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M agicked spear in hand, Ryton kicked his legs through the cool water and twisted to veer around the southern tip of the bay that now housed Bihotzetik, the famed city of the previous Earth Queen.

He’d traveled around the civilization, a good ten miles from the coast, before circling back to enter the ruins from the south, not far from where he’d met with the elven spy.

No one could be allowed to spot him, or worse, to follow him on this quest. Taking the circuitous route ensured that neither Grystark nor the ambitious, eager-to-please Echo had trailed him to this place.

He wanted to be alone here, for if he failed, the punishment wouldn’t involve his friends. It’d only be his head on a spear.

The ocean was raucous today, showing off its muscle and tossing schools of teal jellyfish and orange-striped eels off their watery paths.

The currents at the spit of land collided, and Ryton dragged his finned arms forward then back to propel himself through the crossing flows and onward, into the city’s former limits.

His coral spear cut through the water, magic shushing around its sharp edge.

He’d never seen a map of the city, but it seemed he’d entered on the less impressive side of town.

Small limestone structures showed plain, circular windows and round doorways.

A hundred or so of these buildings lined what had once been a road.

Ryton swam down to brush the sand and grit away from the gray rocks the humans had fitted like puzzle pieces to form a smooth surface for their land transportation.

Curiosity rising, he dipped into one of the structures to nose around. A school of breaker fish flashed silver, fleeing through the nearest window as he set his spear against the doorframe.

The back wall held three long shelves. Copper pots with a heavy patina hung beside the crumbling remains of a box of rusted knives with handles made of something pale like bone. Antlers.

Yes, he’d seen a human knife once, in a shipwreck.

That weapon had also boasted a hilt of antler—the horns of those bounding creatures the humans depicted in their rudimentary artwork.

In that shipwreck, he had uncovered a charcoaled mosaic on the wall of the sunken vessel.

The trees had shown wide branches and leaves, so similar to the corals that grew near his hometown near Tidehame.

Under those trees, the humans had drawn in images of lithe, furred animals with enormous racks of antlers.

He had no idea what the humans called the creatures, but they must have been plentiful or sacred, seeing as how many were in that mosaic.

The rusted knife was light in Ryton’s grip.

Astraea would see him cut down if she knew he was handling a human weapon.

Lunging, he stabbed at an imagined foe, enjoying the rebellion.

Astraea had sent him away, and she was nowhere nearby.

He could follow his curiosity on this mission.

The freedom left his chest aching though, because it was temporary.

The knife slid easily into place on his shell-and-knot belt.

He could keep it for a while, but he’d have to give it up after slaying the Earth Queen.

When he returned to his people, he would have to hide his interest in human things once again.

It was simply not tolerated in sea folk society and especially not in the ranks of the military.

Taking up the familiar weight of his spear, Ryton slipped out of the structure’s round door, his hand briefly touching the cold stone. What had they used to fashion these homes of rock? Had their tools been similar to the sea folk’s own implements?

A larger building that was missing its roof marked a turn in the road.

Inside, eels played chase over the skeletal remains of some twenty humans.

A scrap of fabric clung to one skull, and Ryton lifted it from the body.

A head decoration of some sort. The edges were mostly eaten away by fish, and only a ragged line of tooled hide remained.

Hide was his guess, anyway. Its feel reminded him of a reef whale cloak, the type hunters sometimes wore on their swims into the deepest trenches of the sea.

The top of the human item was woven of hair.

Short, coarse hair. He touched it again and the fabric fell apart, drifting into the water like powder.

Rectangular tables crowded the rest of the building.

A realization spread over him. This was a tavern, not unlike the one he and Grystark frequented.

He swam behind the bar and lifted the glass bottles stacked along the wall, one after another.

If they’d originally held any of the drink that humans enjoyed, it had all been eaten up by time spent underwater.

The bottles were uncorked and unsealed, and they housed only a few snails and inches of sediment.

Ryton returned to the first table and leaned on the rough surface, trying to put himself in the humans’ world.

What had it been like for them, breathing air and drinking liquids?

