Below, his fin throbs with pent-up tension. But it’s nothing compared to the sharp ache in his heart. The twins take their place with the rest of the Royals.

Jagen claims the center stone. He can barely contain his glee. “Friends, we were hoping to end our debate today, which has turned out to be the greatest tribunal in the history of our kind. For many seasons, the Royals have produced generation after generation of useless heirs, heirs who have not shown evidence of the Gifts left to us by our great generals. How long has it been since we’ve seen the Gift of Poseidon from this Royal line? Too many seasons, I think. And how long has it been since we’ve seen the Gift of Triton? Friends, we cannot even remember what the Gift of Triton is!”

Jagen clasps his hands behind his back. Leaving the center stone, he approaches the section of Loyals, shaking his head. “We have not seen the Gift because the Royals have strayed. Paca is proof that they have strayed at some point. How else could she possess the Gift? Friends, if I truly believed they were pure Royals, I would serve them faithfully, along with the law they’ve been representing. But Royals with diluted blood are of no use to us. We must find a new way to survive. We must elect a leader who cares about us more than the human world. Someone who is strong enough to lead even as the Gifts disappear from among us.”

He turns to Tandel. “I do not ask that we come to a decision today. All I ask is that we let young Toraf retrieve the Half-Breed abomination. Only when we have this final, solid proof of the betrayal of the Royals will we be able to make a united decision.”

The masses roar with approval.

Toraf bows to them one last time before leaving the Arena.

17

I PULL into the driveway of my house and cut the engine. I haven’t been here in days but it seems like years. I finagle with my key at the front door and all the smells of home smack me in the face.

I set my backpack on the counter and grab a bottled water from the fridge. It feels good to plop down on my own couch in the living room and stare out of my own bay window. Sure, Galen’s house has all the luxuries his fortune can buy. But home is full of luxuries money can’t buy. Like Grammy’s ugly crocheted blanket. Like the faint smell of Mom’s perfume.

Like privacy.

It’s been three days since Rayna ditched me. I’ve spent the bulk of those days with Rachel and it has been strangely awkward. She was furious when she found out what I did. I couldn’t even lie about it, because Paw and Don had gone on the local news to tell about their incredible mermaid story and the pale blond girl who showed up. So when I finally make it back to land, sopping wet and tired to the bone, Rachel is waiting for me with more attitude than a little woman like her should really possess. Along with the attitude, I sense a trace of guilt—maybe for not thinking things through. Because let’s face it, buying us jet skis wasn’t the most brilliant of ideas. Sure, I screwed up. But so did she.

When she was satisfied that I couldn’t be identified, she loosened up.

Until the coast guard showed up at Galen’s door, that is. They’d found my lost jet ski, but they were very sorry to inform her that it was not in running condition. After they left, she’d gone around the house throwing things, yelling how she hates when cops show up at her house and how they seem to show up all the time since Galen took an interest in me, and how she knew better than to register the damn thing with the state. After that fit, I felt weird being around her, mostly because after she apologized, she went way overboard in making it up to me.

Which is insane. After all, I did wreck her new jet ski and attracted the “cops” to her house. All of the things she said were true. But she’s having none of it. “You’re Galen’s sweetheart. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.” She makes me breakfast, lunch, and dinner. She asks how my day went. She asks me what I want from the store. She does my laundry. She offers to give me pedicures. It’s too much. At least with Rayna here, she could divide her efforts between the two of us. Now I’m it.

A bolt of lightning strikes close somewhere on the beach. The weather channel has been calling for severe thunderstorms tonight. Looks like I made it right on time to excuse myself from going back to Galen’s for the evening. I call Rachel to let her know.

“You want me to come over? I don’t mind driving in it.”

“No, no,” I say a little too quickly. “That’s okay. I’ll be fine. You have a night to yourself.”

“Don’t be silly. I’ve had plenty of nights to myself.”

“Right. But, uh, my house isn’t as nice as Galen’s house. You probably won’t be comfortable here.”

“Psh. You know I can sleep anywhere.”

At this point I don’t know if Rachel is purposely dodging my hints, or if she genuinely doesn’t get it. “Actually, I’d like to be alone tonight. If that’s okay.”

Silence. Then, “Why? Anything I should know about?”

“Yeah. There’s no place like home.”

More silence. The kind of silence that suggests offense. If she is offended though, she keeps it to herself. “Well. Good night then.”

“Good night, Rachel.”

* * *

The power goes out about an hour later. The storm unfurling outside, minus the comforting hum of electricity in the house, plus the scary movie I’d been watching, equals my nerves rioting. We have a generator, but it’s in the garage and I wasn’t smart enough to keep a flashlight with me on the couch. Even if I was, I don’t actually know how to start the generator.