Page 47

R yton was the ocean’s fist, the sea’s blade, ready to slay that which threatened its glorious depths.

But he had failed to catch the Earth Queen.

She had jerked like a fish on a spear, but the elf had grabbed her with both arms and kicked to the surface. With that wild strength the air kynd possessed, the elven male had pulled Ryton’s enemy from the water. And just like that, Ryton had missed his chance.

His spelled salt water had choked her, but he’d been too far away to truly injure her. Was the Earth Queen not powerful enough to take a simple swim and fight off a weak spell? Is that why the elf had been forced to rescue her? Or had they seen him and panicked, acting irrationally?

Ryton’s heart hammered against his ribs.

His legs buzzed, wanting to drive up to the surface, to breach and attempt a crashing wave with spellwork.

But if that failed, he’d only alert them to his presence for certain and destroy the possibility that they didn’t know he was in pursuit and aware of their location.

There were no guarantees a spelled wave would take the human down.

No, Ryton needed his hands on her throat, his spear in her gut.

A chance at death was not nearly enough.

Gripping his spear, knuckles going white, Ryton shouted his frustration into the water that stretched between him and his quarry. The sound vibrated through the sea like another type of current.

Would it be like that next time? Would he get close but not close enough to secure her demise?

Ryton swam away from the city, toward the deep, open sea, his mind a whirlpool.

The Earth Queen could traverse both land and sea.

He was trapped here by what he was. Even if he found some tympanic leaves and managed to get ashore, his time out of water would be severely limited.

The lungs in his chest didn’t work well enough to remain on land for more than a few minutes, nor could his limbs work in the quick way they would have to in order to destroy the Earth Queen and any others who might aid her, such as the elf.

Had any sea folk ever tried to stay on land for more than a passing moment?

He’d never heard of such a thing.

The Watcher would know.

An idea crept into his thoughts. What if the Watcher knew a way Ryton could access the land and, thus, the Earth Queen?

A spelled sphere of salt water, perhaps?

Or some type of magic that could help him glean proper oxygen from the raw air?

But could she do anything about his body and its dependence on the sea’s physical support?

The biggest question of all—the most dangerous question—was if he did go to the Watcher and ask her, would the Watcher report his failings to Queen Astraea?

If she did, he was as good as dead.

Astraea clearly wanted Ryton to quietly destroy the Earth Queen before the sea folk began to panic, the Earth Queen’s presence undercutting the confidence and prowess that Astraea and Ryton had worked to build within the great army of the sea.

He swam through a school of grassfish, green and sparkling, each of them twenty feet long with pointed snouts, then dove deep, heading roughly northwest, toward the Watcher’s ancient hovel.

The risk was worth the potential reward.

The Earth Queen was the sea folk’s greatest threat.

She could command stone, leaf, and earth, and break the tides and currents, destroying any chance they had of flooding the land.

If the Watcher could somehow help him hunt the Earth Queen on land, he could protect his kynd and maybe end this war with the bloodthirsty dragons—creatures who had slain countless sea folk over centuries of ancient feuds—once and for all.

But the Watcher never truly took sides. Her motivations were unknown.

Surely, she wanted the sea folk to win. She was one of them, albeit distorted and changed by her divine experience of gaining the Sight.

Ryton wondered if the Watcher would decide he was worth the risk of keeping a secret from Queen Astraea or not.

What did the Watcher do to folk who didn’t fit into her cloaked plans?

The sea darkened near the Watcher’s abode. Water in shades of the deepest green flowed through a forest of salt mushrooms, whose muddy stalks and bright crowns towered over a twisting pathway crowded with transparent albino eels.

As Ryton slowed and sank to the sea floor to walk, the eels scattered, their strange orange beaks clacking.

He passed under an archway of pitted coral, a dead structure that wouldn’t grow larger with time but would become brittle and eventually be carried away by the tides.

Not that the currents had much pull down here, in this ditch of a place.

It was quiet, Ryton could appreciate that, but the murky, stale water made it impossible to tell if the shapes floating overhead were detached seaweed or the ghosts of fallen sea folk.

He’d only seen one such spirit in his life, not long after his sister Selene had been killed by the dragons.

A pale figure, limbs disturbingly elongated, had drifted past his front door.

He had simultaneously hoped it was Selene and prayed it was not.

At the time, grief had made him desperate to see her face again, to bid her farewell, to hear her tease him as all siblings do, but he could not stomach the thought that she’d become a distorted ghost.

He hoped and prayed to the Source that she was at peace in her new form, a bright energy suffusing the sea with hope and laughter.

Now, he pushed away the ache of losing Selene to dragons so he could focus on what he would say to the Watcher.

“I hear General Ryton approaching.” The Watcher’s ragged voice echoed from the sea cave through the dusky water.

Did she have guests often? Ryton swallowed, wondering if he should have an excuse to cover his visit if someone close to the queen were present.

He entered the mouth of the Watcher’s home, keeping his spear lowered.

The crone stood over a bowl similar to the one she’d used for scrying in the palace.

