Maris Calderon's Arc

Chapter 7 of 14

Maris swam ahead through the dark swamp water, Elara and Rath close behind. The pearl at her throat let her breathe. The stone halls of Miredeep rose from the murk, jagged towers hung with green weed. This was his kingdom now. But he had taken it by force, not by oath. The sirens inside had bowed to Malachar for years. They had never sworn to Maris. And now he brought them a land-born mate they had no reason to accept. The great doors opened. Inside, the swamp-born sirens waited. They filled the throne room, spears in hand, tails coiled beneath them. They watched Elara with cold eyes. A land-born woman did not belong here. Maris felt their doubt press against him like a current. One siren near the front bared his teeth. His grip tightened on his spear. "She carries no scales," the siren said. "She is prey. Why does our king drag prey to the throne?" Elara pulled Rath tight to her chest. Maris moved between her and the crowd. He would not draw on the bond to fight them. It was worn thin, and he needed it whole. He needed another way. Maris climbed the steps to the dark throne. He turned and faced the room. He let the thing in his blood rise, the thing kings carried. His voice came low and heavy, and it filled the water like a tide. "Kneel," he said. The word struck them through the water. The pack bond in every siren pulled toward him at once. Spears dipped. Backs bent. One by one the swamp-born sirens sank to the stone floor, heads down. The doubting siren fought it, jaw clenched, but his knees folded like the rest. The whole host bowed before the throne. Then a small sound cut the silence. Rath. The baby's moss-green eyes had gone bright. He reached one small hand toward the bowing crowd. And the same weight rolled off him, faint but real, the same command his father carried. The sirens felt it. Their heads pressed lower. A murmur ran through them. "The child holds it too," one whispered. "The blood is true." Maris understood. His power alone had forced their knees. But Rath's power proved the throne was his by right, not by theft. A stolen crown could be stolen back. A bloodline could not. The sirens had bowed to force. Now they bowed to legitimacy. The doubting siren lifted his head. This time he did not clench his jaw. He set his spear flat on the stone and pressed his brow to the floor. "My king," he said. "My queen. The heir." Elara let out a shaking breath. She stood beside Maris, no longer prey in their eyes. The kingdom was truly his. But far out in the dark water, something stirred. Malachar had felt the bond flare bright when they arrived. He was coming, and this time his men would not bow.