Page 121 of In Rising Tides

Lyra searched for Nerida in the crowd, but couldn’t find her. She did, however, spy her sister, Thalassa, next to Rigel.

The prince and princess of Pavlopetri appeared somber. Thalassa’s golden hair was pulled back so severely it appeared brown and dull from the amount of jelly she must have used to keep her wild curls in place.

While Aegir droned on about the anger of Ennosidas, Rigel shared a look with Thalassa, his lips tugged down in a frown as he patted his wife’s hand. The earthquake must have impacted their territory.

“Was it Pavlopetri?” Lyra whispered to Drystan.

Lyra watched as his nostrils flared, but he did not respond.

Aegir’s voice rose until it was thundering around the room.

“It is the sin of the wicked that see us cursed! The wicked that flaunt their perversion and have no honor for our ways,” his voice was a slither, a snake through tall grass. “If you see something—say something! Alert the guards, alert my acolytes. Help us, and Ennosidas will be merciful!”

A snort slipped out of Lyra, and Drystan threw her a vicious glare.

Aegir turned slowly, looking over a broad shoulder at her.

“Something to add, Princess?”

His brow arched so high it was nearly lost in his hairline, the thick black broken up by a slice of pure silver. It didn’t move at all with his change of expression.

The stares of disgust were a weight settling on her chest. It made her skin crawl.

This is why she had always stayed silent in this room, had donned a mask of utter boredom to keep onlookers at bay. She slid that mask on now, relaxing her jaw and the tight lines around her eyes.

“No, Tidal Master.”

He waved a single finger beside his head, a cruel smile beginning to distort his sharp features.

“Your presence reminds me …” he turned, so that he was facing the congregation once more. “Our princess has spent too much time on land—with our enemy. A daughter of salt and sea walking among dwellers of dirt and air.”

Aegir’s upper lip pulled back with the last of his words. He paused dramatically, allowing the crowd to display its disgust at the mention of land.

Drystan shifted, his arm grazing against Lyra’s, only doubling the heightened sensations she was succumbing to.

The crowd was too loud, the water too cold, and the eyes on her too heavy. It all felt too much, too overwhelming.

A dull throbbing pulsed behind her eyes as she narrowed them on Aegir’s back.

“That has angered Ennosidas,” Aegir said at last.

The room was uncomfortably still, like the pause before a storm breaks.

“That is quite an accusation, Aegir,” Drystan said, loud enough for the entire room to hear him. “Lest we forget she was forced on land to preserve our most sacred traditions.”

Aegir clicked his tongue. “A tradition that ends at first light.”

There were several solemn nods in the crowd, mainly those of fathers who had sent their daughters for the Tidal Tithe.

“Yes, well,” Drystan drawled. “She’s been reunited with the sea.” He reached for Lyra’s hand, and despite the revolt that raged in her blood, she took his hand. He had come to her defense after all; it would be a terrible decision to spurn him now. “With me.”

Aegir rolled his shoulders, a slight flicker of annoyance in his steely eyes.

The moment was slipping away from him. It was obvious he hadn’t expected anyone to defend her, least of all the king.

He turned back to the crowd, and Lyra let out a small sigh of relief.

But it was not the reprieve she expected it to be.