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S he missed the stars. Jade had claimed a chaise on one of the palace balconies and sat with her knees pulled up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them, her face tilted up.

By the clock, she knew it was night. The lights of the dome had been lowered accordingly.

No moonlight could reach them at these depths though.

No twinkling stars to promise a course charted for home.

Only jellyfish, shot through with colored lights stationed on the seafloor.

Beautiful. So beautiful, in fact, that these displays were one of the things she’d always cited as a reason she wanted to come here.

She’d imagined herself sitting on a balcony much like this one, but in the company of other diplomats from Daryatla.

Perhaps with friends they’d made among the mer.

She imagined enjoying the light show with a glass of sparkling water in hand, a plate of treats in her lap, with laughter on her lips and music in the background.

Instead, she sat here alone. In silence.

Her stomach an anxious knot. Because she knew that beyond those colorful jellies, armies waited for morning under inflatable domes.

The Black Tails, with whatever directives Electra had given the other generals before Finn ordered her to return to the palace.

Charged tridents at the ready. And the Army of Sael, armed with a command from Mariana to kill any who wore the uniform of the rebels, and with technology not fueled by magic.

She’d overheard enough of the talks of strategy to know that the Black Tails would be relying on their combined magic to hold the enemy at bay with currents and pulses, that their electrified tridents would strike in close quarters.

To Jade’s ears, it had sounded like certain victory.

Who could oppose something as strong as a tide?

But then she’d heard the numbers. The Black Tails had not quite three thousand soldiers. Mariana’s forces numbered in the hundreds of thousands. The look on Electra’s face when she’d gotten back this evening had told Jade all she needed to know about their odds.

She let her eyes slide shut. She’d come out here to pray, begging the Triada to give her wisdom.

Discernment. To make a way for her to help those who needed it and to find a way home too.

She’d sent her petitions heavenward until her mental words ran dry, but she could only trust that they’d made it through the dome, through the too-vast expanse of water weighing on it, into the air, and up through the skies to wherever the Triada lived.

She couldn’t feel it. Had no peace in her heart assuring her all was well.

In her imagination, she pictured Arden on the chaise beside hers, despite knowing her sister had never wanted to come here, that she would thoroughly freak out with only water above her, no view of that sky.

She imagined a smirk on her lips, long legs stretched out before her.

She imagined the encouragement she’d give.

“If anyone can make a difference in this war, it’s you,” she’d say. “We always knew you were special. Blessed by the Triada. Use what he’s given you, Jade.”

Arden had always thought too highly of her.

In her sister’s eyes, she could do no wrong, not really.

She’d always been perfectly confident in Jade’s ability to win over anyone, to achieve anything, to accomplish any goal she set her mind to.

And on their little barrier island, it had seemed… true. Possible.

What fools they’d been. Arrogant—or at least untested.

Untried. So very young . Young and na?ve.

She knew it now, surrounded by people who looked her age but who were older than anyone she knew from home.

People who she thought she understood fairly well, but who dismissed her or ignored her or insisted that she had no value until the magic inside her had been Awakened.

Maybe they were right. Maybe her service to her kingdom, the thing she’d always thought would be her gift to the world, was nothing.

Rot. Useless. Maybe her only hope of making a difference that mattered was to let Librus take her above and slash her finger again.

To discover what this new magic was. To find a way to harness it, use it.

“Peaceful, isn’t it?”

She opened her eyes at the intrusion of the deep voice and took a moment to be grateful that it was Librus, not Finn, who slid through the night and took that chaise beside hers.

He leaned back and made himself comfortable, hands hooked behind his head as he watched the swarm of jellyfish flash in the lights.

Pink and purple, yellow and orange, green and blue.

“Beautiful. I’d always wanted to see them,” she said in response, even though she only glanced at them for another few seconds before dropping her gaze to the man beside her.

