Page 2 of In Violent Waves

“An elf harnessing your magic could turn the tide of their war. If you were to be caught, you would be enslaved and used in ways beyond your worst nightmares.” His words were bitter, utterly uncaring of his youngest daughter. But they were not a lie.

Lyra had been wrong in her earlier assumption. This wasn’t about controlling her; it was about controlling her magic. If hecould cut it out of her and use it himself—he would. And had tried long ago.

Her nostrils flared as she remembered the pain.

“The sea witch was wrong,” Lyra replied with quiet menace.

The memories from that day, the horror and the sea witch’s dark, swampy cave in Ithicais still gnawed on her mind from time to time.

Trials and prophecies.

Blood and death.

Her power would bring nothing but pain and destruction. And it had already brought death.

But even as she said the words, she felt that the lie was obvious.

Her magic had come, and she was terrified of it.

She could feel it even now, a thread of pure gold around her heart, waiting to be plucked. She recoiled from it.

It had happened only once.

An accident.

She was so young she hardly remembered how it had happened or what she had said, but that male had died. And it was of her doing.

Her father turned back to the gentry, and Lyra looked around. She tried to look past the creatures and at the room itself. The mosaic tile floor depicted waves, coral reefs, and Ennosidas. A merman of infinite power, with hair as black as night and eyes of emerald green, he gripped the golden trident in one hand while the other was outstretched at his side.

As a child, she had lain on the floor, pretending to hold the trident herself while dreaming of the sky.

The memory elicited a tightness in her ribs as she looked up to the towering pillars of stunning white granite that held up the open-domed roof that caught and guided the murky light around the room.

Lyra wondered briefly what the day had looked like above the water. She had still never seen the sky—not the sun, nor the moon, nor stars.

It was the one rule she hadn’t broken.

The water in the hall was warm, kindling something inside her—a flicker she imagined was fire. She’d read about fire. Read about everything related to life above the sea, how to survive it, and the vileness of men.

Well, men—and the elves.

Far more nefarious than the humans were the elves.

Murderous creatures who defiled, pillaged, and conquered. They had been at war between themselves for centuries, and she was grateful. Utterly grateful that they hadn’t ever turned their sights on conquering her home.

The thought of them sent a shiver gliding down her spine. Tales of cruelty that surpassed even her father. At least under his rule, their kingdom had seen peace. But if the scouts were right—tonight became even more treacherous.

She pulled her eyes away from the faint light and turned to the gazes that raked across her skin. The high-ranking men and their families were always positioned closer to the dais, while the lower-ranking members were pushed to the back. It was easy to pinpoint who was high-ranking. They had the most children.

A family of four hovered at the foot of the dais. A father and three daughters. The oldest daughter stood dutifully at her father’s side. Chin lowered, eyes averted, silent. The middle daughter still held a quizzical eye as her gaze darted around. But when her attention clashed with Lyra’s, she lowered her eyes at once.

The youngest daughter, however, was studying Lyra with a curious expression. Her hair was pinned up so tightly that it pulled at the delicate skin around her eyes. She was so small, no more than eight, but had already mastered the correct chin levelto appear superior to her older sisters. Her eyes narrowed in on Lyra’s unbound hair, and she tilted her head.

Lyra ran her fingers through her hair and met the girl’s stare head-on. The child’s eyes widened at the indecency. Lyra smiled with all her teeth. The girl looked up to her father, who was locked in conversation, and then back to Lyra as she ripped the lower half of her hair from the tight updo.

It was satisfying to see that small act of rebellion and to know she had caused it.

To stop herself from laughing and brushing against that thread of power, Lyra studied her nails and then exhaled. She hated engagements like this and wanted to flee this place. Her tail swished and shimmered from pale lavender to light green.