And then it’s gone. Just like my powers.
The rush disappears as quickly as it came. My body slackens and my skin turns warm and soft. Bones so easily broken. Heart red and pounding once more.
The ocean is silent.
“Lira.”
I snap my eyes up to meet Elian’s. I still can’t get used to the sound of my name in his accent. Like one of the songs I used to sing. A melody as sweet as it is deadly.
“If you miss the ocean,” he says, “then Reoma Putoder is the closest water you’ll find. On the holy day, locals throw stones in the waterfall to wish for their lost love. Access is forbidden the rest of the week, but I don’t doubt you’ll be able to find a way around that.”
He makes to move by me and I sidestep. “Wait,” I say. “I thought you said you wanted me to prove myself worthy of going with you. I told you that I have information on the crystal you’re looking for and now suddenly you won’t even consider a deal?”
“I’ve made enough deals lately,” Elian says. “And the last thing I need is a straggler on this mission. Especially one I can’t trust. Besides, you can’t offer me anything I don’t already know.” Elian settles his hat back onto his head with a graceful twirl and tips it forward in my direction. “If you go to the Reoma Putoder,” he says, “try not to drown this time.”
He doesn’t look at me again before he turns to weave his way through the market and toward Kye. I catch a brief glimpse of them standing together and then, just like that, they disappear into the crowd.
IT TAKES ME THE better part of an hour to find the Reoma Putoder. I don’t ask for help, partly because my pride can’t take another human rescuing me. Mostly, because my patience can’t take another human talking to me. I’ve already been stopped over a dozen times by locals offering me food and warmer clothing, as though I need it in this sweltering heat. There’s something about a girl wandering alone in a wrinkled dress and old pirate boots that unnerves them.
I bet ripping out their hearts would be more unnerving.
The Reoma Putoder is a waterfall with a pure white lagoon that, somewhere far in the distance, leaks into the ocean. I heard it before I saw it, lost in the endless bakery alleyways, the smell of pastries clinging to my skin like perfume. It sounded like thunder and there were a few hesitant seconds when I thought for sure that was what it was. But the closer I got, the more recognizable the sound was. Water so powerful that it sent shudders through me.
I sit quietly at the base of the waterfall, my legs hanging over the edge of the lagoon. It’s so warm that every now and again I have to take my feet out and let them rest against the dewy grass. At the bottom of the water, sitting on sand that looks akin to snow, there are thousands of red metal coins. They peek out from the shingle like tiny droplets of blood.
I thumb the seashell. Pressing it to my ear brings nothing but unbearable silence. I’ve been trying ever since Elian left me in the marketplace. On the walk to the waterfall, I held it against me desperately, hoping that with time it would speak to me again. There were a few moments when I almost tricked myself into thinking that I could hear the echo of a wave. The rumble of a sea storm. My mother’s bubbling laughter. Really, the only sound was the ringing of my ears. All of that power, gone. A tease of my own self dangled in front of me just long enough for the thirst to return. I wonder if it’s another one of my mother’s tricks. Let me keep the shell so she can taunt me with the echoes of my destroyed legacy.
I grip it tighter. I want to feel it splinter into my skin. Crack and crumble to nothing. But when I open my hand, it’s intact, undamaged, and all that remains is an indent in my palm. With a scream, I raise my arm high above my head and throw the shell into the water. It lands with an anticlimactic plop and then sinks leisurely to the bottom. I can see every moment of its slow descent until it finally settles against the water bed.
Then there is a glow. Faint at first, but it soon scatters into orbs and embers. I inch back. In all the time I’ve used the seashells to communicate with sirens, or even as a compass to my kingdom, I’ve rarely seen this. It calls out as though it can sense my desperation, reaching into the waters to search for another of my kind. Instead of a map, it’s acting as a beacon.
And then, in almost no time at all, Kahlia appears. My cousin’s blond hair is swiped across the water, falling into her face so that her eyes fail to meet mine.
I jump to my feet. “Kahlia,” I say with astonishment. “You’re here.”