Finn isn't waiting in the hallway like my father predicted. He probably ran for the coral and is hiding out like the fry he is. Ridiculous boy.

So, instead of going after him, I choose to go to my room. It isn't such a terrible place to be when it isn't being used as a prison.

Like the rest of my siblings—of which I have seven—I have my own corner of the cave system to myself. Since I'm the oldest, mine is significantly bigger than the rest, but no one would know that at first glance.

The heavy stone door that leads into my personal hideaway pushes open easily, and I swim in. The little golden bell I installed above twinkles with my arrival. As if they heard it, the jellyfish that live here with me come to life. They used to sting me when I got too close, but that was when I was younger. Now our relationship is of mutualistic benefit. They provide a soft light, brighter than the dinoflagellates in the hallways, and I wake up the microscopic organisms that they eat.

With the jellies floating lazily around me, I pause in the entryway and stick my hand into a natural cubby on the wall's rugged surface. An ancient, graying lobster feels me out with his tendrils before crawling out to say hello.

"Good evening, Deca," I say softly to him.

I scratch the top of his shell for a moment and then move into the room, taking the jellies with me. They hover close because of the little plankton that my movement stirs up. I create a walking banquet—for which they are incredibly thankful.

I swim into the second room, shift past my bed, and move to the darkest corner of my space. There's a door knob hidden in the shadows behind a curtain of seaweed and flowering seagrass. Deca clicks after me, and I laugh.

"Come on, ya little bug," I call, swinging open the door. The jellyfish swim away, knowing they can't go where I'm heading.

Deca rests on my shoulder as I swim down under the palace and Hygge. The temperature drops steadily, and before long, I'm covered in goosebumps. If Deca minds the change, he doesn't show it. Instead, he plays with strands of my hair as it billows behind me.

The dark tunnel stretches far past the city, and then the terrain shifts upward. Its walls are bare and cold since none of the traditional sea plants grow down here. The lack of light encourages the growth of algae and fungi, but the bioluminescent flora stay away. My eyes adjust to the darkness quickly, but I still keep a hand on the wall. Just in case my memory fails me.

Before long, the water starts to warm up again, and the sound of it smacking against rocks whispers down to me. With a deep breath, I thrust myself up and break the surface. The fresh air of my grotto explodes in my lungs.

As I hoist myself up to sit on the side of the rocks, Deca scrambles away. Sunlight drifts down from a hole in the roof above, and warmth fills the expanse. I'm not really sure where that hole is in regards to the ocean above, but I know it's in Papa's territory. Occasionally, falcons will nest around the gap, so I figure it's relatively close to the cliffs of Snejorn—where the predatory birds congregate. Wherever I am, no human or merfolk has ever stuck their face through, so I'm not interested in hunting it down.

While my little companion finds a spot of sun to lounge in, I glance around the grotto. Papa would murder me if he knew I was here. With Finn's help, I constructed shelves on every within-reach stretch of wall. Found-things like nails, rods, and other mash-up metals hold up peeling driftwood shelves lined with smuggled books and artifacts.

Some of the manuscripts I bought from the pirates; others came from merchants in Hygge's market. A few of them I found floating among the wreckage of unfortunate ships. Not all of them are decipherable, sadly, and I definitely haven't read all of them from cover to cover. A few, like one massive green collection sitting to my left, are completely waterlogged. Only the soft fabric cover that coated its once sturdy case remains. Gold filigree on the spine spells out a title I can't read, but the precision of the work caught my attention and deserves a spot in my collection.

Among the books, a variety of statues and relics sit, too. For example, there's a twinkling silver statue of my mother sitting far above my head. A matching set was crafted for the king and his royal children a few days after the funeral. Papa keeps his in his bedroom, and I'm not sure where the others keep theirs. But mine stays within sight, where I can clean it and polish it.

On yet another shelf sits a solid cannonball, something I scooped off the bottom of the ocean. Then, there's a broken piece of silver mer-armor, a tattered Anjordian flag from a ship, and a broken merfolk blade, its onyx still sharp after all this time.

All reminders of the Great War.

My grotto is half library and half war museum. It's a place to remember the past and study how to avoid repeating it.

To fight off the chill of the approaching night, I reach for the flint I bartered from traders and light some of the now-dry driftwood I keep piled in the corner. Then I slip my bag off my shoulder, toss it across the cave, and reach for a book. Its spine cracks in protest, and I wince. The salt in the air must be getting to it; I'll have to find a replacement soon. Committing the title to memory, I start to read.

