Page 7 of Surface Pressure

“Miarchi.” She nodded her head and then narrowed her eyes at him.

“Princess. I will get another report on how our kin fare after the last attack.” Miarchi bowed his thin wiry body in half and with a flick of his fluke left the King’s chambers.

The closing door sent out small ripples that tickled over Soulara’s arms.

“What are you doing?” Her father, now alone in her presence, asked loudly enough for the ripples to return to the closed door and back again.

“It’s true.”

“What’s true?” His face remained tight, colored like an angry coral.

“Zen. Zen was right. The water is receding.”

Her father shook his head, his lips sneered up in disgust. “I don’t have time for more of your attention-seeking tantrums.”

“This isn’t a tantrum!” Though it certain sounded like one with the way her voice rose.

“Could have fooled me.” Her brother, Makryn, drawled as he lounged against the door, now opened enough for his lithe form to swim through. She glared at her brother. If it were just her father, she might have been able to pull back her own anger and help him see her concerns in a way he would believe and take action on. Maybe. But with Makryn around, the chances were minimal. But she couldn’t deny what she had just seen.

“Shut up.” Soulara snapped and turned back to their father. “We need to do something. We need to look into it. The water levels are lowering, and swiftly. There’s something wrong and…” Autumn Walton’s name danced on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t do that. She didn’t know if Autumn Walton had anything to do with it, and she didn’t want her father finding that beautiful land creature until she knew who Autumn Walton actually was.

“Enough.” Her father said, voice quieter now but tinged with a disgust Soulara despised more than his yelling. He lounged against the rocks of his casual throne, returning his attention to work and summarily dismissing his daughter.

“If I went to mother with the same information, she would at least care about her people, and our entire ocean. She always cared more about life than saving her own place of power.” Soulara spat the words, venom in each one. She threw them like daggers, hoping each and every one of them landed in vital places in his body.

“Your mother…” Her father growled, fingers clenching around the seaweed scroll he had been reading, tearing the words into shreds. “She cared more about herself than any of our people. It’s why I’m here and she’s not.”

They locked eyes and for a moment, a pressure built between them like an air bubble pushed to its limit.

The snigger behind her broke the tension and the bubble burst.

“Go fuck your cousin.” Soulara threw over her shoulder as she swam past Makryn. It was a low dig, but one he had no words for. At least, none that she heard follow her out.

Soulara turned the corner of the corridor and stopped sharply.

“Miarchi.” Soulara breathed out the advisor’s name, her anger chasing her sudden fear which was followed up with annoyance.

“Excuse me, Princess.” Miarchi bowed low, his eyes dropping to the coral floor below. “Have you seen Zendalia?”

“Why?” Soulara’s brow pulled together sharply. Fear etched its way back into her stomach. This was such an odd interaction. Miarchi barely spoke to her on a good day. But now he was directly conversing with her about another soldier, of all people. Her best friend.

“She—” He stopped suddenly, his gaze lighting on another mer passing by them. “She’s with the healer.”

Soulara’s spine straightened immediately. “What?”

“The attack…”

Wincing, Soulara thanked the man and immediately swam off. She didn’t stop as she wound her way through the halls and out into the courtyard. Zendalia would be with the main medics for soldiers. Her heart raced as she reached the small shelter in the seaweed.

“Zendalia.” Soulara demanded of the first person she saw.

“This way, Princess.”

Soulara was taken immediately to a small clearing. The light from the sun dazzled through the water, reflecting off of Zendalia’s bright red hair, her orange fiery tail, a tail that had been sewn together roughly, and her fins —which were shredded.

“Oh, Z.”

“She will recover,” the healer answered, nodding toward Zendalia’s prone form.

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