Page 8 of Of Rime and Ruin
I slouch in my chair. That’s it then. I have no argument.
Father clears his throat. “The sky is clear today, which should make for smooth waters.” He tucks his teacup beneath his gray mustache and sips. “Good for submerging. Ramona should have no issues.”
I nod mechanically in simple relief—an easy submersion means we’ll get there sooner, and if they’re going to pin my fins to the floor, I’d rather them do it quickly.
As my family launches into a discussion of the weather, I reach beneath the table and pull the message stone from my pocket. At my contact, its embedded magic awakens, replaying the Coral Queen’s message in my mind’s eye.
The image of the Coral Prince dances before the backdrop of my breakfast. Soren, he’s called. My future husband. Heishandsome, I’ll admit, in the breezy Coral style. He stands two-legged in a white-washed marble hallway, dressed in linen pants. Brown skin like mine. Bright eyes. Cocky smile. Sand stuck in his dark hair.
In the recording, he scowls as if irritated to be captured in his mother’s writing spell.
We might get along.
Or maybe I’ll be miserable, separated from everything I know and love, and resigned to never way-make again. My magic, unnecessary. My future, as fixed as Winona’s.
Gods.
I sever the magic and groan. This is my duty. I was born for a royal marriage. As the second-born female, I would never be a royal ofthiskingdom forever. That has always been Winona’s job: to marry a buffoon up to his neck in silks, like Ferrell, so she could secure her claim to the Brine Throne.
I’m happy we have a viable match this time.Was that sarcasm in her tone? Does Winona regret her decision?
Is she… jealous?
“What do you think, Nahlani?”
I look up into four pairs of waiting eyes.
Ferrell looks away, dropping three cubes of sugar into his lushfruit tea. He clinks his spoon, stirring, stirring.Tap, tap, tap.Winona flicks her gaze at him, her brow puckering with irritation.
Gods, their sex life must be awful.
“Nahlani Mahelona, are you listening to me?” My father speaks again, and his eyebrows twitch.
Shit.
Winona’s fingers rap on the table, her nails clacking one after the other. Louder. Faster. Two minutes and counting until she snaps. My head throbs again, and I curse last night’s rum into oblivion.
What were they talking about? The weather? All the ways I’ve failed them?
I swallow a lump of bread, and it slides down my throat.
“If you’ll excuse me,” I say, standing. My pulse pounds in my ears. Winona protests with a click of her tongue. So I snatch a piece of cinnamon cake for good measure, fold it into a napkin, and rush out of the room.
“Is she running away again?” Father’s booming voice echoes through the hall before I burst out the front doors into a shallow courtyard.
The air hangs heavy outside, thick with moisture on a hot gust of wind. Voices erupt in the streets beyond our gate. The doors to the palace slam shut behind me, but I do not stop. I push through the gate into the chaos of submersion day.
My family won’t follow. They never do.
The captain shouts orders in the streets. Merfolk scramble to tuck last-minute items into their homes. Hatchlings wail. Birds screech from the palmwoods. Guppies stand at the bottom of the trees, trying to coax them with stale bread. The birds will have to come inside before we submerge or find a new home somewhere else. If I had time, I’d stop to help bring in the birds. But I’m already breathless, and my pounding feet carry me past.
Keen stands at the helm, readying to dive into the saddle.
It’s happening.
In a few moments, Ramona will submerge, and we’ll speed toward my future.
Keen points west. The captain nods. Before he dives, the old way-maker glances in my direction. I lift my hand and wave, and he smiles as I charge toward him with the cake cradled to my chest, weaving around the merfolk.
