Galen can’t argue that.

Tyrden places the fork on the plate and slowly lowers it to the floor next to his chair. He clears his throat and dabs the corner of his mouth with his shirt collar. When he looks at Galen again, he’s all focus. “Tell me about Jagen.”

This is unexpected. Galen’s mind races. How does he know about Jagen? How does Neptune connect with Jagen’s attempt at taking over the kingdoms? Galen decides to use a favorite strategy of his—answering a question with a question. “What about him?”

“Are Jagen and his daughter Paca in power yet?”

“No.” Yet. So Tyrden and Reder don’t know that Jagen’s attempt to rule the Triton kingdom failed. Galen figures it’s a good exchange, trading simple answers for telling questions.

And this answer seems to infuriate Tyrden. He sits straighter in his chair. “What happened?”

Galen glances at the food on the floor. “Don’t I get a bite first?” The sound of longing in his voice is genuine.

At this Tyrden’s lips pull up in a menacing smile. “Excellent idea, boy. We’ll swap, you and I. A bite for an answer.” He picks up the plate and forks up a piece of fish—smaller than Galen would have liked—then gestures for him to open his mouth.

Galen complies, and Tyrden makes a point to jab his tongue with the fork before retracting it. But Galen doesn’t care because the fish is delicious and warm and his stomach seems to bubble up in anticipation of the next bite.

Tyrden waits impatiently while Galen appreciates the small sample. “Now, tell me what happened.”

“Do you think I could have some water?”

Tyrden’s eyes narrow. “Oh, I’ll give you plenty of water. After you tell me what I want to know.”

Galen thinks about negotiating, but he can tell Tyrden has reached his threshold for patience by the way he taps the fork on the edge of the plate. “Jagen was removed from power when we discovered that Paca was a fraud. That she didn’t really have the Gift of Poseidon.”

“And how was that discovered?” Tyrden holds up another forkful of fish. Instead of tapping the fork, the energy moves down to his leg, which bounces with a fast rhythm.

“Emma. She showed the council her own true Gift, which proved that Paca’s was inferior.” Galen remembers the pride he felt when Emma put Paca on the spot, telling her to save her father from two sharks that Emma would have ordered to kill him—or so Paca thought. Paca crumbled right then and there. If Emma wouldn’t have come to the tribunal, Galen is sure that things would have turned out differently. The Royals would no longer be in power, and Jagen would be ruling the Triton kingdom under false pretenses.

But how does this relate to Tyrden? To Reder? What interest do they have in Jagen’s rule? Were they the ones who trained Paca to use hand signals to control the dolphins? He accepts the next bite of food from Tyrden, watching his captor closely. Something about his expression has changed.

“That’s very inconvenient,” Tyrden says.

“Inconvenient for who?”

“Shut up.” Tyrden pauses. “Where are Jagen and Paca now?”

No wonder they’re so hungry for information about the kingdoms. Now that Jagen and Paca are imprisoned back home for what they did, Neptune has probably had no communications about the kingdoms—until Galen and Emma showed up.

“Where are Jagen and Paca now?” Tyrden barks.

“They’re in the Ice Caverns. Where they belong.”

Tyrden stands with the plate and scoops more fish onto the fork. He extends it to Galen. But just before he can wrap his mouth around it, Tyrden snatches it away, pitching the fish to the floor. Then Tyrden puts all his strength and frustration into throwing the entire plate of food at the wall, shattering the glass and scattering what was left of Galen’s meal.

“Enjoy dinner, Highness,” Tyrden snarls. “Now for dessert.” He rears back and Galen closes his eyes, preparing for the blow. There is more anger behind it than he originally expected.

Tyrden’s fist connects with Galen’s cheek, whipping his neck back. The impacts don’t stop there. They keep coming from each side, different angles, landing blows on his nose, his jawbone, his mouth. Over and over and over.

Galen tastes blood, feels it running down the back of his throat. Feels it pooling in his ear.

Then everything goes black.

17

IT TAKES a minute to adjust to the darkness, even though we made a gradual descent into the cave. Reed swims ahead, as if he can see perfectly or as if he’s been here a million times before. Probably both.

Maybe my eyes don’t adjust as well in freshwater. Maybe the saltwaters of the oceans help them in some way, which strikes me as funny. Usually saltwater in the eyes sucks. Unless you’re part fish, or fish mammal, or whatever. Either scenario, Reed is impatient to get started. “Are all ocean dwellers this slow?”

He grabs my wrist and pulls me behind him. His pulse wraps lightly around me, like the whisper of a fishing line not pulled tight. A tangle of sensations. “Can you sense me?” I say, almost to myself.

“Of course. Don’t you sense me?”

“I do, but it feels different than the way I sense Galen.”

“Oh, geez.” Reed rolls his eyes. “You don’t believe in the pull, do you?”

This is the legend that Galen is on the fence about. Normal Syrena tradition says that when a Syrena male turns eighteen years old—or “seasons”—he suddenly becomes attracted to several match-worthy females—females who would complement him well. Then he gets to “sift” through them, which is the Syrena version of dating. But in cases of “the pull,” the male is only attracted to one female, and that one is supposedly the perfect match in every way. The explanation is that the pull produces the strongest offspring possible, that it’s some natural phenomenon among Syrena that ensures the survival of their kind.