No one says anything for a long minute. We just watch the water settle back into its natural rhythm. Magnus turns his back to us and stares out at the open ocean, his hands limp at his sides.

"I'll take care of him," Papa says, his tone comforting.

"I know you will." It comes out as a mumble because I suddenly don't feel like talking to either of them. The recently familiar heaviness has settled over my chest again, and I'm struggling to breathe regularly. This feeling has to have a name. It has to be something, but even if I can recognize how the ache, I still can't label it.

Papa rubs my back. "You keep trying, and I'll speak to King Eero about our next steps."

Eero looks from me to him and nods.

"We will be right back," Eero whispers as he starts to follow my father to the tree line. "Keep an eye on the horizon, okay? Just yell if you spot anything."

I nod wordlessly and turn away from him. The sound of crunching sand tells me he's leaving, even if I don't see him. His scent follows him, and I'm left entirely alone.

Again.

I'd gotten so used to Finn—beside me in the cot, following me around the palace in Lykke, exploring the city when we had a moment of free time. Even when he was a fish, he was still there. Now the air feels cold and empty.

You did the right thing.

Why does it hurt, then?

A shadow comes over me, breaking my train of thought. I look up at Magnus and wince. His mouth is twisted; his jaw is set. The guard is either mad or worried.

"You alright, fiske?"

I nod. "I did what had to be done."

"I was talking about the shifting thing." He moves so we're standing shoulder to shoulder, still facing the water. "Sounded like it hurt."

A shudder passes through me. He hums in affirmation.

"You're smart. You'll figure it out."

I suck in a breath. "I know, but... I'd hoped to go back to Hygge." He raises an eyebrow but doesn't look at me. "Just for a visit. I miss home."

"Understandable. I was a slave in Snejorn, and sometimes I still ache for the snow." There's a rare vulnerability in his voice. I want to grab it and shove it in my pocket. "But here's the thing about home. It moves."

A short laugh bubbles up out of me. "Pretty sure Hygge can't grow legs and find me in Snejorn."

His cheeks lift in a silent smile. "No, it can't," he says, "But when I really start to consider running away from Anjord for a week in the winter, I just go visit my sister. Hearing her voice, sharing old memories of snowball fights and snow creatures we built, eating traditional Snejorian foods—it feeds the hunger. My home isn't really stuck in Snejorn; it's the things I took with me when I left: memories, people, feelings. Hygge can't meet you here, but you didn't leave it all behind either."

I know he has a point. I know he's right. But there's still a knot in my stomach.

"Thank you," I say, wrapping a hand around his arm and squeezing it. "I didn't know you were the sentimental type, but that was sweet."

He laughs and tries to shrug me off. "Leave it to you to ruin the moment."

Thankful for the reprieve, I reach around and start to snatch his sword from his belt, an action that is sure to get him into a sparring match, but before I even get a grip on the hilt, an ear splitting scream cuts through the air. A flock of birds erupts from the trees. Their caws add to the omen. Magnus and I look to Papa's guard, both of whom have their tridents drawn.

I tiptoe across the sand and pick up the trident I borrowed this morning.

"Should we—"

My next word is cut off by a guttural, "Arielle!"

Papa.

All four of us move in unison. We sprint into the treeline one after the other—guard, me, guard, Magnus. Ahead, sparks of gold flash through the thick foliage and the sounds of fighting can be heard. I press faster, swatting branches aside and leaping over fallen logs. Thorns nip at my legs; holes catch my feet.

But I don't stop.

Even as I ram my shoulder into a tree. Even when I twist my ankle in a burrow. Even when a vine wraps around my leg and sends me flailing into a small bush. The guard behind me just picks me up and shoves me forward. I don't even have time to say thank you as I launch back into my desperate sprint.

He found us.

Zula's here.

There's no other explanation.

We're in the middle of the ocean, in Vandyan waters. Even Queen Maeja isn't bold enough to cross two borders. No, this has to be my uncle. He waited until Papa was on land again to attack because he knew he'd be weakened.

The ground trembles as we get closer to the fighting. The temperature drops. Shouts underlay the sound of swords clashing and lightning cracking. I tighten my grip on the trident and burst through the trees after the guard in front of me.

In the small clearing, two different fights are taking place. Eero is locked in his own with Jett and Lott, and he's holding them off surprisingly well considering it's an uneven match. Magnus shoves past me and joins his charge.

