By the time John had managed to soothe Neridia into a fitful slumber, the moon was past zenith. It shone through her bedroom window, the silver light washing over her tear-streaked cheeks. Even in sleep, her body curled in a tense, unhappy ball, like a hermit crab huddling into a stolen shell.

She tried so hard. Oh, my mate, my heart, my Empress. You tried so hard.

She doubtless would still have been in the lake, her salt tears mingling with the agitated water, had John not bodily carried her out of it. He’d wrapped her in towels and his own arms, kissing away her sobbing frustration. He’d sung to her as he would have sung to an overwrought hatchling, soft notes of reassurance and certainty: All will be well. No defeat is final. Sleep, rest, and be fresh for battle tomorrow.

Now, at last, she slept. With infinite care, John untangled his fingers from hers. She murmured fretfully, hand searching across the bedcovers, and he held his breath—but she lapsed back into exhausted slumber. Barefoot, he eased out of the room, closing the door silently behind him.

We can’t leave her now, his inner human fretted. This is a terrible idea. Go back.

John shook his head slightly, dispelling the intrusive thoughts. Even though he too wanted nothing more than to remain at his mate’s side, guarding her dreams, he had his duty. He had already delayed too long.

His possessions were still safely stored in the rear compartment of Neridia’s vehicle. He opened the smaller rucksack for a moment, just to reassure himself that his hoard was secure. He had a sudden vision of adorning Neridia’s glorious body with the gleaming pearls and gold, and had to fight down a surge of lust. He made himself zip the bag up before he succumbed to the temptation to go back inside.

Instead, he opened his large duffel bag. Carefully, piece by piece, he unwrapped his armor.

In the golden age when Atlantis stood proud above the waves and the entire ocean reverberated with sea dragon songs, a knight like himself would have had an entire retinue of pages and squires to assist him. He would have stood in solemn contemplation, arms outstretched, while each shining piece was fastened to his body with pomp and ritual. One of the knights of old would not even have been capable of preparing for battle alone.

Those days were long gone. John donned his armor as he always had, without assistance.

First the soft, supple kraken-leather leggings, fitting over the muscles of his legs like a second skin. He wrapped his forearms in lengths of the same material, tying the ceremonial knots one-handed with the ease of long practice.

Over the under-armor, the armor proper. Greaves to protect his lower legs, and cuisse over his thighs, fastened round the backs of his legs with strong, rough sharkskin. Long, cunningly articulated boots, each so finely wrought that they flexed as easily as his living feet.

He slid his vambraces over his forearms, whispering a praise-poem to their many past wearers as he buckled the straps. The hard, translucent material gleamed like mother-of-pearl, but it was stronger than any human metal. Both its name and the secret of its manufacture had been lost long ago.

His pauldrons were made of the same substance, encasing his shoulders like the spined carapace of a deep-sea crab. He pulled the straps tight across his chest, flexing to make sure they were properly settled into place.

The helmet completed his armor. He left the visor—fashioned to resemble a sea dragon’s snarling visage—raised for now, leaving his face bare. His torso and back too were left uncovered, of course. Griff had once taken him to a museum to see armor worn by human knights, and John had laughed harder than he ever had before in his life. A sea dragon knight had no need to hide inside a thick shell like a turtle; he was trained to catch his opponent’s blows on his shoulders and forearms, with the agility allowed by his lightly-covered form.

And no sea dragon knight had need of armor on his back. The only thing that belonged there was his sword.

John picked up the weapon, running his thumb reverently over the fist-sized pearl set on the end of the pommel. It shone faintly at his touch, recognizing him as its rightful wielder. The strength of ancient knights whispered in his blood, a battle-hymn of honor and glory that shielded his soul as surely as his armor protected his skin.

He drew the sword with the barest whisper of steel. With the excitement of Griff’s mating ceremony—not to mention subsequent events—he had been shockingly lax in his discipline. He had not performed even the most minimal exercises for an entire day.

