Page 52 of Legacy of the Heirs (The Lost Kingdom Saga #2)

She stumbled when a cold hand caught her ankle.

She spun to find Arik holding onto her while Osiris rose slowly behind him, his movements much slower than Arik’s scrambling.

Larelle did not try to shake him. Time slowed as Larelle summoned the ocean, where a wave so high rose towards their ledge.

Panic filled Arik’s eyes as the sea darkened the cavern, and Osiris grabbed Arik’s jacket, tugging the boy back into his chest as Larelle released the wave and sent it crashing into them.

Wasting no time, Larelle raised her arms above her head and dived into the sea, streamlining herself as she plunged into the rocky depths below.

Saltwater consumed her, and Larelle breathed it in.

A shoal of silver fish swirled beside Larelle, welcoming her return to the ocean kingdom.

Her breathing eased, comfortable and secure as the water engulfed her like a blanket.

She appreciated the water’s solace, never wishing to experience her power being cut off again.

Yet her panic threatened to creep back in amongst her relief as Larelle glanced to the surface and sunk lower, remaining close enough to discern Osiris and Arik standing at the cavern ledge in the rocky karsts growing from the ocean.

The fish swam a path around Larelle and shielded her from view.

The ocean would always protect her. The talisman burned in her hand as she watched and waited.

The two men did not linger at the edge for long or attempt to follow her in, but why?

Why would they release her with little fight?

Bile rose in Larelle’s throat as their features shifted into that of two winged creatures.

They jumped from the ledge and spanned their wings, taking off toward the sea border, away from the mainland.

The ocean cocooned Larelle while she waited and wondered how much longer she would be kept from her daughter until it was safe to break the surface.

Larelle examined the talisman and rubbed her thumb over the engraving.

She reached for the piece on her neck, the jagged edge matching the one in her hand, where together it formed a ship with three sails.

She wondered if the other rulers had pieced together the prophecy, too, and searched for their own halves. Larelle’s stomach sunk at that.

Had anyone searched for her?

The fish around Larelle fanned out, vacating their defensive position.

Hoping they were correct, Larelle kicked her legs and broke the surface, greeted by the cool, early evening air.

She blinked away the water clinging to her lashes and scanned the horizon, searching for any dot in the sky, near or far.

She found nothing and continued her surveillance until spotting a ship in the distance.

She squinted. It travelled from The Bay but not for the usual fishing pools; it headed in her direction.

If it continued, it would need to attempt to cross the rough waves and whirlpools surrounding the rocks where she hid—the perfect defences for a hidden talisman.

She squinted again, faintly making out the Nerida royal sigil. Alvan. Her heart pounded.

Alvan. It had to be him; he was the only one who could commandeer a royal ship after naming him her heir until Zarya was of age.

While Larelle trusted her sailors' worth, navigating these rocks was a death sentence unless they had a water-wielder on board, which was unlikely given that few remained with a connection to the royal line.

Larelle clenched her fist around the talisman, the perfect defence for hiding such a relic.

She breathed in deeply. She would not be kept from her family any longer.

Clinging to that thought, she sunk below the surface.

Larelle frowned at the dark waters, her eyesight faltering on something in its depths—a whirl of soft light.

When she blinked again, she saw it for what it was: one of many whirlpools.

Kicking her feet, Larelle manipulated the surrounding water to create a stream, propelling her towards the ship.

She thought of Zarya’s terrified face when Lillian ushered her away, and the last time she relished in the warmth of Olden’s hugs; she thought of her pounding heart whenever her hand brushed Alvan’s, and the pain across his face when he screamed for her in the moments before she was taken.

Larelle blinked back tears amongst the seawater as she realised she feared never seeing him again, not just her daughter and Olden.

She screamed into the water, confronted by the pain of grieving one love while yearning for a new one.

She was not moving fast enough; she needed to know they were safe and they would remain with her forever. Both parts of the talisman radiated, and a glow encompassed Larelle as her hair floated in a halo and the ocean swam in her eyes.

Raising her hands, Larelle sank to the ocean floor, and only when her feet met the rough sand did she clap her hands together and send the sound rippling throughout the ocean.

The fish scattered as Larelle screamed, the sound of rushing water pounding through her ears.

Larelle screamed endlessly as power blazed in her hands, as she, the queen of Nerida, parted the ocean.

The water rushed away from her, divided into two halves that began at her feet.

She stopped screaming as the water parted until salty air filled her lungs.

Larelle moved along the seabed, stepping over discarded shells and broken wood from years of floating debris having sunk to the ocean floor to be claimed by the darkness.

Her eyes lingered on deep-set footprints with sharpened claws: a sea creature she had never heard of.

The footprints faded behind the walls of waves, stretching and forming a path for their queen.

In the distance, it continued to part, the dark blue fading to a brighter turquoise as it met shallower waters.

Larelle would not be claimed by the darkness of her fears; she would be reunited with her family and would help save her kingdom from the creatures whose real faces she had now seen.

Larelle’s feet quickened as the ocean continued to part to where the ship appeared in the distance, much closer than before.

Water parted around it, and behind the ship, she saw The Bay.

Her feet took on a mind of their own when her eyes tugged on a familiar body: the shape of his head, the breadth of his shoulders, and the size of his hands gripping the ropes as he hung over the side of the ship, looking in her direction.

When Larelle saw his moment of realisation, she ran.

Larelle Sevia ran as though her life depended on it, and it did.

Her life was Zarya; her life was Olden, and her life was the man hastily climbing down the rope on the side of her royal ship—the man who had stood by her side since the moment she was queen.

The man who spent night after night tucking her daughter into bed and forming a friendship.

The man who listened to her worries and offered his advice.

Larelle heard the faint sound of his voice as he hit the sand, and the waves towering on either side of them fell like rain, soaking through her torn gown.

“Larelle!” Alvan screamed, and a sob broke free as she watched him sprint towards her. “Larelle!” he screamed again, and the water fell around him.

“Alvan!” Larelle tried to call back, but she broke down, sobbing, as the water fell harder, a torrent of rain reflecting her emotions as Alvan ran to her as though he felt every emotion within her just as strongly.

“Larelle,” he whispered when they collided. He embraced her in a way that offered security she had not felt in years.

“Alvan.” She sobbed into his neck, breathing in his scent of forest trees drowning under sea water. His hands were firm against her back, as though he was afraid she might disappear again. She curled her fingers into his sodden shirt as his embrace reminded her of the ocean— home .

“I promised you,” he cried. “I promised you I would always be here.” He pulled back and clasped her cheeks while the falling water paused and spiralled, dancing around them, cocooning them in the safety of their embrace.

“You are here.” She smiled through her tears, resting her forehead against his. “You are here.”