Of Poseidon 02: Of Triton

us!” Antonis says, squeezing her shoulder.
    Romul arranges his demeanor into a sickening graciousness. “Esteemed One, I’m not entirely sure of your meaning. Are you suggesting that this”—he gestures to Nalia—“is the long-dead Poseidon princess?”
    Antonis laughs again. He still doesn’t understand . “Oh, Romul, you clownfish. Of course I’m not suggesting it. This is my daughter, and clearly, old friend, she is not dead.” He sweeps his hand over her in emphasis.
    Grom swims up next to Antonis and Nalia. “I’m rather curious to know what you are suggesting, Romul.” It occurs to Galen then that the Syrena “welcoming” party had not bowed in reverence when they’d first arrived. They’d shown a complete lack of regard for Grom as Triton king.
    This time Romul inclines his head, but it’s still not the full bow that is customary when first greeting a Royal. “My apologies, my king. I’m not sure where the confusion has arisen, but we will get this matter straightened out, I assure you.”
    “What matter?” Grom nearly growls.
    Jagen swims forward. “The matter of the identity of your guest, of course, Highness.”
    Yudor fills up the space between Jagen and Romul. “With much respect, I’ve already confirmed her identity. This is Nalia, the Poseidon princess.”
    Jagen nods. “We do appreciate your involvement, Yudor. You are a much-respected Tracker. And of course, if this were Nalia, you could not imagine our great elation at having the princess returned to us. But you see, other Trackers—Trackers whom you yourself have trained—are convinced that our new guest could not possibly be Nalia. In fact, they have never sensed this newcomer before.”
    It takes all of Galen’s self-control not to wrap his hands around Jagen’s throat. He knew something was amiss, but he never saw this coming. Grom’s unsealing from Paca could have been a simple matter. Until this. Now with Nalia’s identity conveniently in question, the Archives have no reason to unseal the union.
    We have all underestimated the extent of Jagen’s power. And now we’ll pay for it.
    “I’m not sure which Trackers have told you this,” Antonis cuts in, “but they are mistaken.”
    “Mistaken” is a generous word, in Galen’s opinion. “Bribed” would be more appropriate. Or at the very least, “manipulated.” Whatever the case, Jagen has been very thorough in his endeavor for power. While Galen was chasing Emma and her mother across the big land, Jagen was apparently adjusting his strategy for the change in circumstances.
    Jagen’s sigh is full of false sympathy and a hint of cheerfulness. “I’m afraid, Your Highness, we’ll have to hold a tribunal to get this all cleared up. But not to worry. I’m sure we can come to a satisfying explanation very soon.”
    The word “tribunal” seems to contaminate the water between them. Antonis snarls. “I hardly think there is a need for a tribunal. If anyone would recognize her pulse, it would be me. Unless you are questioning my word?”
    Romul’s eyes grow wide. “Oh no, Esteemed One, not your word. Our intention is merely to discern the truth, to make sure you are not … mistaken. After all, you are not actually a Tracker, trained with the memory of pulses, and much time has passed since your daughter—”
    Romul isn’t the only one startled when Grom surges to within an inch of his face. “I don’t know what an Archive might hope to gain from becoming involved with these antics,” Grom says quietly. “But I can assure you, I will protect what’s mine.”
    Romul blinks, sways backward. “Yes, please do, Highness. Her Majesty Paca has been awaiting your safe return. It is only fair that you two enjoy some … private time with her before we convene the tribunal.”
    With this, Jagen shoves Paca toward Grom. But she never touches him.
    Because Nalia slams into her first.

11

    IT’S BEEN two days since Galen and company left, and Rayna’s voice has not come back. Which is both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, she’s irritable and anxious and probably doesn’t have anything nice to say. On the other, I’m lonely, so even if we were bickering, I’d welcome the distraction.
    Rachel has been mothering me and Rayna to death. Even though she’s got a broken toe, Mom set her up with one of those air-cast things so she hobbles around the house cooking and cleaning and probably sharpening her knives and polishing her Chinese throwing