Proteus's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Proteus wanted a seat in the Court of Atlantis, and today he had come to ask for it. He swam to the arena where the nobles gathered, his orichalcum staff bright in the red volcanic glow. Behind him trailed his seals, sleek and silver, the only subjects he had ever ruled. He had raised them, fed them, learned their names. Now he would stand before the court as a son of Poseidon, not a herder. He gripped the staff and climbed the arena steps. Triton lounged on the high tier, crowned and grinning. His half-brother was the named heir, beloved, reckless, and drunk on his own fame. Proteus hated how easily the nobles leaned toward Triton. He had always leaned toward him too, once, before the jealousy hardened. Proteus spread his arms. "I come to claim my place among my father's children," he said. "I have knowledge no one here holds. I see the past. I see what is coming." A seal flopped up the steps behind him, barking, chasing his tail. The sound rang through the stone bowl. Triton laughed first. He pointed with his conch. "Look!" he called. "The old seal-herder brings his court. Bow to the fish, brothers. Bow to the pups that follow the Old Man of the Sea." The nobles laughed with him. The sound bounced off the gold arches and doubled back, louder. Proteus felt his grey beard, his aged face, the trick of a body he wore to hide. He lifted the staff to speak. No one listened. They only laughed harder. He had planned to prove himself with words. He saw now that words would not reach them. So he changed his plan. "You want the seal-herder?" Proteus said. "Then watch him work." He struck the staff against the stone. The coral gem flared orange. He called, and every seal in the arena turned toward him at once. They moved as one, a silver current spinning through the water. They rose in a tight spiral, then split, then wove a pattern no soldier could drill. The laughter stopped. Nobles leaned forward. One gasped. Then Proteus shifted. His grey hair darkened. His hunched shoulders squared. For one breath he let them see his true form, the young god beneath the old man. The arena went silent. Triton's grin faded. "A parlor trick," he said, but his voice had lost its edge. "No trick stills a storm or commands a hundred beasts," Proteus said. "Ask your father if the seal-herder is worth mocking." He turned and left before the silence could break. He had won their eyes. He had not won a seat. Above him, Triton watched him go, no longer laughing. The prince would not forget being shown up before the nobles. Proteus had traded the city's mockery for something sharper. He had made the heir of Atlantis his enemy.