The blade leaped through the air like a dolphin as he executed the first few strokes of a practice form, switching fluidly from a single to a double grip and back again. He winced at his own poor performance.

I cannot allow my edge to become dulled. I must maintain my discipline, now more than ever.

But given that performing the entire practice sequence would take two hours, it would have to wait. Grimacing, he flipped the sword over his shoulder, sheathing it in the scabbard across his back.

And finally, he was ready.

He walked along the shoreline, heading away from the house. Though it gnawed at his soul to move so far from his mate’s side, he had no choice. He needed space and solitude for this task.

Fortunately, he did not have to go too far before he found what he sought. A hollow in the rocks had caught a fragment of the lake, forming a still, clear pool. John knelt next to it, closing his eyes and clearing his mind.

As he had told Neridia, he only knew the very basic fundamentals of scrying. Poetry was his art form, moving water and wave with words. But he knew the simplest skill of the Seer’s art, that of reaching out to talk to another through a reflecting pool. He was poor at it, especially when forced to use fresh water rather than salt. In these circumstances, he would only be able to contact the two individuals to whom he was the most closely linked.

One of those was his sister. He reached out through the water to find the other one.

His questing mind encountered…nothing. No sense of the mystic currents that linked this small puddle to the great sea surrounding Atlantis.

That is odd.

Frowning, John opened his eyes. He was a poor Seer, but not usually that poor. He should have at least been able to see the psychic flow with his inner eye.

Perhaps there was too much human-wrought iron nearby, interfering with the energies of the water. Scrying was a more delicate art form than poetry, easily disrupted by human influence. Neridia’s house was isolated, but there would still be pipes and wires connecting it to the wider human world.

Moving further away, John tried again, but with no more success. He kept going, becoming increasingly perplexed, until he’d gone so far from Neridia’s house that it was out of sight entirely. The soft sounds of nature enfolded him, without a hint of human presence.

And yet scrying still eluded him. His poetry was completely unaffected—he experimentally sang a few words to the water, and saw the waves stir in response—but his inner eye was blind. It was as if he was surrounded by psychic fog.

He rubbed the back of his neck in thought—and stopped abruptly as his hand touched the thin gold chain. He had forgotten that Neridia’s pearl still rested in the hollow of his throat.

I wonder…?

He unfastened the chain. The instant the pearl left his neck, the mental fog bank lifted. His inner eye cleared, showing him the delicate currents spreading out from the water.

So that is what it does.

He remembered how Chase hadn’t been able to sense Neridia’s presence earlier, when she was wearing the pearl. Evidently it interfered with all forms of locating magic, not just scrying.

The Emperor must have worn it to protect himself from being located by our Seers. And then, later, he passed it on to his daughter… just before he was murdered. Did he know that an enemy was stalking them? Did he choose to protect his daughter rather than himself?

There was no time to ponder the unraveling history further. Now that his inner eye was open, he could see the psychic currents swirling around him, urging him toward the lake.

Someone—a Seer of much greater ability than his own poor talents—was trying to contact him.

Hastily, John knelt next to the lake, peering down into the calm water. He barely caught a glimpse of his own face before the reflection blurred, reforming into a different man.

The other’s helm was far more ornate than his own, crowned with gleaming golden horns and inlaid with pearl. Rainbow-edged reflections glimmered around his hulking shoulders, cast by the thousands of diamonds set into his ceremonial armor in a pattern resembling scales. Two swords were strapped across his back in a cross pattern.

John saluted, fist to heart. “Sir.”

“Knight-Poet. At last.” The Knight-Commander of the First Water let out a long, relieved breath, his knotted shoulders easing down a little. “I have been trying to reach you for an entire day. I was beginning to wonder if you still possessed all your limbs.”

