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S eidon expected sorrow to fill his veins as he strode the beloved halls of the Tidal Palace. He expected memories of Kerina to bombard him at every turn. He expected to think more of all he’d lost than of what lay ahead, now that he was back in his late wife’s favorite place in the world.

But twenty-one years had been enough, it seemed. Father Enoch had been right about that. He saw the memories, yes, as he strode the halls of marble and crystal, but they brought a smile to his lips instead of grief to his bones.

He leaned into the smooth, polished stone of the balcony railing, the thrum of the fountain’s waters rippling in the tips of his fingers.

He’d never had to wonder why Kerina favored this home above their others.

It wasn’t because it was the capital city and brimming with culture.

It wasn’t because of the delegations that made their way here from all around the world.

It was this. The view of Darya Sound, the barrier islands protecting the mainland, and the great sea. It was the blue of the sky, the flash of its storms, the pulse of its current.

It had always been his favorite place too. Where he felt most himself. Because this was not only where land met sea but where the channels led to the half of himself that would always be a bit of a mystery.

From his vantage up here, he could just make out the darkening of the sea beyond the islands, where shallows turned to depths, where the channel cut its sharp line, dividing the land-dwellers from the sea-dwellers.

The mer. He shifted, straightened, rubbed his face.

He’d avoided another trip to the Sunken Kingdom for the last few decades, but he wouldn’t be able to put it off any longer, not now that Mother was gone.

She’d been happy enough to make the diplomatic journeys on behalf of their family, to visit with the cousins she saw so infrequently, to pull a tail out of her closet and swim like she’d done in her youth.

Seidon had never liked it half so much. Now, though, it was a new level of dread.

Now, he would be going with a mission that weighed more heavily upon him than all the waters could do.

“Ah, there’s the birthday boy!”

A grin won out over stormier contemplations at the sound of Father Enoch’s voice. Seidon spun, arms wide to receive his old friend. Enoch, laughing, gave him a hearty embrace then stepped backward, merriment twinkling in his eyes.

“I don’t know how you’ve done it, Si. But you look younger than you did when last I saw you—the crystals don’t do you justice.”

Seidon shrugged. “And you look…” Old . Because he was, by human standards. Eighty-two. His face was a mass of happy wrinkles, thick spectacles perched on his nose, and what hair he had left was only a white fringe stretching from one ear to the other around the back of his head.

They’d been young together, once. Studied the Holy Writ together. Joked together. But Enoch had aged as people always did, and Seidon had…not. Knowing well his friend followed his thoughts, he let his grin go lopsided. “Wise. You look very wise.”

Enoch laughed and moved to the railing, motioning toward the fountain. “Good to see this in action again. Things aren’t the same in Daryatla when you’re gone.”

A point he could grant now that he was back and the returning hadn’t crushed him.

“I imagine I’ll stay a good long while. Though the tour of the lands did me good—did everyone good, I hope.

I went farther inland than I’ve ever gone before, met some of the Guardians of the newest additions to the empire. ”

Enoch’s smile went deeper rather than wider. “Your growing strength will bless more and more people with every year you reign.”

From anyone else, he’d call the observation either flattery or platitude.

Sometimes he thought if he heard “May you live a thousand years and your rule encompass the world” one more time, he’d forget the composure he’d learned over the course of two and three-quarters centuries and stick out his tongue at the courtiers, just to see their reactions.

He didn’t. Wouldn’t. Probably.

But Enoch wasn’t trying to flatter. He was simply observing in action the philosophy he and Seidon had debated in their studies.

In centuries past, the kings had conquered lands like great tyrants had done in antiquity—with force and violence. Seidon’s great-grandmother had chosen a different path, one his grandfather, mother, and now he honored.

They would impose on no one. Protect all they could, because life was sacred and worth preserving. Whether the people under his protection chose to accept his rule as well was up to them.

Seidon stretched his fingers, curled them, and the water of the fountain danced in response.

Water always did. This close to the ocean, that vast body demanded most of his attention.

He could sense its currents, its riptides, its shallows and channels.

