Legacy Lost

says, her voice full of whine. “I have to answer him. He’s a Triton Royal.”
    Nalia appears again and scowls up at Grom. “Look, if you’re not going away anytime soon, then would you please just Blend so you don’t blow our cover?”
    “You’re both out of your minds. Don’t you know how dangerous—”
    “Shhh! They can pick up sounds down here somehow. They’ll come and investigate,” Nalia whispers.
    Grom doesn’t even want to know how she knows this. He Blends and crouches down next to her, tucking his fin under him. “So this is your plan? To get yourself killed so you don’t have to mate with me?” He’s glad she can’t see the dejection he knows is all over his face.
    She scoffs. “Not everything is about you. If you must know, we come here all the time. And since you’re here, I was going to invite you to come with us, but if you’re too scared—”
    “I’m not,” he says, though he’s not sure he believes it. Hitching a ride on any human boat is dangerous, but hitching a ride on a human death ship is downright madness. Their sole purpose, as far as he can tell, is to pick fights with other human death ships, which makes them all moving targets. But, begrudgingly, he admits he’s a little thrilled that she thought to invite him this time. He’d love to reject the invitation, but if he does, it will look like as if he’s afraid, instead of like he’s just plain rejecting her.
    Nalia seems pleased. “Good. One should be along soon. Here, take this. You’ll need it to hold on.” She hands him a chopped-off tentacle of what used to be a very large squid; the suckers are as big as his face. He wants to believe it was dead before she found it. But he doesn’t.
    He swallows, turning the tentacle over in his hands. “You’re not serious.”
    “Change your mind?” she coos. Freya giggles.
    Grom swallows. “No.”
    “Shhh! Here it comes.”
    All three Syrena stiffen, almost invisible against the current. In the distance, a shadow emerges, slow and stealthy, like a wary shark. A giant, wary shark. It glides through the water, looking every bit the predator it is. When it’s just overhead, Nalia and Freya shoot up expertly, leaving Grom behind in the wake of their swirling muck. He watches as Nalia’s clear form latches on to the metal hull with her squid tentacle. Dangling by one arm, she materializes just long enough to grin down at him.
    Stupidly, he grins back. And he’s thankful he’s still in Blended form. Otherwise, she might think he’s flirting with her. Am I flirting with her? In the next second, he springs up and attaches his own tentacle to the hull, his half grunt full of disbelief and thrill.
    Up close, the ship doesn’t look as smooth. Where the metal is chipped in places, rust rings have settled in, and even a few barnacles have taken up residence in sporadic clumps along the length of it. But Grom suspects the humans aren’t so concerned about the beauty of it as they are about the deadliness of it. And deadly it is.
    He keeps an eye on Nalia, who is now sneaking her way to the top of the vessel. He copies her movements as she sticks and unsticks her tentacle, careful not to make noise. Which is why his heart almost stops when Nalia starts pounding on the metal with a rock.
    “What are you doing?” he says, feeling foolish for bothering to whisper.
    She snickers and knocks again in an unmistakable rhythm. She materializes briefly, and presses her ear against the hull, motioning for Grom to do the same. “She really is insane,” he mutters as he does as he’s told. Inside the vessel, he hears a squall of human commotion. Each time Nalia knocks, the humans chatter in an alarmed tone, in a language Grom doesn’t understand. Then they knock back.
    Nalia makes her way down to Grom at the middle of the death ship while Freya maneuvers to a long ladder on the side. He watches as the Tracker wraps her fin into the rungs to give her arms a rest.
    “They always knock back,” Nalia says, proud. “Not just this one, but all of them.” Grom smiles at the excitement in her voice. “What does it mean?”
    “Not sure. My knocking doesn’t mean a thing, but I think theirs means something to them.”
    Grom looks around. “We’re heading into deeper water. How long do we plan on risking our lives? I’m getting hungry.”
    Nalia laughs, a genuine, tickled sound, and Grom realizes it could be his new favorite sound in all the ocean. Get a hold of yourself,