John felt a twinge of shame for having caused his superior concern. “I can only apologize for so shockingly shirking my duty to you, sir. I should have reported sooner. Recent events-”

“Have apparently taken you to the opposite end of the country from where I stationed you,” the Knight-Commander interrupted him, his tone sharpening. “You are the Walker-Above-Wave, the enactor of my will on the land, and yet I find you gallivanting off on your own affairs. Is this how you uphold the honor of the Pearl Empire?”

John felt like a hapless novice again in the face of his superior’s obvious displeasure. It had not crossed his mind that he should inform the Knight-Commander of his visit to Scotland; he had, after all, travelled around many other parts of the British Isles without any objection from his superior. Clearly, however, he had been in grave error.

And if my lord is this disappointed in me just because I failed to properly report my movements…how is he going to react when I reveal what else I have done?

John swallowed the nervous melodies of trepidation rising in his throat. “I can only repeat my apology, sir.”

“You may apologize by performing your duties better in future,” the Knight-Commander said, his tone making it clear the discussion was over. “You are to return to Atlantis immediately. I have need of you here.”

“Sir.” It was so wrong to refuse a direct order that John very nearly said Yes, at once, out of sheer reflex. “Sir, I cannot.”

“Are you being physically imprisoned?”

“No, sir. I…I am honor-bound by a higher duty, sir.”

“Walker-Above-Wave, Emissary to the Land from the Pearl Throne, Knight-Poet of the First Water, Sworn Seeker of the Emperor-in-Absence, and Firefighter for the East Sussex Fire and Rescue Service.” Every syllable of his name was enunciated with razor-sharp clarity. It took all of John’s discipline not to flinch. “I am the Knight-Commander of the Order of the First Water, Right Hand of the Pearl Throne, the Voice of the Empire-in-Absence, Foremost of the Council of Sea Shifters, and First-Ranked Seer of the Ocean’s Eye. What possible higher duty could cause you to defy my order?”

John forced himself to meet his Commander’s blazing gaze head-on. “My duty to the Pearl Throne, sir. To the Empress.”

The Knight-Commander went utterly still.

When his superior still did not speak, John took a deep breath. “Sir, I have completed the quest you laid upon me. With the deepest sorrow, I must report that the Emperor rests in the sea’s heart. But he has not left us bereft. The Emperor had a mate, a human mate. He forsook the Throne in order to be with her on the land, and raise their daughter in secret. Now she is returned to us at last, our new Empress-in-Waiting.“

“You have met her,” the Knight-Commander said, so softly John barely caught his words. “And you consider her to be the true heir to the Pearl Throne.”

“There can be no doubt. She is as much a sea dragon as you or I, sir. I can personally swear to that fact.”

The Knight-Commander’s gauntleted hand came up to rub at his chin. “You have seen her shift?”

John hesitated. “No, sir. She…this is all very new to her, and she has not been properly educated. It will take her time to learn both our ways and our form. But I swear on my honor, she is a dragon in soul. I know it beyond a shadow of a doubt.”

“How?”

John braced himself. “Because she is my mate, sir.”

“Your what?”

“The Empress is my mate.” If he hadn’t already been on his knees, he would have fallen to them. “Sir, Knight-Commander, forgive me. I had no way of knowing that she was on land when I was searching the sea. I took my vows in good faith. I did not intend this.”

The Knight-Commander was silent for a long moment. Then he sighed. “You are not the first, Knight-Poet. They are not spoken of in our official histories, but…mistakes have occasionally occurred. This does not invalidate your oaths. You are still a member of the Order of the First Water.”

John let out a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding. “Sir.”

The Knight-Commander raised a warning finger. “But. You are sworn to the Pearl Throne. You cannot have a mate. It is easier to do so if one does not exist, but your unfortunate circumstance does not grant-“

The Knight-Commander stopped abruptly, mid-sentence. John had bowed his head, deeply, unable to look at his superior at all.

“You said you knew she was a dragon in soul,” the Knight-Commander said slowly.

