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NERYS

I could not have been more surprised to see him.

That Caelum had taken Rowan to me was more than a little out of character for him. When my parents had died, it was he and Aneri who had lifted me up, but they did so in very different ways. Aneri, as kind and loving as my mother, and Caelum, more stoic and relentless than my father had been. I could never guess what he was thinking and only once, in a quiet moment after training, had he admitted wishing for that rare thing only a small fraction of Elydorians experienced.

A child.

I’d already known I was like a daughter to him, but that conversation had confirmed it. Since then, he’d never truly opened his heart again to me, but once had been enough. Now, with each step Rowan took toward me, I tried to understand why he’d allowed a stranger to him, a human, to see me this way.

If you wish to practice such skills, do so here where you cannot be seen by the palace.

Remembering his words the first time Caelum had taken me to this place, I watched as Rowan removed his boots, tossed them onto the sand, and made his way across the rocks. His movements were agile and effortless, the words he’d spoken to Queen Lirael still playing in my mind.

“Why did he bring you here?” I asked without preamble. Though the tempest inside me had somewhat settled, it hadn’t yet been replaced by the calm I needed to return to the palace.

“He said that he believes you put your trust in me. If that is true, your trust would not be misplaced, Nerys.”

I turned to the sea, watching as the waves rolled in, one after another.

“Some believe it is Thalassa, the sea goddess who created all we see before us. But how is that possible, when Elydor was all one before the clans were created?”

“I cannot claim to know any more than you, with certainty, of Thalassa, or Zephyra or Terranor or my human god.”

“Hmm.”

Rowan moved closer, facing me. Waiting.

“It is true, I had begun to put my trust in you, but it is also clear there is much I did not know, including your true purpose here.”

“That was not my story to tell, but King Galfrid’s and his daughter’s. But I am glad Queen Lirael asked you to stay. You know the truth of it now.”

I turned to him. “Why you?”

Rowan’s smile faltered. “Another story that is not mine. If it were, I would share it, Nerys. Surely you know, at least, we want the same for Elydor. It is my fervent wish the Gate is reopened, my people who never intended to remain able to return and be reunited with their loved ones. I believe, as you do, we are stronger working together, all four of Elydor’s kingdoms united.”

“Too many still do not see Estmere as a legitimate clan.”

“Perhaps because we continue to call it a kingdom.”

That did make me smile. It was a minor detail, but highlighted an important difference between us. “You have assimilated but still keep many of the human ways.”

“As do all the king… clans… in Elydor.”

“True,” I said, feeling calmer with each passing moment. A distraction to my thoughts was needed, it seemed.

“You are troubled.”

“As evidenced by my fleeing from the throne room, ignoring the queen’s command?”

“As evidenced by your expression.” He grinned. “And your fleeing, too.”

Could I trust a man who admitted there was more he could not, or would not, tell me? As an ally, perhaps. Though there was a part of me that wished for more, if I were being honest with myself.

“None know the Tidal Pearl had been stolen. Or if they did, the queen kept the circle of knowledge small. We knew the seaquake was coming. There were signs, and the queen was the only one powerful enough to stop it. But she was unable to do so. Afterward, there were many questions about how, with the Tidal Pearl amplifying her power, the queen had failed to harness its strength to calm the waters.”

Understanding dawned on Rowan’s face. “She did not have it. That quake occurred not long after Balthor closed the Gate. Some believed the two occurrences were related.”

Further words refused to escape my mouth. I could remember learning of it, rushing to the water’s edge and falling to my knees, surrounded by wails and shouts of disbelief. Not since the War of the Abyss had so many Thalassarians perished at one time.

His arms were around me before I could stop him, though I would not have tried. Lying my head on his chest, I relished Rowan’s embrace as I might a lover, but he was nothing of the sort. This man was a human. A near stranger. And yet nothing in recent memory had felt more natural than slipping my own arms around his waist.

He smelled of sea salt and cedar, like the ocean meeting the shore. The warmth of his body against mine steadied me, as if I no longer felt adrift.

For a moment, I allowed myself to forget the questions and secrets. In his embrace, everything faded into the background except the sound of sea meeting surf.

“I am sorry, Nerys,” he whispered above me. “For the loss of your parents. For the queen’s deception. And for learning about the latter from me.”

It was not his fault, and though Rowan likely knew as much, I told him by pulling him tighter, unwilling to let him go just yet.

We stood that way for longer than was proper, but suddenly, I did not care about propriety. Or my duties. Or even hiding, something I’d gotten very good at doing these past years.

“I am stronger than her,” I murmured.

It was treason to speak the words aloud and not challenge her. Thalassarian law, as with the other clans, was simple. The most powerful among its people was crowned king or queen. It had been so since the first days of Elydor, before the clans even existed.

“I know,” he said. “I believe Caelum wanted me to see it for myself.”

Reluctantly, I stepped back, inadvertently looking at his lips, wondering what it would be like to kiss him. As if we needed that further complication.

“He wants me to challenge her.”

“As you should. Is that not the main purpose of your Festival of Tides? One which it seems I will witness, as your queen denied my request but agreed to reconsider, giving me her answer on the day of your festival.”

“Unfortunately, I expected as much. And aye, that is the purpose of the Festival of Tides,” I acknowledged. “But we’ve gone for so long without a challenge to the queen…”

Rowan’s gaze was shrewd. “The challenge is its primary purpose.”

He wasn’t wrong.

“Do you think she suspects?”

“That,” I admitted, “is an excellent question. I do not believe so but she knows there is someone more powerful courtesy of the Tidal Pearl.”

Little by little, each clan’s key artifact becomes less amplifying, a sign to the current ruler one has been born that will replace them.

“Will you?”

“Challenge her?”

I shook my head. “I am no queen.”

“Nerys, if you are truly more powerful than Lirael?—”

“I should have said, I believe I am more powerful. None can know for certain without a direct test of our skills. If I were to challenge her, and lose… I cannot risk it. Maybe in the future, but not now.” Not giving him a chance to argue, which I was certain he was about to do, I moved toward the water. “Let me show you something.”

I stepped to the water’s edge, the cool spray of the sea misting my face as I extended my hand. Kneeling, my palm hovering just above the surface, I closed my eyes. The water stilled, unnaturally calm, as though the ocean was holding its breath.

A faint glow spread from my fingertips and the water responded, rippling outward in delicate, synchronized patterns: circles, spirals, and symbols. Slowly, the designs rose from the sea, droplets forming into glistening sculptures that danced in the air.

I didn’t stop yet.

With a whispered command, the sculptures transformed into living images: a pod of dolphins leaping joyously, a towering wave frozen mid-crash, and finally, a majestic figure cloaked in flowing robes, her features too ethereal to belong to any mortal.

“Thalassa,” he breathed, recognizing the image of the Eternal.

I stood. “This is not just water. It is memory; the sea holds fragments of what it’s witnessed. Few of us can summon it, and even fewer can shape it,” I added, in case Rowan was not clear about the meaning of this demonstration. “I should not have witnessed their last moments, but was unable to stop myself. Nor is it a “gift” I wish to share with anyone, its burden too great to bear.”

“Then let me bear it with you.”