Page 48 of Whispers of the Deep

Although Daios growled back at him, teeth bared, he knew that his brother would not fight him. For even if Daios was a capable fighter, even if he wore the scars of many battles, he was no match for Arges. This was a fight he would not win unless Arges was weakened.

Mitéra’s hand passed between their faces. Her pale webbed fingers were likely the only thing that might have stopped Arges from ripping his brother’s head off. Even so, he still bared his teeth in a snarl and wrenched their tails apart, rocking his brother forward before he turned to Mitéra.

Bowing his head, he ground out, “My apologies. You do not enjoy seeing violence in your own home, and I have broken that covenant.”

“Indeed, you have.” She still brushed her fingers over his face, though, drawing his eyes up to hers. But the warmth he usually saw in them was not there. Not in the slightest. “My favored son, you already have a mission. You are to speak with the achromo you stole and learn their secrets.”

“It will take time for us to converse.”

“I understand that. This is why your brother has stepped in to lead our pod. Our weapons are strong, and our hearts are brave. Daios is quite certain he can lead us to victory, and I have given him permission to do so.”

It felt like she’d shoved a knife between his ribs and twisted.

“Why?” he rasped. “Why would you do this when you know we will lose so many?”

His brother answered. Harsh, grating laughter filled the waters between them. “You have such little faith in me, brother. There will only be a few lives to lose today, and the rest will be those of the achromos who will scream and writhe as they drown.”

A cry echoed his own. A hundred of their people, so pleased with what they were about to do and not capable of seeing the future.

Mitéra dropped her touch from his chin and turned to his brother. Ashamed that he had been cast aside, Arges wilted to the ground of their home. He pressed his hands to the dirt, feeling the grit of it against the webs of his fingers as he sent out prayers to every ocean god and goddess that he could remember.

“Watch over our people,” he said, his voice low and quiet. “Bring them to battle, but do not make them scent the blood of their loved ones. Show them their folly, but do not take their lives as payment.”

He murmured the words over and over again as the pod above him took off into the distance. He could hear their tails lashing through the water, the clinking of weapons that knocked against each other as they made their way toward the achromos’ home. But mostly, he heard the happiness in his brother’s voice as he led them toward what he was certain was victory.

And it would end in all their deaths.

Quiet descended upon his home. The only people left were the elderly, the young, and the women who had just given birth. Those who could not fight, and likely still wished they had enough muscle in their tails to go.

A cold, webbed hand glided down his back, delicately plucking at the spines pressed flat to his skin.

“They must learn the hard way,” Mitéra said. “You know the violence in your brother’s heart. You have seen the darkness that lingers underneath his skin, and how he will not give up his desire to kill and harm.”

“There are better ways to learn.”

“Not for him. Daios speaks a language that is only blood and pain.” Mitéra tapped a long tail on the back of his skull, forcing him to look up from the sand and at her. “He will learn this time. He will see that there is a great demon in this ocean, and it does not live with the depthstriders.”

“I could smell them on him.”

“I know. So could I.” She turned those colorless eyes in the direction all her people had gone, and for a split moment he saw a flash of fear cross over her features. “This was not an easy choice.”

“You sent them to their deaths.”

“I have given them a head start.” She turned that emotionless gaze back to him, and he already knew he would not like this plan of hers. “They need to be reminded who leads this pod, and why. So you will go after them, Arges, and you will save all that you can.”

He frowned. “I can catch up with them now. I can stop them if I need to.”

“You will not go now.” She nodded her head, acknowledging that he was faster than most. “You will finish your prayers. To every ocean god and goddess, that they will guide your hand and that you will be able to save as many of your people as you can. And you will ask for forgiveness.”

“Forgiveness?” he repeated.

“For me.” Mitéra’s colors flashed blue, then a deep black. “For I was the one who sent them to their ends.”

He would waste no more time. Arges bent back into the sand, whispering the words of his prayer to every god he could think of. He asked for speed. He begged for their grace and to allow him to find their people quickly. None of them could afford for him to waste any time in getting to them. He would rush through the waves, and the currents would toss him to the achromos’ home.

And when he finished, he didn’t even look at Mitéra. He threw himself into motion, his tail springing into action and his gills opening wide so he could get enough air to chase after them.

Hearts thundering in his chest the entire journey, he rushed forward into the unknown until he met the massive wall that led up to the human home. Even looking up, he could see the bright flashes of light that preceded the blinding pain of the achromos’ weapons. Small explosions rocked through the water, raining debris down on his head.

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