“Lira has always been the strongest,” Kahlia says. “And now she has the Second Eye of Keto under her command. Are there any of you here who really doubt she’ll be a worthy ruler?” The authority in her voice takes me aback. It’s clear-cut and assured, as though the very idea of not siding with me is ludicrous.
“You mutinous eel,” the Sea Queen seethes.
“It’s not mutiny if we’re following our queen,” she says. “It’s loyalty. For my sovereign and for my family.”
I know she’s thinking of Crestell in that moment, because I am too.
“Lira was ready to take your place in just a few hearts,” Kahlia says, her voice growing louder, bolder, with every word. “This only means that when she does, her first act as queen will be to end a war that has killed so many of us. And when she takes the trident” – Kahlia’s yellow eye twitches under her defiance – “she’ll have twice the power you ever did.”
“I could be using the eye right now to force you all to bow before me,” I say. “I could strike each of you who holds me with all the power of Keto.” The sirens stir, lengthening their distance. “And yet I’m reasoning with you instead. Asking for your allegiance when I have every right to just take it.”
I lift my head and survey them each in turn, fire flickering in my right eye. At first the silence gives me pause, and I begin to wonder if my mother’s hold is just too tight. Then, slowly, I see a new kind of understanding descend on each of their faces.
One by one, they incline their heads in a bow, and the sirens who surrounded me move back, their hands dropping from my body and rising to their chests in a show of fealty. Then, as though my eyes cut right through them, the army begins to part and a line draws neatly down the moat.
A clear path to the Flesh-Eater.
The monstrous soldier takes one look at the treasonous sirens before him and drags Elian below the surface.
I follow with maddening speed, like an arrow shooting toward him, arms out and coated more in rage than water. It’s seconds before I reach them and too many for me to be grateful. The Flesh-Eater pins Elian to the shingle, hand braced on his throat and ready to snap in either direction.
He sees me when I’m only inches from them both, and lifts Elian up with oil-slick talons as though he’s a prize to be beheld. I grind my teeth together, a snarl gurgling in my throat. The Flesh-Eater is a monster and a warrior and a ravenous killer. And he doesn’t stand a chance.
I don’t need the eye for this. I’m going to tear him apart.
I lunge, and the Flesh-Eater throws Elian away like garbage. I pause just long enough to see the prince swim back to the surface for breath before I rush forward.
The Flesh-Eater’s fist explodes against my face. There’s a pop and the odd feeling of everything bursting and shattering before the pain hits. Pure fury and power resonate from his knuckles, and when he hits me again, the world goes dark for a moment.
I grab his fist and shake the dizziness from my bones. He’s strong, but it’s an empty strength, dwelling in the idea of duty and violence for violence’s sake. For the first time, I’m fighting for something. Elian’s face runs on a loop in my mind, and the moment I remember it’s his life, the life of my kingdom, the pain seeps away.
I twist the Flesh-Eater’s arm, and a crack splinters through the water. He thunders, jaw stretching wide to show every one of his predator teeth. He rolls back toward me, ready to slam his elbow into my chest. But I’m lithe and quick, and when I twist out of the way, he growls.
I tackle him from behind, pounding my body into his as hard as my bones allow. He crashes against the water bed, face burying into the sand. There is blood. So much that I taste it.
He throws himself upright and strikes an arm out to me. For a moment I’m surprised that he grabs me instead of pummeling me, and he uses that to his advantage. Pulling me forward, I realize a second too late what he is about to do. He bites into my shoulder, and I feel flesh being torn from my bones.
I scream and slam my head into his, again and again, until my pain mixes with his. But he is relentless, gnawing and ripping and chewing through me. Tasting me in a way he was never able to before. It’s not until I feel a sharp stab, like a hot poker sliding into my palm, that I remember the eye clutched in my fist.
The power calling to be harnessed.
In one clean move, I slam my closed hand into the Flesh-Eater’s stomach, and when it comes out the other side, he stills. I push him from me, not daring to glance at the wound on my shoulder. He blinks slowly, surprised that suddenly there is a hole through him. That something could puncture that stone-forged body so easily.