The sides were steeper than that one though, and a dip along the rim showed the well-worn spot where the Watcher had gripped the edge for the many, many years she had lived and prophesied.

Seaweed unspooled from the walls and ceiling of the cave. Their long leaves cast a peculiar glow over the Watcher’s pinched face and the empty places where her eyes had once been. He wondered again if the story about her blinding was true.

“How can I help you, dear general?” The Watcher’s voice was a whisper.

Chills snaked down Ryton’s back as he set his spear against the wall. He approached with a polite bow. The water flowing closer to the bowl was cold, and it twisted oddly into the vessel, the stone depths catching the cave’s glow and distorting a reflection of the Watcher’s ancient face.

“I come,” he said, “asking for a miracle.”

“It is so cold… Dragons of shifting light…” She muttered nonsense until her words became mere sounds and noises.

Ryton didn’t know whether to interrupt or stand politely for a while longer. His fins itched to hurry through the water, but he didn’t want to upset her and ruin his chance.

“It is as foretold,” she said, her voice suddenly loud. “Long shadows still our waters. Or do they blind our army? Not certain. Unclear.” The Watcher touched the base of her scrying bowl. “Go on, General.”

He cleared his throat and did his best to ignore a chorus of pained moans coming from the back of the cave. She held no spelled prisoners as far as Ryton knew, so the sounds had to be the remnants of some spellwork gone awry.

“I’ve been ordered to assassinate the last surviving human.”

“The Earth Queen. She grows stronger.”

“Yes. And to succeed, I must be able to follow her onto land, out of the sea. Is there magic enough to accomplish such a task?”

The Watcher turned and cocked her head as if listening. “Dark magic. There is risk.”

“I must try it. If she continues to side with the dragons and I fail in my mission, all is lost.”

“Indeed, it is.”

She swam toward a set of doors, a shuffling sort of rhythm to her movements. The doors were made entirely of a sickly gray-green shell, a variety Ryton had never seen. The Watcher swung one door open wide and then disappeared inside.

From the room, a shrill shriek pierced the water, raking over Ryton’s ears. Temples thudding, he grabbed his spear and followed the Watcher’s steps into the dark second room.

“Twist, twist, and twist,” she murmured in the inky black.

Ryton’s eyes adjusted to the lack of light, and he could just barely see the Watcher as she reached into the opening of a two-foot-wide glass sphere.

Then, with a speed that shocked Ryton, the crone swam from the room.

He hurried to follow, bubbles zipping from his lips and running along his cheek. His gut told him to keep his hand on his weapon.

At the scrying bowl, the Watcher faced him and held out a black creature that oozed a sticky-looking substance.

The thing was about the size of two of his hands.

Long, multi-jointed legs extended from its body.

It looked like a trilobite with crab legs, and it clicked in a way that made Ryton shudder.

She pushed it toward him, bubbles rising from her nose and past the scarred skin of her empty eye sockets.

He stepped backward.

“Turn,” she ordered.

“Watcher, with all respect, do you swear on your life this will give me the ability to function above water with the same level of skill I have below?”

“No. You will function, but your strength will be lesser. Not by much, as long as you don’t remain on land for too long. This creature, born of magicked and bent Blackwater, will sap your own power and will twist it in uncomfortable ways. You must bear the burden if you want the benefits.”

“How long will I have up there?”

The crone squinted nonexistent eyes, scarred skin puckering. She tilted her ear upward as if she were listening to someone speaking from far away. Ryton cringed as the black creature clacked and extended its legs, reaching for him as if he were prey.

“It depends on you. Seven days, perhaps.”

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

Turning, he set his jaw to keep from talking himself out of this madness.

The Watcher tugged his shirt up to his neck, and he blinked at her strength. She placed the thing on his upper back, where its cold legs and shelled body sent a shiver rocking across his frame.

Foul magic slithered through his skin like a thousand parasites.

His knees tried to buckle, but he fought the weakness and managed to remain upright.

His only thought was: What have I done?

He’d ruined who he knew himself to be—Ryton the simple sea folk male, general, brother to a fallen sister, friend to an unpredictable warrior. He was now painted in the shades of this creature on his back.

The Watcher sucked water through her pruned lips as she faced him. She set her hands on his shoulders, her fingers touching the tips of the creature’s legs. “You will live through this, good general. But for how long? I don’t know. I cannot see.”

He managed a bow of his head as he worked his shirt over the new burden.

His stomach rolled, and he closed his eyes briefly to calm himself.

Questions surged into his mind. Would this creature injure him permanently?

How was he to remove it? But he bit his tongue.

None of it mattered. He had to kill the Earth Queen, and this evil creature would help him do so.

He would tackle the rest if, or when, he succeeded with the assassination.

“Thank you for your help, Watcher. The sea realms will be protected because of this spellwork.”

“This is not my spellwork, General. Not by my hand was this thing born. Long ago. Another. Another time.”

He didn’t understand her, but it did not matter.

With one last bow to the crone, he swam from the sea cave, over the stretches of brilliant coral and writhing creatures.

The time had come to properly pursue the Earth Queen and see her dead at his feet, either on land or by sea.