But my thoughts keep drifting back to the prince's ship. He was here looking for us. Why? Prince Eero can't be more than twenty years old. For him, the war is probably nothing more than a bedtime story his daddy tells him. Something to make him behave. After all, it was eighty years ago.

That thought makes me shiver.

Has it really been eighty years?

The memories are like a fresh cut sliced across my chest. They still wake me up at night, and the screams and sobs haunt the darkest parts of Hygge. How could it have been that long ago?

I was born ten years before the war began. Time works differently for merfolk. Since Papa has been Divine-blessed, Her magic reaches out to touch us as well—anyone who pledges full allegiance to him, anyway. It gives us extended lifespans and century long youths. We're far from immortal, though. That's all too obvious in Papa's graying expressions as of late. In human years, the king is nearly two hundred years old; I'm pushing ninety.

But to merfolk, I'm still young.

Prince Eero's a near infant. So, if the war was so far beyond his conceptual memory, why was he out here searching for merfolk? What was it he said?

"The merfolk you speak of are nothing more than figments of your imagination."

He called us imaginary.

Which by default means he thinks the accords are imaginary.

Eero doesn't think we exist. Or didn't, rather, because I just revealed myself to him like an idiot. Up until he saw me off the bow of his ship, he was chasing a fairy tale.

If he hadn't seen me, what would his next step have been? Would he have sailed his ship all the way to Hygge palace and searched our home?

I can't stop thinking about the look in his eyes, the glittering hunger that shone behind that perfect blue. Perfect? No. A disgusting replica stolen from the Divine herself.

But the way he looked at me...

I can still feel his eyes making their way across my skin, devouring me bit by bit. Chills rise up on my bare arms, and I set the book down to rub at them with my hands. The way his gaze made me feel is unnerving—a strange heat building up in my stomach.

It makes me sick.

In the time I've studied human history, there's a few things I've come to understand as universally true about their race. There's as bold as they are stupid, and greed fuels everything they do. Human kings chase fame and glory, pillaging other humans' lands just to put their flag on a tower and brag about their victory among the defeated peoples. They train their soldiers to be relentless and unforgiving, emotionless slaves to their every command. My books and scrolls tell of a past outlined in wars, twisted with malice, and wrapped in trickery.

Our corner of the sea is just another place for Eero to stick his kingdom's flag on. A prize to be won and hefted about on his shoulders. A source of prestige.

He would have come for us, even if I hadn't revealed myself.

I have to tell myself that, or the question that won't stop circling in my head is—did I save us or ensure our demise?

Papa won't lead an attack against the humans unless it's absolutely necessary because he thinks we wouldn't win. Deep down, I know he's right. It'd be like a shiver of sharks against a couple of dolphins. We're smart, sure, but you need numbers to win a war.

I sit so long by the fire thinking about what I may or may not have done that my hair completely dries. It's stiff and itchy from the salt coating it. Night has fallen outside, and Deca returned to my side a while ago. I sigh and try to read once more. The firelight is enough to see by, but the words don't register. There's too much worry at the forefront of my mind.

How do I know if he was going to attack?

Would Papa listen to me if I did?

I know more about how humans think than any other merfolk, but if I tell Papa how I know so much, he'll tear the grotto down. All the things I've collected would be destroyed. All of Mama's hard work, all of my happy memories—he'd tear it apart in minutes. Without proof, though, he won't believe me. I'm stuck between roaring waves and a sea stack with absolutely no way out.

Propping the book against the iridescent green scales that creep up my waist, trailing off into near white to blend in with my skin, I look up. The moon isn't in position to be seen yet, but I do see tiny stars dotting the black velvet sky. Residual clouds clog their beauty.

For half a second, I wonder what those stars look like from Anjord. Are they as bright, or is that just the way the ocean reflects their light back to them? Do the humans live in palaces of silver and gold that glitter in the moonlight, too, or is the marble architecture of Vandya unique?

Will I ever know?

More importantly, do I want to?

My stomach turns as a small part of me says yes. Thankfully, a much larger, more powerful part is disgusted by its associate and says no.

Focus, Arielle. Eero is out there looking for your people. How can you stop him?

As heir to the throne of Triton and successor to the status of Divine-blessed, I have only one priority: the people of Vandya. If there's even an inkling of suspicion that Eero is planning an attack of any kind, then I have to stop it. If Papa won't listen, I'll have to take matters into my own hands.

In order to defeat the monster, I'll have to become a monster myself.

And where does one go to become a sea monster?

I know the answer before the question even finishes forming.

Zula's hollow.

Without thinking too much about it, lest I change my mind, I grab Deca, put him gently on my shoulder, sling my bag across the other, and dive into the frigid water.