A short distance away from Eero, Papa stands. The ground around him is seared black as his body trembles with energy. Lightning dances from his skin, skittering across the grass and through the air. It creates a protective barrier around him. Ahead of him stands a man I wish I never had to see again.

Zula's wearing the black uniform I saw him in last—Ursus's outfit. His hands are balled into tight fists, covered in layers of glacial blue ice. Black, ghostly tendrils rise out of the ground around him. They writhe like a dozen snakes, teasing the lightning. Zula's aura is pale purple.

Seeing them both in the same place is unsettling. They are almost identical in facial structure—sharp jaw lines, dark eyes, wide nose. Even their heights are identical in these forms. Where my father exudes warmth and golden energy, though, Zula emits frigid lilac energy.

Without saying anything, I run the rest of the way across the clearing and stand beside Papa. He glances at me, smiles softly, and then goes back to watching his brother. His guards stand behind us, ready to launch their attack.

"Little niece," Zula says, voice dripping in sickly sweetness. "I've missed you."

"Can't say the feeling is mutual," I hiss.

My uncle laughs. "And you, brother! It's been, what, thirty years now? How have you been, TiTi?"

Papa bristles. His face hardens. "Cut the formalities, ZuZu. What are you doing here?"

ZuZu? TiTi? They have nicknames?

"Oh, I'm sorry." Zula places a pale palm against his chest. "I thought this was a family reunion. Since I didn't receive an invitation, I assumed it got lost in transit."

Neither Papa or I say anything so he continues talking to fill the silence.

"I was swimming along, late last night, and saw a ship—Anjordian, I might add—sailing into Vandyan water. I thought to myself, what would any good citizen of Vandya do? They'd try to stop the ship, of course. So, I followed it." He smiles eerily at me, flashing two rows of not-so-white teeth. "From a safe distance of course. You know how dangerous humans are.

"And then, it stopped here. When my lovely niece got off and I saw my brother standing on the shore, I just knew I had to pop in. For nostalgia's sake. Surely you two understand."

I tighten my grip on the trident. Papa's fingers twitch at his side. The Divine swells between us, hot enough to burn my skin.

"I'm just here to say hello, Triton," Zula says, dropping the fake cheer. "You could welcome me, act like you've missed me."

"But I haven't," Papa says. This time, it's his voice that's cold. The brevity of his comment jars me. He does miss him, though. Not even an hour ago, he was telling me on the beach how he mourned all three of us for weeks. And now, he's refusing to admit it?

Men.

"What's the plan, Zula?" Papa asks. "Why are you interfering in human affairs?"

He already knows the answer to that; it was part of my story. Papa's fishing, though. He wants to hear his brother say it. Why?

"Didn't Arielle tell you? It's power I'm after. Unrivaled power."

My father nods. "I know you better than that, Zula. This can't be all about power. You never wanted the throne, never wanted to rule, never tried to be first."

Zula's already dark eyes blacken further until there's not a shred of blue left in them. He narrows his gaze on Papa and hisses, "Because you never let me."

"I would have given you whatever you wanted!" Papa snaps. "You could have ruled beside me. We could have been partners. I could have given you land, riches, knowledge, power—whatever you—"

"Except for Thalie, right?"

Zula's voice is silver ice. It cuts through the noise behind us, freezes everyone in place, pierces right through mine and Papa's chests. I suck in a breath, and Papa blinks in shock. He opens his mouth to respond, but Zula cuts him off.

"She was the only thing I ever wanted from you, and you couldn't give her up, could you?" He's barely speaking above a whisper, but the emotion carries across the clearing like he's screaming.

"Athalia chose me, Zula," Papa says, softly, calmly, like he's speaking to an infant. "I didn't make her love me."

"No, the Divine did that." Zula's eyes are wild now, looking between my father and I like we might attack him at any moment. "She just had to make you two chosen mates. She had to take everything from me!" His voice rises until he screams the last word. A sudden frost rolls across the grass; the ground trembles.

Papa whispers, "Revenge?"

His brother shakes his head. "No. I got over my anger towards the Divine. That's why I found different gods to bless me. I am simply tired of people taking things from me."

"So you become so powerful no one can ever deny you?"

Zula smiles that wide, terrifying grin. "At last, he understands."

I notice then that he's walking towards us. Slowly, one step at a time, but still approaching. I nudge Papa with my elbow, but he's holding Zula's gaze.

"I didn't take Thalie from you. Don't take this out on me."

