They took Torun to the Council arena and ripped off the net.

Tied tightly by the bolas, Tolun could barely straighten to face his accusers. Ranged around him in the arena floated the warlords who had grown with him, the elders he had learned from, and the younger officers he had trained.

Lucy must have made it to the chamber. She would be safe.

“Torun, former warlord once respected by all of Sireno.” The head of the Council, Torun’s own grandfather, pointed his gold trident at Torun. The hollow ceremonial weapon trembled. “You are a traitor to the mer.”

“I am the only one truly loyal,” he snarled.

His grandfather clenched his trident. “Breaker of the ancient covenant and rejector of the sacred brides. You sought human company and attacked our people. You would destroy us by your rash actions.”

“Rash action is needed! We are dying. Only I have the will to save us.”

From another quarter, the security elder shook his head gravely. “You were a good warrior once. Now, you are poisoned by the prison-crazed myth-maker of Atlantis.”

“Kadir gives us hope!” Torun fought for his words to reach the others. The whole city had gathered. Some were swayed by his plea. “What hope have we here, resting on a covenant with an island that has been abandoned?”

Murmurs accompanied his words.

“I put my faith in the covenant,” his grandfather intoned. “Brides have had missed years before. Always they returned.”

“These are not missed years. These are missed decades.” He struggled. Pins stabbed his hands as the blood pooled, cut off by the ties. “I put my faith in a new covenant. One drafted here, now, with modern humans. Where is our king?”

Silence greeted his rallying cry.

Prince Jolan’s unit entered the arena carrying two more nets. Malem glared at Torun with special hatred and jerked his net harder than needed.

A tentacle curled out of it. Both nets emitted a black, inky smoke.

So, the house guardian had been captured. His gut burned. Although he lost his seed today, please let Lucy be safe.

“I wish to be judged by my king,” Torun said, again. “He is a friend. You are only his advisers. Where is he?”

“My father is dead.” Jolan’s jaw tightened in his pale, bruised face. “You missed your friend by hours.”

No.

The king’s patience had stayed the Council for years. Torun had fought beside his king to defend their borders, and the king had always liked him. Him and his impassioned ideas, which, although possibly wrong, the king said had heart. He had been a friend. His loss wasn’t just of a liege. The pain panged deep.

“May he sleep in still waters, and hunt ever-long in the blacknight sea,” Torun said.

Jolan nodded once. He was king now.

But without a son, he couldn’t assume the throne. Only a mer who had raised a son could assume the responsibility.

Which meant the head of the Council, the aged elder who had raised Torun’s father and trained Torun, now was the king.

Torun’s grandfather met his gaze. He straightened and grasped his ceremonial trident tightly. “Jolan’s last act as prince was to request your forgiveness.”

What?

Jolan lifted his chin and stared straight ahead, avoiding Torun’s gaze.

How noble. Despite their fight, the injuries Torun had given him, and the dishonor he must have faced returning to Sireno empty-handed, Jolan had used his last favor to honor his father’s friendship with Torun. He saved Torun’s life this day. Someday, Torun would return the favor.

“In recognition of his dedication to uniting the city under the rightful law, I will grant his request on one condition.” Torun’s grandfather glared at Torun. “Recant your support of the insane prisoner. Rededicate yourself to the sacred brides of the covenant. Abandon your treasonous acts.”

Please let Lucy be in the chamber.

“I cannot.”

Jolan stiffened.

His grandfather smirked. “Then see your castle destroyed and your male seed castrated.”

Torun braced himself. His most precious household member was still at his castle. He would retrieve her as soon as his injuries recovered enough for him to swim, and then, he would take her away together.

Jolan turned to the Council head, who was now also king. Bitterness lined his lips. “My king. We did not collect the castle’s seed.”

“How is this possible?”

“It was not on the dais. However, we captured another traitor.”

Another supporter? Torun searched the faces of the citizens. Who could it be? He should have appreciated another ally.

“The traitor will be judged also.” His grandfather flicked his fingers.

Jolan and Malem shook the nets. Lucy tumbled out.

Torun’s heart descended from his chest. His body turned hot and cold. No. Please. No.

She spun across the arena. Ink drained from her mouth. She choked and arched her back.

“Which city has such plain markings?” Torun’s grandfather asked. “I do not recognize this blankness.”

“I do not know, my king.” Jolan grabbed Lucy mid-spin and yanked her to a stop. The seed flew out of her hand.

Torun’s blood pumped. She had gone to save the seed. Curse it all. He would have done the same.

Malem grabbed the seed. “It is Warlord Torun’s seed.”

“Place it in the offering bowl here to be destroyed. Then, we will remove Torun’s male essence. He will never sire young fry. Then, we will judge his accomplice. Who is it?”

“I cannot tell.” Jolan roughly studied her. Lucy hunched away, curling in on herself. Jolan shook her, forcing her to straighten.

The vibrations slowed as his senses tightened to high alert. Higher than when he outswam the jaws of the trench monkfish, closing in on him with fangs and fury. Higher than his first battle with raiding warriors.

He would rip the young prince’s throat out. “Take your hands off her!”

Jolan’s frown lifted. His eyes widened and he obeyed, releasing Lucy and retreating several strokes to a safe distance. “It is a human.”

A bride.