Barb Hendee - Through Stone and Sea

Chane grabbed her arm from behind. Without a word he pushed past, sword in hand, and lifted its broken tip as he entered. In spite of everything, what Wynn saw through the opening still shocked her.

Tristan threw his sword aside and leaped off the pool's rear ledge. The blade clanged against the wall as he splashed down and thrashed toward the commotion at the pool's gate.

Prince Freädherich had one hand latched upon a gate bar as he fought to get Danyel off his back. A line of blood ran down the young bodyguard's left cheek, as he struggled to pin the prince's free arm. Reine was soaked as she pulled at her husband's grip on the gate. Tristan closed from behind, wrapped his arms around the prince, and wrenched the young man around.

Wynn couldn't believe Freädherich's state. He barely resembled the lost man she'd first seen in this chamber.

Shirt torn by his struggles, he craned his head back. His features contorted in horrid misery as he tried to cry out. But his voice broke, and he choked as if drowning, even as he gasped for air. When his frantic eyes opened, they were nearly fully black. His face, his skin, was paler than before—and tinged beneath with the taint of teal.

That taint was almost the color of the sea people.

The duchess collapsed against the gate. Wet hair matted to her forehead, neck, and cheeks. She was too wet for her tears to show as she sobbed.

Wynn began to suspect what had driven Reine to let the world believe her husband was dead—and why she silently suffered lingering suspicion as his murderer.

Reine couldn't think as Frey twisted within Tristan's hold. In the worst times in memory, the hints of Frey's change had come and gone with the tide. And now …

Danyel waded to the pool's edge, catching his breath as he wiped blood with the back of his hand. Reine realized he'd dropped her comb with the white metal teardrop in the water and it was floating. Danyel scooped it up.

"They came," he said, panting. "They tried to open the gate. I shut them out, but …"

Frey thrashed halfway around toward the bars, but Tristan's hold wouldn't break.

"Must go—go now!" Frey choked out. "They wait … for me … and it is coming!"

The pool's chill broke through Reine's anguish.

How did he know what was happening? How had he learned of the black mage? She swiveled, backing toward him as she looked down the tunnel beyond the gate, and then quickly closed on her husband.

"No, we can protect you—"

A splash and clank pulled her around again.

Two male Dunidæ stood beyond the bars. One had his white spear tip tilted toward the lock's outer side. He pushed with the spear, and the gate swung inward through the water.

At the sight of them, Frey began choking as if he were drowning in the chamber's dank air.

They had come, and Reine reached back, flattening a hand against his chest.

"Highness?" Tristan asked, panting.

She stared at the visitors. Her other hand slipped unconsciously to the saber's hilt.

"It must … not … find me," Frey whispered.

Reine looked up into her husband's face. His black eyes almost broke her again, but she saw his full recognition of her. He struggled to speak, as if his throat hurt with every word.

"It speaks … to the enemy," he gasped out.

She knew this fear that he mentioned. The families, hers and his, had feared for generations what might come again.

"You … are my world," Frey said so softly with effort. "And I … cannot lose … that world. I must hold … our oldest alliance."

His glistening eyes were so fully black—or perhaps such a deep aquamarine that they seemed so in the dim chamber. He lifted his face toward the Dunidæ in the tunnel and then returned to her.

"I must survive if … my world … is to survive."

Reine shrank, muffling a sob, as three creases split on each side of his throat. They flexed like the gills of the Dunidæ. He choked hard, and they quickly closed.

Sorrow drove Reine into panic with the fright of losing him, and this fed her anger. The cascade of emotions overwhelmed her like an ocean swell, until she couldn't see any shore to swim for.

He grew still, no longer trying to break free.

"Frey?" she whispered.

He didn't need any shore to swim to. She couldn't watch what she had to do and closed her eyes.

Reine pulled Tristan's hands until he let go of Frey.

She felt her husband's fingers on her cheek, sliding upward, until her soaked hair dragged against the shallow webbing between them. His mouth pressed on hers, his lips too chilled, and then his touch was gone.

She heard only a soft splash in his wake.

"Highness!" Tristan shouted.

Reine blindly held out a hand to stop him. She couldn't even look when she heard the gate clang shut. She stood there, growing more numb by the moment.

Frey was gone, free, safe—and she had nothing left.

Wynn watched a once-dead prince vanish into the dark tunnel. Of all things, she thought of Leesil.

Born of an elven mother and a human father, he was one of the few mixed-race beings she'd ever met. Yet here was a man of royal blood bound by the tides of the deep ocean. There was only an old name and long-lingering rumors among her people.

Âreskynna—the Kin of the Ocean Waves.

Tales of their obsession with the sea went back many generations, though the accounts varied so much they were little more than gossip and folk legend. What had happened—when had it happened—that the Âreskynna carried within them the blood of the Deep Ones? The mere thought of such an ancient mating seemed impossible.

Wynn thought of Reine, whose marriage to a prince of a neighboring country affirmed a long-standing alliance. Wasn't blood also a like bond? Was the one within the Prince even older than that of Faunier and Malourné? Did it go back to the very war against an enemy she hadn't yet come to understand?

She had blundered in here, leading the wraith to the haven of this secret. She had endangered allies mistaken as adversaries in the pursuit of her answers. Even as Shade began rumbling and then snarling, finally lifting her voice in a keening yowl, Wynn couldn't stop looking into the darkness beyond the iron bars.

There was nothing left to see.

"It is coming," Chane warned, as Shade's noise grew deafening in the chamber.

Even the captain thrashed to the pool's edge and grabbed his sword as the other guard climbed out.

But Wynn kept staring across the pool at the duchess.

They had no time for pity.

"Wynn!" Chane snarled.

She stiffened, blinked, and shoved her hand in her pocket, pulling out the large pewter-framed glasses.

"Get the duchess," she told the captain. "Chane and Shade will hold off the wraith for me to prepare—and stay out of our way! If it touches any of you, you're dead."

The captain glared at her, then turned to Danyel. "Give me the comb and take the duchess into the other room."

Tristan went straight for the door to the outer passage and grabbed hold of it to slam it shut.

"Don't!" Wynn ordered as she jerked the sheath off the staff's crystal. "Chuillyon or anyone else won't be able to get in."

"And a closed door will not stop the wraith," Chane added.

The captain hesitated, then closed the door only partway. He returned to the pool's edge. He took the comb from Danyel and leaned over, stretching out his hand.

"Highness!" he barked.

The duchess didn't even raise her eyes as she sloshed over and let him pull her out.

Chane urged them off with his broken blade. The captain took Reine into the far chamber and guarded the archway while Danyel stood a few paces farther out front. To Chane's relief, Wynn abandoned her useless concern for these arrogant Numans and focused on their task. She put the glasses over her eyes.