Page 70 of A Sea of Vows and Silence (The Naiads of Juile #3)

P heolix opened my door without knocking.

Well, not Pheolix. Thaan. Wearing Pheolix’s body.

I set my feather pen beside my notebook, placing my elbows on the table.

I knew what he came to say. Had suspected it since Prince Nikolaos’s letter arrived from Leihani. Then known for sure when the gossip trailed the ship into port.

It had started. She was here. Cebrinne’s daughter.

I’d hoped she’d arrive in Calder some other way. But like everything else I’d dreamed up in my life, avoiding Thaan was the wish of a fool. I suppose, somewhere deep down, I’d always known he’d get to her first.

Cain stepped through the door behind Pheolix, adjusting his glasses.

“I’m sure you heard the Prince brought a woman back with him,” Pheolix drawled in a voice that wasn’t his. He joined his fingers together in a position that wasn’t his either, looking down at me with such arrogance I had to flex my jaw to keep from shoving to my feet.

Thaan loved when I reacted. Loved when I lost my cool. Loved knowing he’d pushed me too far, easily signified when I started throwing whatever porcelain dish was nearest. Something about watching it explode always soothed my nerves, but I hated giving him the satisfaction.

“I heard,” I replied, facing Cain rather than the person through whom he spoke. The entire moon-damned palace had heard. The news had spread like wildfire, burning into the mouths of everyone from the secretaries in Thaan’s administrative offices to the guards along the curtain wall .

I couldn’t often scent Thaan’s anger. He usually kept it tucked tight around him.

But his grip on his emotions slipped as I sat coolly before him, unbothered by the mention of the young woman from the islands.

The metallic heat of it prickled in my nose, and I had to stifle the urge to smile. I was like him, I supposed.

I relished the thought of making him angry.

“She’s waiting for you,” Pheolix— Thaan —said.

The urge to smile dropped. The air felt too thick. My heart skipped a beat. “Now?”

“Now.”

I hesitated. “What does she know?”

He laughed cruelly. “Almost nothing. Doesn’t even understand what a Naiad is.”

Not what I meant. My mouth tightened. “Does she know who I am to her?”

Pheolix smiled. Even after twenty years of Thaan using Pheolix to taunt me, few things sliced as deeply under my hide.

Cain stood innocuously in front of the door, but Pheolix draped himself over the table, propping himself on his elbows and leaning toward my face.

“No, heiress. Why don’t you run up there and tell her?

” I pushed slowly from the table, rising out of my seat.

Pheolix pinned a hand over mine, stopping me.

He stepped in close, nudging his mouth to my ear, and pulled the knife from my belt.

I stared past the arch of his neck, glaring at Cain.

“Careful,” Pheolix whispered. “This one grew up wild. Let’s not bring her any weapons. ”

I ignored him. It wasn't him, anyway.

And it would string me with guilt later when I lay alone in my bed.

It always did. But here, with Thaan watching only a few feet away, it hurt too much to respond to Pheolix, whether or not he was in control.

If I slapped him, Thaan would enjoy it. If I nuzzled into him, Thaan would enjoy it.

If I stabbed him, kissed him, scratched him, cried and begged for him to come back to me, Thaan would enjoy it.

My only choice was to pretend Pheolix didn’t exist.

But I knew he was in there, unable to break free. And pretending shredded me apart every time.

I stepped around Pheolix, heading to the door without looking back at either of them, avoiding Cain like a disease. “Her name’s Maren,” the little man said, shifting into his taller form as he studied me. My mouth parted. I stopped.

Thaan tilted his head. “It sounds familiar, doesn’t it? Like someone else I once knew from a different island.”

Without a word, I slammed the door.

Behind me, Pheolix coughed. Thaan laughed. I hesitated only for a moment, blood both chilling and firing at the sound. But then I pushed on.

I’d spent years waiting. Hoping. Praying to Theia for this moment. My stomach rolled as I crossed the sky bridge to Prince Nikolaos’s tower and began climbing stairs. I may as well have eaten a bowl of moon-damned eel.

In front of the guest room door, I knocked.

A sound came from the other side. A heartbeat, softly pounding. Mine pounded, too.

I bit my lip. Then turned the knob.

Cebrinne stood on the other side.

Her hair was rich and dark, laced with waves and curls woven by the islands, much longer than Cebrinne had ever worn hers. Her eyes were dark as well. She was smaller than I remembered Cebrinne, though certainly more muscular. She wasn’t Cebrinne—but she was.

She lowered her chin at me, her hackles rising as I stepped into the room, a serpentine warning in her eyes, body coiled and ready to bite.

That was Cebrinne. That was my sister .

And I realized I loved her. I’d loved her before she’d been born. Before she’d even had a name. I wasn’t sure how to keep myself from loving her. Because I was certain I always had.

“Maren,” I said, unable to stop myself from reaching for her hand. She lowered her chin more, glaring at me through thick lashes and dark distrust, and I could have laughed at how much she looked like her mother if my chest wasn’t threatening to collapse instead.

I swallowed away any emotion that wavered in my voice. “What an honor to finally meet you.”