Page 7 of A Sea of Vows and Silence (The Naiads of Juile #3)

Selena

T haan’s study door swung open.

We jumped in surprise, yanking our pinkies apart.

Cebrinne knelt to scoop the map from the floor, but my eyes darted to meet Deimos’s wolfish scowl.

I searched for an indication he’d heard our words.

It wasn’t the first time he'd caught us unaware, too absorbed in our conversation to listen for sounds on the other side of the wall.

But he lurched his head in a silent order to follow, then turned and stalked out as though he didn’t have the time to wait for us.

Cebrinne stole a covert glance at me, annoyed as she rolled the map and secured it with its fellows on the shelf.

Without a word, we trailed him through the apartment he shared with Thaan and out the door.

In warmer months, we’d have left our rooms with our shoulders and arms bare.

But in mid- Piscaa , wind snaked up our skirts and sleeves.

Unlike this morning, we didn’t have time to bundle ourselves against the chill.

When Deimos told us to come, we came. I crossed my arms against my chest, huddling against myself as my feet skittered over the sky bridge.

Cebrinne let the cold seep into her skin instead, burrowing her eyes into the back of Deimos’s neck as though wondering how much force it might take to snap it.

A few of the human secretaries glanced at his approach before quickly returning to their work.

Simple creatures. They believed Deimos was the one to whom they answered.

The Naiad secretaries knew better. They kept their heads down, ignoring our entrance.

But like Cebrinne and I, they knew who truly ran things here in the palace.

The little, forgettable man in spectacles.

I could only guess at why Thaan hid himself in such a way.

Knowing he’d garner human enemies while involving himself in royal matters, perhaps he didn’t want humans to recognize his true face.

Maybe that’s why I disliked Deimos. Not because he played Thaan’s grunt, stretching the poisonous reach of Thaan’s eyes and ears.

Not because I knew everything Deimos witnessed between Cebrinne and me would be reported to his master.

But because his existence only reminded me of how expendable we all were to Thaan.

I harbored no delusions that when Deimos exhausted his usefulness, Thaan would dispose of him. And any of us could be called to ascend to the title of Thaan’s puppet in his place.

Except me. I hadn’t taken an oath. And I’d never accept the title of Oculos . Not for Thaan.

Deimos opened the office, waiting for us to shuffle inside. I entered first, eyes on the simple silver chain he wore so that I wouldn’t have to look at his face. Cebrinne followed, blinking surprise away as she coasted through the door.

Thaan wasn’t in his smaller form. He’d shifted to his true self, the figure he’d used ten years ago when he’d courted my mother.

Tall and dark and menacing, his hair a flash of salt and pepper.

Cheekbones strict, jaw hard, eyes cold like a frozen tide.

His useless spectacles lay discarded on his desk.

Experience had lent me an education in distrust for anything Thaan did outside of his routine. His smaller stature deserted, an invisible string tightened between Cebrinne and me. A message without words, sent with static and focus and twinly intuition.

Pay attention.

“Venusian Naiads have been spotted for the past week,” Thaan said without offering us a greeting.

“Footprints in the sand, beaches cleared of debris we purposely left. They’ve finished their hibernation for the winter.

” He sent a sharp nod to someone standing behind the door—a command to close it.

Cebrinne hardly gave the hooded male Naiad behind us a second glance.

But as my eyes strayed behind me, my mouth parted, and I couldn’t pull away.

He leaned against the wall, standing with one leg lazily draped over the other, and pushed the door shut with the careless stretch of his arm.

Then, without so much as a glimpse in our direction, took to cleaning his nails with the tip of a knife.

His black cloak veiled everything above his chin, though rust-gold hair streamed from under it, thick and tousled and ending just below his shoulders.

It looked like the strands hadn’t been combed in weeks, though something about the rough-spun tangles seemed artful and sly.

I couldn’t see his face. But I was almost sure I knew who he was.

I’d spent ten years wondering if he’d died.

Another stay in the mines, Thaan had charged him.

The mines in the Sylus Mountains, far from sea or salt.

Naiads there used the sulfuric springs instead.

But sulfur was a poor substitute for salt, and the high peaks made for shortened visits with the full moon.

Not to mention the mines themselves were laced with death.

“Selena.” Thaan’s sharp voice cut through my thoughts.

The hooded Naiad’s mouth curved fractionally before I turned my head, invoking a splash of irritation I couldn’t rationalize.

Thaan waited for me to face him. Eyes narrowed, he anchored his heavy stare at me as though convinced I’d glance away if his gaze left mine.

“I’ve charted the moon these past few months. Theia eclipsed Aalto this morning.”

The moisture in my mouth evaporated. I suddenly became aware of what it might feel like to suck on sandpaper.

Thaan had been charting the moon? My fingers flexed, and I fought the urge to allow my anxiety to spiral away as I wondered at the sudden meaning of this strange assembly: myself, Cebrinne, Thaan, Deimos, and the Naiad from the night of our ritual.

Would Thaan somehow know we’d pulled the moon into position?

Would he know Theia could be contacted through such a phenomenon? Would he know why we had attempted it?

In my periphery, Cebrinne’s body stiffened to the flexibility of a steel rod.

I forced myself not to glance at her. For all of Cebrinne’s impulsivity, she’d never mastered the skill of hiding malfeasance.

I could only imagine her cheeks growing scarlet as her blood heated under the burn of unmasked secrets.

The only shield she wore was her iron stare, hard enough to generally shroud her emotions and ward off assumptions.

Though not always where Thaan was concerned.

Luckily, Thaan dropped his attention to underline the parchment spread across his desk, scratching his marble-hewn jaw instead.

“I had planned to wait another six months before sending you through Venusian waters. But if we act today, Aegir might view your presence as a sign from Theia.” His hand lifted into the air as he pointed a callous finger at the hooded Naiad, though he didn’t lift his gaze from his chart.

“Pheolix will accompany Cebrinne to Venusia. Selena will stay here to continue her duties—”

“I’m going,” I said quickly.

Thaan didn’t glance up from the parchment. “You are staying.”

I shook my head, though he wasn’t looking at me.

Aegir was a young monarch. He’d just ascended the spring before. Reports came that although he’d already been named heir to the Venusian Sea and a death was needless, he’d killed his own grandfather to rise to the title.

He was described as arrogant. Impatient. Quick to anger.

Deadly.

Thaan had always said he’d send Cebrinne to Aegir in the autumn. Ocean Naiads, like bees, grew docile in the fall before they buried themselves into their colony for the winter. Spring was the worst season to test a Naiad, after they’d been bottled up and restless for months .

I wasn’t about to let Thaan send my sister into Aegir’s net alone—a circumstance we’d unknowingly hastened by our call to the moon. And Thaan knew he couldn’t stop me. I’d sworn nothing to him.

“I’ll get my things,” I huffed with a short turn on my heel.

I didn’t miss the smirk carved into the edge of Pheolix’s mouth.

He reached for the handle and opened the door as carelessly as he’d closed it, knife still stationed between his fingers.

I avoided the blade as I swished past, marching back to our apartment.