No, Jagen didn’t name himself as that potential leader. But he didn’t have to; he’s the one guiding their thoughts, influencing their decisions. It’s almost as if he’s had this talk with them before, minus the Royals. Jagen had been a very thorough adversary. He continues, “King Antonis has not graced us with his presence nor his leadership for many, many seasons. Only now that his own Royal status is threatened has he bothered to take an interest in our dealings. How can we trust this kind of rulership?”

The Loyals applaud again, but Jagen holds up his hands for silence. “What’s more, the Royals think they are above the law. They present us with this newcomer who they say is Nalia, the Poseidon heir. My friends, even if she were the Poseidon princess—which will be proven to you she is not—are we to simply overlook the fact that she has been breaking the law for many years, while she claims to have lived on the Big Land among humans? How much longer will we allow the Royals to dilute the law passed down from our esteemed generals?”

The audience roars with mixed emotions. The Arena is almost deafening. And that’s before Antonis closes his large hand around Jagen’s throat.

15

I SET my backpack on the counter and pull a bar stool next to Rayna, who’s soaking/drowning a cotton ball in nail polish remover. “I think it’s dead now,” I tell her.

She gives me a sour look, then proceeds to scrub her big toe like a dirty pot. Rachel sets a glass of ice water down in front of me and a cookie that has nuts, marshmallows, chocolate chips, cinnamon, and … I can’t tell what else. “What’s this?” I ask.

Rachel shrugs. “Dunno. I made up the recipe this morning, but I can’t think of a good name for it. I was kinda just craving everything.”

I take a bite and all the flavors fight for attention. And I know exactly what to call it. “You should call them Garbage Cookies.” I realize how that sounds, and before she can finish her grimace, I say, “No, that’s a compliment! Mom makes me garbage eggs all the time. She puts all sorts of stuff in them, like jalapeños, cheese, sour cream, grits.” Or at least she used to make garbage eggs for me. Before she swam off to play princess.

“Ah,” Rachel says. “Well, I don’t want to steal your name. How about Dump Cookies?”

“Um. Sure.”

“No? How about … Upchuck Cookies?”

“Wow. Don’t hurt yourself.”

She grins. “How about—”

“How about we go check out what Rachel bought us today?” Rayna says, wiping the excess polish remover on a paper towel. She clears her throat in vain. “They’re on the beach.”

“They?”

Rayna nods. “I get the purple one.”

I follow her outside and toward the water. It looks like it has rained recently; tiny indents still dot the sand, marking the spot where each little raindrop fell to its death. Where the sand and water meet there are two jet skis, one red, one purple. I stop. “We’re not supposed to get in the water.”

“You only have to put your foot in to get on. Then you’re on top of the water.”

“What if I fall off?”

“Don’t.”

“But—”

“If you’re afraid then just say so. Or are you too afraid to say you’re afraid?” She crosses her arms when I don’t budge. “Rachel and I already took them out while you were at school. If you can drive a car, you can ride one of these things.”

Not comforting at all, since Rayna can’t actually drive. Last time she tried, we assaulted a tree with Galen’s little red car and got a free ride home in a cop car. What is Rachel thinking?

I bite my lip and think to myself how Galen would feel if I just stuck my foot in the water, just enough to get on the jet ski. Maybe I wouldn’t even have to; maybe Rachel could push me out. Wait … “Rachel took this out, bum leg and all, huh?”

Rayna scrunches her face. “Well, she came out and watched me do it. But it’s the same thing. She wouldn’t do anything she thought Galen wouldn’t like.”

I step out of my flip-flops and dig my toes in the sand. “I guess not.” But even Rachel must have a breaking point, a threshold for tolerating whining. And if trophies were handed out for whining, Rayna would have the biggest.

“He would want you to have some fun, you know,” Rayna says sweetly. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen a fish look like a cat. “He would want you to keep your mind busy while he fixes all the little things wrong with the rest of the world.”

I decide Rayna is a grade-A manipulator. “He wouldn’t want me to risk myself for fun. And he’s not trying to fix the world. He’s doing what he thinks is best. For us.”

“And when is someone going to care what we think?” Her words are full of bitter and I wonder if she would have yelled that last part if she had her full voice back. It comes and goes, like a radio station just out of range. Tears threaten to spill through her long lashes. Tears that I’m not sure I can trust.

“What’s up with you?” I ask. “Is something wrong?”

She hugs herself as if it’s freezing cold out here on the sun-drenched beach. “Yes. No. I don’t know. I mean, what’s happening? Why hasn’t someone come for us? And…” She turns toward the water. “I’ve been thinking about how your mother lived on land all this time. And how … how I want to live on land, too.”