His sister’s words kept echoing through her mind every time she was in his presence. The most powerful merman in the seas…he’d rather keep you for himself…who do you think trained Finn?...you’re going to ruin everything…remain disentangled…as he tries to win your heart…

Librus’s smile was soft. Content. “You can’t know how grateful I am to the One that he prepared your heart so well for life among us.

That you’ve always dreamed of being here.

I’m sorry for the circumstances, of course.

I would rather acquaint you with our world in times of peace.

But then, that peace will be all the sweeter when we reclaim it, when you help us reclaim it. ”

She toyed with the fabric scales of her pants. “How did you know? That it was me, I mean. Did you…were you ever in the Banks, or did you send others?”

He turned his head toward her, the low glow from the dome gleaming in his eyes. “Others first. But I came a few weeks before we took you. To see for myself. To verify. I would not have disrupted your life unless or until I was absolutely certain that you were the one the prophets foretold.”

A shiver coursed through her at the thought of mer agents watching her while she was unaware.

Of Librus— the most powerful merman in the seas —striding about her island, spying on her.

“The great hawk,” she muttered, remembering that prophecy he’d had her read so many times she’d memorized it.

The great hawk that would forge a new, unified nation of all the Triada’s—the One’s—people.

He must have been thinking instead of the one that circled her home. “One of the biggest indicators, yes. Never has anyone else been circled by an angel like that, Jade. That it appeared the day you were born and watched over you every time you stepped outside…”

She only half heard him. Her mind drifted to her last evening on land, when she’d come upon Storm. She could see again the love in his eyes, the patience, the willingness to give up all his own dreams for her.

It had terrified her, then. But now…now she still wouldn’t ask it of him.

But how could she not love him all the more for it, when she was surrounded by people who never considered sacrificing, only taking?

She’d barely dodged Finn tonight when he’d come looking for her, clearly in a mood over the day’s battle, which had been nothing but a stalemate.

The way he’d looked at her over dinner had told her that she didn’t want to be caught by him, that if she was, she’d pay the price.

Librus had aided in her escape. She could be grateful for that. Grateful that he protected her. But it only made her miss Storm all the more.

She could see him there, standing on the jetty, the sun spilling its golden light upon him. She could see the skies above and around them, a blue painted with all the colors of the rainbow as the sun dipped low, nothing but the occasional gull to interrupt it.

Her brows pulled together. Nothing but the occasional gull . She pulled the memory closer, examined it from every angle she’d bothered to look.

Gulls. Sandpipers. A pelican gliding over the waves.

No hawk. She hadn’t even noticed it then, hadn’t thought to. But there’d been no Giant Golden Sea Hawk, no angel, soaring above her that evening.

What did that mean? Anything? Maybe the hawk had been eating its dinner, unaware that she’d come back outside. It certainly wasn’t her usual routine.

But if the hawk really was an angel like lore said, like Librus believed, that argument didn’t hold. Its angelic nature should supersede its physical one. Its guardian duty should be more important than its empty stomach. Shouldn’t it?

She searched her mind, trying to remember any other times it had been absent.

Wishing she’d paid more attention. But there’d been at least one other time, hadn’t there?

She had a vague recollection. When was it?

A couple years ago. On the way to school, that was it.

Arden usually walked with her, even though she’d then return home for her own lessons.

But that day, Arden had been ill, and Jade had started out by herself, until she met with the other kids.

She remembered now—it had been cold, wintry, and when she’d stepped outside, she’d felt utterly alone, a feeling so rare and odd that she couldn’t decide if it thrilled or terrified her.

The skies had been empty that day, and the silence of it had set her feet to running, made her too eager for company.

Realization dawned like a wash of ice water through her system.

There had been a couple other times through the years too.

Those stray moments when she’d been alone—so very rare, because she and Arden went everywhere together.

Everywhere, all the time. Joined at the hip, their parents had declared with laughter, even before they’d become sisters by Mama and Papa’s marriage.

Mama had kept Arden for Papa during the days when they were little.

They’d always been best friends. Always. Inseparable.