What had they done in their free time? Had they cast shells like sea folk, betting on their chosen runes to rise to the top?

Had those dead ones there played games of chance before the flood took them by surprise?

Wishing he had more time to explore, he wondered if their salt-water-destroyed pockets had given up any fascinating coins or other curiosities. But there was no time for this. He swam out of the tavern and started on his way again.

The worst enemy of his kynd lurked nearby, and it was past time she joined her dead kin to rot at the bottom of the sea.

Venturing closer to the inner circle of the bay, nearer to the coastline, Ryton swam past more one-story houses and a chaotic jumble of what appeared to be shops. Each had a shelf extending from a wide, rectangular window, or at least, the disintegrating remains of one.

An open area in a hexagonal shape stretched beyond the shops.

Drifts of both black and white sand blanketed most of the space, but a corner had remained free of grit.

Ryton hovered, treading water, to cock his head at what appeared to be another piece of art, not dissimilar to the one he had seen in that sunken ship.

Shades of green, black, and even touches of red—a color the humans rarely used—combined to show a gathering of those trees they had treasured, the ones with the lobed leaves.

A plethora of land creatures walked around the leafy growth.

Some animals had four legs like the bounding creatures with the antlers, but others had wings. One had both.

Wait. The Watcher had mumbled something about a bird animal called a gryphon.

She mentioned it during her last visit to see the queen.

Of course, the Watcher was constantly muttering, and most of what she said didn’t seem to apply to anything currently happening.

Ryton moved more of the sand away from the image of the winged creature.

The tree leaves circled the gryphon’s head like a crown floating above its dark feathers. Interesting.

The memory of Astraea’s fierce order echoed through his mind, and he swam on.

Before he reached the first of the great spires that reached through the water to stand against the waves, a foreign scent tickled his gills.

He blew out, bubbles gurgling and rising over his head.

What was that? Like seaweed, but not quite the same.

Similar to the air he had breathed when he met with the elven spy.

Could it be her, the Earth Queen?

His temples pounded, his blood racing.

Spear at the ready, he flew through the currents, diving, then rising, following the increasing intensity of the scent.

And that’s when he spotted his first human.

Strands of golden hair around a strong face. A determined set to the jaw. Limbs flailing in the worst version of swimming he’d ever witnessed.

Ryton couldn’t move. He floated, mouth agape.

The smell of above—unsalted dirt and trees—emanated from her like a strong perfume.

This had to be the Earth Queen.

She blinked, appearing disoriented, as she swam just below the sunlit, pale green surface beside what seemed to be an elf. He swam gracefully, his pointed ears showing against black hair. He smelled like the other elf—of raw air and bright sun—a caustic odor that burned the back of Ryton’s throat.

The Earth Queen struggled in the water.

Fire tore through Ryton’s temples, and he clenched his teeth. Seas, how he hated her. For what she would do to his kynd. To Grystark and his wife, Lilia.

Ryton’s mind painted horrible imaginings.

Grystark screaming for Lilia as this Earth Queen crushed her to death with great stones. He could almost see Lilia’s fingers curling in pain, her shout cut off. Grystark’s face twisted in grief and shock.

That was what the Earth Queen would do to them if she were allowed to live.

At that moment, Ryton loathed himself for being interested in human culture and artifacts.

So what if they did have lifestyles that seemed not too different from his own?

It meant nothing. Humans were the enemy, just as dragons.

Even if he had not himself witnessed an Earth Queen killing one of his own as he had the dragons, they’d surely done it, time and time again, through the centuries.

And this Earth Queen would be no different.

Once her powers rose in full, she would attack, and Ryton stood to lose everyone he had left in the world.

Not today, Earth Queen.

Ryton sliced through the water, his vision going red with rage and his lips moving fast through spell after spell. He flew past a blur of structures.

All he had to do was reach them.

Just thirty feet, and he’d be there, his spells choking her, his hands around her throat. He gave no thought to the elf. That creature wouldn’t matter. Ryton, in his rage, was a storm unbeatable.