoulders as he holds me in place. It’s like you’re trying to escape what you are. You think the world up there is any better?

I want to tell him I’ve been there, that I know it is.

Better the devil you know—isn’t that the saying the humans use?

And I did know Priest. At least, I thought I did.

There’s a storm, I say to Ullan, trying to keep my voice blank.

And that’s interesting to you? Come on. Stay with the group. We’re going for the shallows.

He lets go of me and swims off toward the shallower water near the banks of the island. I glance up at the surface. Though it’s daytime, there is barely any light that filters down, all of it swept up in the big swells. The storms have always attracted me. I want to breach the surface and take in the wild and unforgiving sky that stretches above. It mirrors the stormy depths of the ocean in some ways, made more alluring by the fact that it’s forever out of reach.

I follow Ullan to the shallows. I know if I don’t, he’ll physically make me, and I don’t feel like having a fight at the moment. I never win.

Ullan took over as leader of the colony when Sipha died. She had been captured by a passing ship—at least, that’s what Ullan said. He was supposedly with her when it happened. I always thought he killed her, one way or another. Perhaps he took out her heart, or perhaps there really was a ship hunting Syrens, and he enabled her to get caught. He always wanted her out of the way, as well as so many of her followers, and he swiftly stepped into the role. He has no royal Syren blood, just the ability to use violence in every situation until he managed to appoint himself King.

Either way, I obviously don’t trust him or those who carry out his orders, but some days, I know better than to push my luck. Other days, though, I push it anyway, just to feel something, just so I’m not forever swimming in the darkness, numb to the world. Those days, I want a fight. I almost like it when he maims me. It nearly reminds me of Priest, though it’s not the same. There is no obsession or devotion in Ullan’s eyes when he makes me bleed—there is only hatred.

Sometimes, I feel so blank and empty that pain is better than nothing at all.

I keep swimming toward the island. The shallows consist of dark rock with the occasional strand of sand that stands out like a bright patch against the void. Sometimes, we forage here for crab; other times, we brave the leopard seals and sea lions to try and capture some of the penguins on their daily feeding trips. If the other predators outnumber us, we usually move on. Depending on the time of year, the ice build-up can extend into the depths, though, at the moment, the ice is mainly contained to a flow on the other side of the island, giant chunks of it breaking off into the ocean, the water turning milky as the fresh water mixes with it.

But as the shallows come into view, I notice only a few Syrens, their bodies silhouettes against the bright blue strands of sand. None of them seem to be Ullan.

I swim toward them, and everything seems normal—there are two females and a male, all of them overturning rocks, looking for crab. My heart flutters in my veins, my gills feeling sticky. I’m anxious for reasons I can’t figure out, possibly because every time I approach a group, I worry I’ll be further ostracized. Once upon a time, I never took it personally when I was rejected by others—I was completely focused on finding Maren—but ever since Priest, I feel like every part of me has been worn thin.

As I get closer to the Syrens, though, I recognize them as being three of Sipha’s closest confidants: Esmerelda, Vialana, and Meriw. They’ve always been kind to me, at least more so than the rest.

And yet, my anxiety hasn’t retreated. I still feel as if there’s something wrong, something I’m not seeing.

Larimar, Meriw greets me, his voice more curt than normal. We’ve been waiting for you.

I look at him in surprise. Waiting for me?

Yes, Esmerelda says, her tail twitching as she breaks apart a shell. Ullan said you wanted us to meet you here to forage for urchins.

I whip my head around, on high alert as I look for Ullan. He’s still nowhere in sight. No one else in the colony is here either; it’s just us four.

Sipha’s greatest supporters.

It’s a trap! I call out.

What do you mean? Vialana asks, sounding panicked but not panicked enough. A trap set by who?

Ullan, Meriw says. Then, his eyes widen as he looks over my shoulder. Ship! Ship! Retreat!

I turn to see a large vessel heading toward us, similar to the one that snatched up Asherah. With the narrow curve of the bay, we will have to swim under it to escape; otherwise, we’ll beach ourselves.

There’s a chance, of course, that the ship isn’t here for us. Perhaps it’s heading toward the shallows because it’s about to drop anchor, the bay protection during the storm.

But I’m not about to find out.

I swim fast along the bottom, heading toward the deep so I can pass underneath the ship undetected, when suddenly, Vialana screams.