The pulse of the tide matched the one in his own heart.

But if he followed the awareness outward, westward, north and southward, he became aware of the rivers emptying into the sea.

He could chase them into the mountains as they narrowed, shrank, branched into streams and creeks.

He’d often lost them there, in years past. He’d only been able to trace the courses so far. In Kerina’s absence, though, he’d had plenty of time to focus and study and strengthen his magic.

He could reach all the way to the plains, now. The governors there had wept when they thanked him for sending rains to end their drought, or for keeping the rivers from flooding their banks and ruining the crops again.

It was humbling. And fueling. He ought to have worked harder years ago, decades ago, centuries ago. He ought to have focused less on his own life and more on the lives he hadn’t yet known. He ought to have trained harder, earlier, so that he could help more people find harmony with the world.

“You’re doing it again.” Enoch bumped their shoulders together, like he’d been doing for the last sixty years. “What have I told you about should-have-dones?”

A corner of Seidon’s mouth pulled up. “I believe it was something along the lines of them being no less dangerous for a man of multiple lifetimes than for those who have only one.”

“Time spent bemoaning what you didn’t know to do is time wasted,” Enoch said, nodding along with his own wisdom. “You had to grow into the man you are, like we all do. It’s senseless to resent that you weren’t always who you’ve come to be.”

“And I keep you around to remind me of it.” Seidon nodded toward the waves—calm today, letting the blues of the shallows shine brighter than the diamonds of the swells. “What do you say, old man? Up for a swim?”

Enoch grinned. “Bet I can still beat you in a race—assuming you leave your tail at home.”

Seidon pasted innocence onto his face. “When have I ever tried to win so underhandedly?” He didn’t often break out the tail every mer wore to aid their swimming. It unsettled his people too much to see him wearing one. But sometimes he couldn’t resist the extra speed it lent him.

His old friend laughed at the memory and ran a hand down the front of his brown habit. “I may have anticipated the invitation. I have my swim clothes on underneath.”

“Good to know some things never change.” Seidon took a step back from the railing.

Now that he’d started the fountain, it would continue in its predetermined dance until he stopped it again.

But for fun, he lifted his hands, trilled his fingers through the air like a musician might do over an instrument, and watched the waters leap upward in response, far higher than any fountain would by normal means.

Enoch let out a happy sigh behind him. “It’s good you’re home, Si. Fitting.”

They walked together back inside. Seidon fully intended to stride to his suite and change out of his traveling clothes while Enoch borrowed the visitors’ restroom in the suite for the same purpose.

He should have known better. A half-dozen people stopped him along the way needing this or that, a half dozen more to extend their greetings.

And of course, he arrived in his chambers at last to find them filled.

The tailor wanted him to try on his suit for the ball tomorrow night, a host of attendants needed to check with him about something or finish unpacking, the staff who ran the palace in his absence were ready with their latest updates, and—best of all—Daryatla’s leading research physician awaited him.

Seidon sighed. “Doctor Datlov.”

Her smile was a tad warmer than perfunctory, but not by much. “I thought it too much to ask to have you stop by the laboratory today, Your Majesty. But if I could…?”

He was already unbuttoning his cuff and rolling up his sleeve.

He was the one, after all, who had volunteered to give her as many blood samples as she requested.

If something in his blood could help her team unlock cures for the diseases that plagued his people, prolong life for them, or—please, Triada—find him a wife capable of bearing him a child, then he was happy to provide.

Though tomorrow would have been better. He’d have liked a few hours to work out the kinks of travel in the water, to chat with Enoch. But he’d long ago learned that those who only lived one lifetime had a tendency toward impatience. They wanted things done today—or better still, yesterday.

He held out his bared forearm. “Any progress since your last update?”

She didn’t bother with a smile now, given that she was focused on his arm. “Yes, actually. I was able to successfully isolate the nanites I believe are responsible for your communication with water.”

“Nanites.” He was no microbiologist, but… “Does that mean you can insert them into other people?”

“Unfortunately not. The white blood cells in non-infected blood kill the nanites within an hour.”