His brother lets out a humf of agreement. "And yet, I'm still mad at you."

"What for?"

Zula stops moving. By now, he's directly in front of Papa, so close that they could extend their hands and touch fingertips if they wanted. The purple aura is swirling in with our gold; the heat is melting the frost. Zula's nearly-translucent tentacles are prodding at my legs. I aim the trident in my hand at my uncle, ready to let loose, ready to repay the wound he inflicted on me.

"I have a better question for you, brother," Zula hisses, lifting his chin. "Why didn't you let me come?"

Papa holds firm for a minute, his brows knitting in confusion. He blinks—once, twice, three times before his face softens. His pupils dilate; realization floods him. Even his hands open up at his sides.

"I didn't—"

"I know you didn't," Zula interjects. "I begged you to allow me to come. I got down on my tail and begged you to lift my banishment for one day so I could say goodbye."

Say goodbye?

Before I can ask what he's talking about, he keeps talking. "Not only did I have to watch her die, I wasn't even allowed to say goodbye."

Mama.

He's talking about Mama's funeral.

I lower the trident a bit, tears welling up in my eyes. Zula loved my mother—more than I'll ever understand. Everything he's done was in an effort to avenge her. Papa knew that, and he didn't let him go to her funeral?

That wasn't fair.

Two sets of eyes look over at me, and I realize I've spoken aloud.

"I know," Zula says, nodding solemnly. His eyes are glassy and wet.

"Ari, you don't understand," Papa says quickly. "It was his fault an—"

"How dare you!" Zula screams.

With his words comes an icy wind that sends me flying backwards across the clearing. The tentacles follow me, pinning me to the ground. I try to buck away from them, but it's useless. Plus, they aren't squeezing me. Just holding. I crane my neck to see the brothers still standing together, now so close that they could touch foreheads.

"Say it again." Zula's silver trident catches the light as it materializes in his hand. "Blame me for her death, Triton."

Papa holds his tongue. He seems to let the words circle his brain a few times as he considers releasing them. I want to scream at him to stop, that it wasn't Zula's fault Mama died, that he was in the wrong this time, but fear glues my mouth shut. All I can do is watch in panic as Papa opens his mouth and says four words that will change everything.

"It was your fault."

Then, the clearing explodes.

Daggers of ice shoot past me; bolts of lightning strike the ground around me. The tentacles let go, retracted by their owner. A gust of searing wind beats against my face as I try to pick myself up off the ground. I can't see anything through the blinding light now filling the clearing, but I can hear everything.

Papa screaming at Zula.

Zula screaming back at him.

Thunder crashing above us; the earth rumbling below.

The sizzle of magic against magic, of ice evaporating against fire.

"Papa! Stop!" I shout, cupping my hand around my mouth. "It wasn't his fault. Please, stop!"

The only answer I get is a frigid blast of wind and two manacles of ice shooting from the ground to wrap around my ankles. I wrench and kick at them, but it's no use. I'm stuck. I kneel down and try to pry the ice apart with my fingers, melt it with a little Divine heat, imagine I'm crushing a little ball of light to transform—anything to get out.

Nothing works.

Panic swells in my chest. Hot tears stream down my face.

I can hear metal clashing against metal. When the light dims, I see them locked in combat, sparks of gold and blue flying between them.

I need to help. Need to get out. Need to stop them. Need to do something.

But I can't.

I'm helpless.

Desperate, I look around for Eero and Magnus. They're standing not too far away, staring in awe at the light show in front of them.

"Eero! Magnus! Help me, please," I shout, giving my feet another yank.

Neither of them look my way. So, I yell louder. Nothing. It's like they're deaf.

Or like I've been silenced.

Frustration builds in my chest until I slam my fists into the soft grass and scream with every fiber of my being. I push all of my magic into the ground, sending Her across the clearing to the brothers.

The effect is instantaneous.

The light fades. The ice melts. The sparks stop.

Everything pauses.

I lift my chin and find my uncle holding my father by the throat. The two of them are hovering inches off the ground. Black smoke-like tendrils spin in the air around them. Zula's trident has transformed into a sword and is jammed against Papa's neck as he holds him aloft.

"I'm doing this for Athalia," he whispers, chest heaving. "Her death was never my fault. I wasn't the one who killed her."

Papa stares back at him for a minute before asking, "Who was it then, brother? Who killed her?"

Zula's jaw tightens. "You."

And in one swift motion, he slices my father's head off in one clean motion.