Of Poseidon 02: Of Triton

a Tracker, has sensed and recognized each one since they stepped foot in the water behind Emma’s house. He knew the exact moment they formed a group and began to move in the general direction of the Jersey Shore. And from that exact moment, Toraf has been un-Toraf.
    Which makes Galen feel caught in a fisherman’s net. Unprotected, powerless, defensive.
    All at once, the Syrena party comes into view. And Galen sees the reason behind Toraf’s distress. Yudor, the Tracker trainer, leads the group, while Romul and Jagen swim slightly behind him. Together. Shoulder to shoulder.
    Galen had suspected that Romul had been helping Jagen secure his place—Paca’s place—within the Royal lines. Now he’s sure of it. Romul hardly ever leaves the confines of the Cave of Memories. In fact, Galen can’t remember the last time he did.
    Of course, this would be a monumental occasion, what with the return of the Poseidon princess. But there is nothing welcoming or celebratory about Romul’s expression. Just indifference, carefully arranged humility, and a bit of scrutiny.
    Jagen takes no care to hide his displeasure with the approaching party of Royals. This is, of course, a great inconvenience to him. But for however condescending Jagen appears, his daughter Paca seems to own the appropriate instincts for the situation. She peeks out from behind Jagen, her face full of the kind of apprehension a fraud should be feeling right now.
    What bothers Galen the most is not the obvious conspiracy passing between his old Archive mentor, Romul, and Jagen. What is more concerning are the Trackers. And the fact that they’ve come armed . They carry the traditional Syrena hunting weapons—whale bones carved into spears and tipped with angry-looking stingray barbs. These spears have always been used for protection against sharks and ill-tempered squid.
    But there are no sharks or ill-tempered squid close by.
    So it startles Galen when Grom swims forward to meet with Romul, hauling Nalia with him by the hand. Does he not sense a danger here? Of course not. Look at him . Grom appears half crazed with happiness as he pushes Nalia ahead of him and, all at once, presents her to Jagen and Romul.
    But before anyone can say anything, before the tension even has time to thaw, a distant cry ripples thought the water. “Nalia!”
    Galen doesn’t recognize the voice and he’s certainly never sensed this older one approaching them. Still, there is a familiarity to him that Galen can’t quite place. Something in his facial features, something in his graceful glide. Galen glances at Toraf—if anyone recognizes this stranger it would be Toraf—and is surprised to find that his friend is bowing low as the striking gray-headed Syrena approaches. The others follow suit, dividing into a row of respectful bows as he passes without acknowledging them.
    That’s when Galen realizes who he is. And he bows as well.
    “Father!” Nalia throws herself into his arms and he embraces her fiercely.
    Then, in front of everyone, King Antonis of the Poseidon Royals sobs into his daughter’s hair. It’s a sound full of agony and pain and wonder. “Poseidon’s beard, you’ve come back to me! My beautiful pearl.” He squeezes her even tighter. “You’ve come back.”
    Galen studies his brother as his brother studies father and daughter. Grom’s smile is full of the kind of peace that results from having everything you’ve ever wanted. From wrongs being righted, from an overbearing weight being lifted.
    From love.
    Galen has the feeling that Grom’s newborn peace is a bit premature.
    Romul proves him right. “Your Majesty, King Antonis, what a great honor to see you after so many seasons! What brings you out of the Royal caverns this day?”
    Antonis laughs his surprise. “Romul, I had no idea of your sense of humor, old friend.”
    “Forgive me, Highness.” Romul nods, a counterfeit smile curving his lips. “While I do wish to please you, I’m not entirely sure what I have said that so amuses you, Majesty.”
    Galen feels his throat constricting. He glances at Toraf, whose jaw has become taut with clenched teeth. Something is wrong.
    “Romul, surely you jest. Or has your sight left you in your old age? Even so, surely your sensing abilities haven’t failed you.” Antonis chuckles and turns Nalia to face the Archive. Nalia smiles widely at him. Galen’s gut churns. None of them see what is happening here. “My daughter, Nalia, has returned to