John stared at the ripples washing over the pebbles.

The Knight-Commander hissed a lashing, bitter melody of dismay. “You have already mated her?”

It took every ounce of courage he possessed to raise his face. “Sir. She ordered—that is, she requested that I do everything in my power to assist her in her attempt to shift. I could not refuse my Empress.”

“There is no Empress!” The Knight-Commander’s roar shook the surface of the water, momentarily blurring his image. “A half-human whelp can never sit on the Pearl Throne!”

“She is a true dragon, and the Empress, and you will speak of her with respect!”

An echoing silence followed his words.

“Sir,” John added, belatedly.

“It is clear,” the Knight-Commander said, sounding as though he was speaking through gritted teeth, “that you have walked on two legs for too long, Knight-Poet. You are acting like a human.”

Coming from anyone else, it would have been a killing insult, one demanding a duel to the death. But this was the Knight-Commander, to whom John had sworn all his oaths in the Emperor’s absence. He was the Voice of the Emperor-in-Absence. It was his right to rebuke his knights when they erred.

As, apparently, John had.

His shamed silence seemed to mollify the Knight-Commander somewhat. “I am your commander, and you have sworn your loyalty to me. Whatever else you may have done in a…moment of passion, I know that you will not break that oath. Return to Atlantis. We must discuss this matter in person, mind to mind.”

The habit of obedience was so strong, he was physically shaking with the effort of staying still. “I cannot leave the Empress unguarded, sir.”

“Given that she has successfully survived her entire life to date without you standing over her, I believe she can last another few days.”

“Sir, it would be most fitting to dispatch an honor-guard to-“ John began.

“I do not have anyone to spare at the moment,” the Knight-Commander interrupted curtly. “I already have half the Order scouring the seas for the Master Shark. I cannot weaken Atlantis’s defenses any further.”

John’s brow furrowed. “The Lord of Sharks is missing, sir?”

“He stood up in the middle of a delicate diplomatic meeting last night and strode out without a word, scattering the assembled dignitaries as though he’d just scented blood in the water. The entire Council is in an uproar, and demanding that I locate him immediately so that the negotiations can resume. That is why I was originally trying to contact you.”

“Me, sir?” John said, startled. “Why?”

The Knight-Commander was the most skilled Seer in the sea. To him, every drop of rain was an eye, every puddle was an ear. John’s own art-form of poetry was of much less use when it came to finding a missing person. He was at a loss as to why the Knight-Commander would need his help.

“Your place is not to ask why, Knight-Poet. Just to obey. If I want you back in Atlantis, then you will come.”

The Knight-Commander was a formidable strategist, both on the battlefield and in the arena of politics. He must have some use in mind for John’s particular talents. But John himself could not even begin to grasp what it might be. He still didn’t see what the Master Shark’s disappearance could possibly have to do with him…

Wait.

Last night?

As if he’d scented blood in the water, the Knight-Commander had said. John knew that was no idle metaphor. Shark shifters could follow the scent of their prey’s blood, under the water and over it. Unlike ordinary sharks, however, they could do so even when that blood had not yet been spilled.

And they were particularly drawn to power. The scent of a particularly strong, unusual shifter could catch the attention of sharks for miles around. More than once in the course of his duties, John had had reason to curse shark shifters’ abilities. As a sea dragon knight, his own blood-scent could be picked up by even the weakest sharks from fifty miles away.

And I am just the least and lowest of the Knights of the First Water. How far away could they sense a sea dragon of true power?

John’s heartbeat pounded in his ears. “Sir? Do you happen to know the limit of the Master Shark’s range, when it comes to tracking prey?”

The Knight-Commander looked at him curiously. “As far as I am aware, he has none. He is the Master of his kind, after all. Why?”

John opened his fist, looking down at the pearl in his hand. Neridia’s pearl, the Emperor’s pearl that blocked all forms of locating magic, which had never left her neck…

Until last night.