Page 85 of Female Fantasy
His words hit me like an anvil.
Just like that, I’m transported back to high school. I’m standing in that gymnasium, staring at Nico as he looks back at me with hollow red eyes. Holding Sam’s hips flush against his, head hanging low. Reeking of gin and smoke and bitter regrets.
I wasn’t enough.
I’m never enough.
When I look back up at Nico, my eyes are brimming with unshed tears. Instantly, I see the regret on his face, in the lines on his forehead.
“Shit, Joonie,” he says, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“You better go,” I tell him. “That girl will be wondering where you are.”
His eyes linger on me for a second.
Then he nods curtly, grabbing his backpack. With his hand on the doorknob, he turns his head a quarter of an inch back so that I’m in his periphery. Some taped-up, badly glued together piece of me cracks.
“I hope you get your happy ending,” he says.
And then he walks out the door.
Chapter Seventeen
I hate third-act conflict.
“So, as you can see, dear comrades,” Ryke says, “with the combination of my enhanced strength and Merriah’s considerable power, we might actually be able to stage a successful coup against the sirens. We will have to be methodical, of course. There is no room for error. But for the first time in ages, there may be hope.”
He is speaking to a room full of mer rebels, who are eyeing me with raised brows and upturned noses, barely able to mask their doubt and disdain. We are gathered at Fort Caspian, no longer afraid the sirens will discover us after the exposure of our forces at the ball. The entrance to the castle is heavily guarded, although Ryke is certain the sirens will not strike again so soon. He claims that I caught them off guard with the trident. The queen will need time to recover and plan her next move.
“Commander Kai will come up with our battle plan,” Ryke continues. “We shall make our move in a fortnight.” He nods to Kai, who is seated to our left, along with Mira. Dylan and Guinn are perched on our right, watching the crowd carefully. Together, we appear powerful, the last stand against tyranny.
Nobody knows that my bowels have turned to liquid and not even the trident has the power to stop them.
“Forgive me, Your Highness,” a white-haired mer with a long beard and frown lines interrupts. He points one long crooked finger at me. My stomach churns in response. “But are you suggesting that we put all our faith in a mere human? She is not our kind. Most of us have never once spoken to or even seen a human woman before. She can barely swim. How can someone so ordinary be our salvation?”
My hands start to shake.
I have similar reservations myself.
“Thatordinary womanyou speak of,” Ryke snaps, “is the descendant of the goddess Amphitrite. All the potency of the ocean runs through her veins. She saved me from death, anointed me with her power. And you all heard the warning call of the ancient conch, felt the wave of sovereignty that rippled through our waters when she wielded the golden trident. She alone can command the trove of the gods.”
I feel my face flush as the warmth of confidence explodes in my chest.
Ryke believes in me.
He trusts me.
He may even love—
“And she can command the trove at will?” the white-haired mer asks, smirking in my direction, one eyebrow cocked.
Ryke’s eyes narrow. “No, Enochlo,” he says. “Not exactly.”
I swallow.
Earlier today, Ryke and I tried to test the extent of my power over the trove. I caressed the golden spear, closed my eyes, and tried to focus on my gifts. But nothing happened. I bit my tongue with concentration until it bled. Ryke insisted that I had not disappointed him, but I knew better. I saw the flicker of worry in his eyes.
“It appears that Merriah can only command the trident when her emotions are…heightened,” he says. “Luckily, war tends to activate even the most passive sensibilities.”
