Page 40 of In Rising Tides

“And is that my baby sister?” she trilled, her voice singsong.

Lyra’s brows furrowed, and she watched as Vanora and her husband, Prince Lir, approached.

Lir and Vanora were mirror images of each other, both with fiery red hair and tempestuous expressions.

Their appearance was common in their territory.

Olous was known for its stormy seas and rolling hills of sea moss. In a strange way, Olous was the ocean equivalent of the Wilds.

As the northern neighbor of Atlantis, Olous was sandwiched between Huron and Pavlopetri and was the idyllic transition to either territory.

Huron’s harsh rocks with steep, mountainous cliffs gave way to the soft hills covered in the barest amount of green of Olous, before turning into the rich cypress forests of Pavlopetri.

Lyra studied Vanora with an appraising look, neither condescending nor kind. She worked to mask her expression.

Her sister appeared well as she flicked lazy strokes of her mauve tail. It was such a soft color. The exact opposite of the frigid stare Vanora gave her.

It had always seemed strange to Lyra that Vanora and Cora were twins, when their dispositions could not have been more opposed.

Vanora floated closer, but Lir tightened his hold on her. She gave Lyra one last look of disapproval before turning a callous expression onto Drystan. Her full lips parted as if she were about to speak, before thinking better of it and clamping them together.

“A bit late for the meeting, aren’t you?” Drystan said by way of greeting and directed the full brunt of his attention onto Lir.

It was a slight to her sister, but one that a mermaid would have been accustomed to—or at least should have been.

Vanora was one of those mermaids who felt herself above the mistreatment of her own kind.

The problems mermaids faced didn’t affect her, so she turned a blind eye to them. Everything she did was a way to pit herself as superior.

So when she was treated just like the others by Drystan, Vanora’s lips thinned just a fraction.

Lir’s bright-blue eyes narrowed, and he flicked his burgundy tail with an agitated flourish. He wore no armor except dark brown metal vambraces that covered his forearms and wrists.

They had the smallest scale-like pattern carved over them and somehow reminded Lyra of sea turtles. His bare, broad chest was chiseled and formed shadows from the deep lines of his muscles.

“The seas were rough for travel,” he grumbled. “And have been as of late.”

It wasn’t unusual for travel to be slowed by storm season, but it was spring. Had storm season come early?

Drystan nodded. “I will see you inside.”

He dismissed Lir without so much as addressing Vanora’s presence.

Lir’s broad chest expanded with the breath he sucked in.

It appeared Drystan wasn’t winning himself any loyalty by treating his councilors with such disdain.

“Wife,” Lir addressed Vanora with strange formality as he fixed her in his gaze.

Vanora leaned into him as he pressed his lips to her cheek, her attention staying locked onto Lyra.

It was a strange sort of show, them flashing this affection in front of them. Boasting a loving partnership when they obviously couldn’t stand each other.

As far as Lyra knew, they hadn’t sired any children together. She wondered if that had been done on purpose.

Vanora swept her gaze across Drystan, raising her chin a fraction, before retreating back down the hall. She moved at a leisurely pace, and Lyra couldn’t help but want to follow her instead of entering the council room.

The massive, looming door to the council chambers was silent as it closed behind Lir.