Page 28 of Caged By the Ruthless Thief

“We need to vote,” the Braesen governor says.

Voices collide. I don’t know who is saying what anymore.

“Then we vote. All in favor of staying by the standards of our heritage and letting the tribute of Poseidon return to society, say aye.”

“No, I call for a secret ballot.”

“He’s bleeding out on your floor. When are you going to let enough be enough?” I call out, looking each governor in the eye.

“Aye. He should be free from his crimes.”

“Aye.”

Around the room, I glare at each one. Braesen can’t hold my stare. Stele scoffs at me as he moves back to his chair. The Koralli governor says aye. It takes a few minutes, but Braesen eventually says aye. Stele grunts aye.

“Good. Now open the damn doors and get a stretcher in here to take Nico Portsmouth, the Tribute of Poseidon, to get some medical attention.”

“I will walk.” Nico’s scratchy voice rises over the din of the governors.

I nod and lower my voice. “But you’re going to the hospital.”

His eyes widen. “Of course I am.”

Now I know how serious his condition really is.

14

NICO

Holter’s leg is behind me. I don’t want to admit it, but he’s holding me up. I flick my eyes to Castor. He’s right. As much as I want to go back to Glyden and get my shit together so we can go get Annabelle, I need to be glued back together.

As I swam out of the chimney, another damn viperfish found the side of my neck. Luckily, this time I had a trident along with my rock. And while it’s big, ornate, and uglier than sin, it’s remarkably balanced. It’s got no tech in it, but one swift push of the tines into the viper’s belly, and it sank away from me, taking a piece of my shoulder with it to the bottom of the chimney. Fuck, it hurts.

Castor’s standing close too. He’s not holding the trident, but his hand is hovering behind it. If my fingers release it, I know he’ll cover me.

I glance at my brother. Turning my head has pain shooting down my side. I catch Holter’s glance. We’ve been through a lot together, growing up with one dad and a father who never wanted to be there. Surviving more than just the battle everyone remembers. I’m glad he’s here. I’ve taken him for granted. I never want to do that again. His leg touches mine, and I know he’ll catch me if I fall. The thing about a pod is that we’re stronger together. We’re whole together.

Castor inclines his head at me. This is it. This is what we talked about in the government building’s lobby. I need to say a few things to the crowd. Get my bearings. My gut twists.

Holter leans in and whispers, “Pretend you’re talking to Belle.”

Fuck, I can’t do that. What I want to say to her isn’t for—shouldn’t be heard by—the masses. But I get what he means. I imagine her there, standing between me and the dock where anomadaawaits. I clear my throat. There’s no way I can be loud enough to be heard over the din of the crowd. Not like when I present to my crew. But when I open my mouth again, they go silent.

“I have returned with Poseidon’s trident.”

There’s a cheer from the packed portico, but I don’t care. Holter’s right. This is a chance to talk to the entire city.

“My actions were against the law. I’ve paid the price. Now it is time to join the world. There are humans on the land who can help us reinvigorate our city. I’ve been to war. It can be an answer, but there can be another answer.” I take a breath, my lungs expanding in my chest, and everything hurts. There’s more to say, but that’s all I can take for now. I touch Castor’s hand with my pinky.

“Nico will have a full statement later. Please clear the way so we can have his minor injuries attended to.” Castor raises his free arm, and the crowd to the dock parts like the great sea.

Holter wanted to get an ambulance, but I agreed with Castor. This is about impressions. I need to appear as strong as I can to keep my exile at bay. The only male who has come back from the chasm never really rebounded. He locked himself away in his dome, making his own prison. Oh, they might have called him the second coming of Poseidon, but not everyone believed it.

Each breath is a strain. I’m focusing on the parts of my body that don’t hurt, which are my left knee and my hair. But right now, as the crowd parts and the Glydenomadathat I’m sure is Ophelia’s pulls up to the dock, I envision each step and how I’m going to get into the damn vehicle without appearing like the weak sack of fish bones I feel like. Each step is an effort in itself. I’m using the trident as a cane, like my great-grandfather did after his accident with an orca. Damn assholes of the sea. Random thoughts are flashing through my head until I land on Annabelle, her blonde hair framing her face, her scent of crisp apples. In my imagination, I picture her waiting for me in theomada.

“Slow down,” Holter whispers into my ear.

“He’s good,” Castor says through what I picture as clenched teeth. I can’t look at him. I’m focusing on the wide-open cargo door. I step on in, and the damn thing rocks.

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