Chapter 219

The merfolk city was a wonder, even now, even after all the times we had seen it.

It rose from the seafloor like something out of a dream, spiraling towers of coral and pearl, bridges of woven kelp, domes of translucent shell that glowed with their own soft light. Fish drifted through the streets like birds through air, and merfolk swam to and from, their tails flashing silver and gold and every color between. It was enormous. It was beautiful. It was utterly, completely alien to everything my other children had ever known.

And it was Caelion’s home.

We had been here before, several times before, but never with the pearlings. Never with the girls. And as we approached, I watched Caelion change. It happened every time, the same transformation, the same shift. His spine straightened. His chin lifted. His whole body took on a regal bearing, a confidence that belonged to a prince, not the quiet mate I knew. He was not Caelion here. He was the king’s son.

The guards at the city’s edge spotted him first. Their eyes widened, their postures stiffening, their hands rising in salute.

"Prince Caelion," one of them said, bowing. "We did not know you were coming."

"Let my father know," Caelion said, his voice cool and formal, "that I am here to introduce him to his grandchildren."

The guards looked past him, at our enormous, motley family. At me, female and round. At Leon and Ravin, lions with air bubbles on their faces. At Veylan and Eryx, wolves. At Soryn, serpent. At Aureon, tiger. At the children, a swarm of every species imaginable. And then, from behind me, the pearlings peeked out, three perfect little faces, three pairs of deep blue eyes, three heads of azure hair.

The guard actually blushed.

"Right away, prince," he stammered, and swam off so fast he nearly crashed into a coral pillar.

We waited. And a few minutes later, the king came.

He was enormous, the merfolk king, with blue hair like his son’s and a tail of deep, iridescent blue. He swam with an escort of guards, his expression unreadable, curious or perhaps genuinely happy, we could not tell. He stopped before us, his eyes on Caelion, and for a moment, father and son simply looked at each other.

Then I moved aside.

"This," I said, gesturing to each of my daughters in turn, "is Seraphyna. Kalisseyani. And Irysindra."

The king looked at them, and his breath caught.

They were perfect, my daughters, their azure hair floating, their deep blue eyes luminous, their little faces calm and curious. They looked back at the king, unafraid, and the awe that spread across his face was unmistakable.

"You have three," he said, his voice hushed. "At once?"

"Yes," Caelion said. "She did."

"That is impossible."

I looked at him, slightly offended, but swallowed it. "Well," I said, "it is possible, since I did it."

The king blinked at me, then laughed, a warm, surprised sound. And then the pearlings, my brave, curious daughters, swam out from behind me, drifting slowly toward their grandfather.

"Hi, grandpa," Seraphyna said softly.

"Hello, grandpa," Kalisseyani followed.

"Grampa," Irysindra smiled.

The king stared. Then his whole face softened, and he reached out with trembling hands, and the girls swam into them, letting him hold them, letting him look at them, letting him love them.

"Beautiful," he breathed. "So beautiful. My granddaughters."

He looked up at Caelion and me. "Will you be staying?"

"No," Caelion said. "I did not plan on it."

"Please. Stay. I believe your mother would... she would want to meet them."

Caelion scoffed, the sound bitter. "Sorry, Father. You, perhaps. I felt there might be some lingering feelings there. But Mother? I am almost certain she would turn them away just as she turned me away many times before."

"After your last visits..." the king hesitated. "Miranda has been a bit kinder. It does not hurt to try. Right?"

Caelion wanted to refuse. I could see it in the set of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders. But I reached out and touched his arm.

"We can stay a few days," I whispered. "We can give her that much."

Caelion sighed, long and heavy. "I can stay a few days," he said at last. "If she wishes to see her grandchildren. But my bondbrothers are not mermen, Father. My other children are not sea folk. They cannot be in the water too long. It is not in their nature."

The king nodded, understanding. And then he gestured, and Caelion led us away.

He brought us to a cave at the edge of the city, its mouth sealed by a shimmering barrier of air. We passed through it, and I gasped. Inside, the cave was dry. Dry and warm and full of breathable air, a pocket of land beneath the sea. It was snug, barely big enough for all of us, but we fit, crowding together, the children sprawling on the smooth stone floor, the mates looking around in wonder.

"Where did this come from?" I asked.

"It has been here longer than I have," Caelion said quietly. "My ancestor made it, centuries ago. A place for land folk to stay, for when the merfolk took mates from the shore. A pocket of air beneath the sea, so that no one would have to choose between the land or sea."

I looked around at the cave, at the smooth stone, at the faint carvings along the walls, at the care that had gone into it. And my heart ached for him, and for all the ones who had come before, who had needed a place like this just to be with the people they loved.

"Thank you," I said.

He nodded, saying nothing. But his hand found mine, and he squeezed, and that was enough.

We settled our things, such as they were, spreading furs and blankets across the smooth stone floor, arranging the children in their usual clusters, making the cave as much like home as we could. It was snug, far too small for a family our size, but there was something cozy about it too, something warm. Everyone was close. Everyone was together. No one could wander off or get lost.

And then I cooked.

Caelion had caught fish on the way in, fat silver things that he swore were the best in the sea, and I set up a small fire on the cave floor and braised them with herbs and salt. It was strange, cooking fish under the sea, frying something while surrounded by water on all sides. Utterly unnatural. And yet here we were, doing exactly that, a family of land and sea making a meal together in a pocket of air beneath the waves.

I fed my children first, then my mates, handing out portions and watching them eat. And slowly, the tension of the journey began to ease.

Soryn looked almost relaxed, which was rare for him. He had never liked coming underwater, had never liked the way it pressed in on him, the way it turned his serpent skin a pale, sickly green. He practically turned the color of kelp when he had to submerge. But here, in the dry cave, he was fine, and he stretched out along one wall with his eyes half closed, his green hair spread around him like a fan.

Aureon sat near the barrier, watching the fish swim by. Bright schools of them, silver and blue and gold, drifting past the shimmering air. He watched with wide golden eyes, his tiger stripes faint in the dim light, his expression one of quiet wonder. It really was a pretty sight. Beautiful, even. A window into a world that was not ours.

Ravin and Leon had gathered the older cubs and the second litter, talking in low voices, laughing at something Atlas said. Theo was with Levy and the cheetah boys, sprawled in a loose pile on the furs, the four of them laughing and shoving and arguing the way they always did. Tavren had his legs draped over Theo’s lap, Kaizen was leaning against his shoulder, and Zarek kept trying to wrestle him onto the floor, even though he was nearly as tall as Theo now. Levy sat wedged between them, her black hair a mess, her face bright with laughter as she watched her brothers torment their friend.

They were a year old now, the cheetah boys, and they had grown long and lean and coltish, appearing perhaps eleven or twelve in human form. Too big to climb on people like they once had, but not too big to pile on top of them and stay there.

The serpent children had taken a nap, curled together like a nest of green snakes. And the pearlings, my little sea daughters, had cuddled up next to their father, their azure hair mingling with his blue, their tiny faces peaceful.

Eryx and Veylan were talking quietly in the corner, each of them with a pup in their arms, each of them rubbing the little silver bellies, each of them wearing the same soft, contented expression. The wolf boys and girls slept in their laps, their tails twitching with dreams.

It was a cute sight. All of it. Every chaotic, crowded, ridiculous inch.

And it made my heart whole.

And so we settled in, our strange family in our strange refuge, and we waited.

Waited to see if the queen would come.

Waited to see if she would care.