Of Poseidon 02: Of Triton

and boring in contrast to the surrounding landscape. The hot ridges haven’t erupted in many years, since before Galen was born. Some of the Archives living today remember stories passed down from older Archives, but no one living today has ever seen an eruption here.
    Not to mention, this area is protected by some human law that prohibits fishing here; any time boats or divers come in, some of the humans who live on a nearby island run them off. Very little human activity is ever sighted here. But Galen is certain that if they don’t get on with the tribunal, some kind of human technology will detect the activity and investigate—interference or no.
    Which, for once, could be a good thing.
    So far, Romul has been the only person to give testimony. The old Archive eloquently expressed that he felt the Gift could conceivably pass on to non-Royals under certain circumstances. Galen couldn’t agree more—they’ve already had the genetics discussion. But since Romul isn’t familiar with genetics, and he’s arguing for the sake of Paca’s Gift, then Galen can hardly look his one-time mentor in the eye.
    As Romul leaves the center witness stone, he says, “And who knows? Perhaps the Royals have … strayed in the past. Perhaps Paca has more Royal blood than we suppose?”
    The implication is outrageous. More than that, it’s treasonous. But Romul is in no danger of being arrested. Right now, the crowd moves as one, alive with whispers. Romul’s testimony glides through the water with momentum, building into a wave of shock and awe that cannot be undone. The words are forever imprisoned in their minds, trapped, demanding to be analyzed and picked apart. A hint of distrust will forever taint the relationship between the Archives and the Royals, the Commons and the Royals. Or rather, a hint of distrust will forever just taint the Royals.
    Galen looks to Grom, scrutinizing his reaction and finding next to nothing. His brother is stationed next to Paca, his smiling queen, but it’s Nalia with whom he shares his-and-her matching expressions of indifference. Next to the Triton Royals, Toraf clenches and unclenches his jaw, but gives no other outward reaction. Galen’s gaze shifts to Antonis, across to the Poseidon side of the Arena. The wizened king looks slightly amused. Of course, after having spent so much time in self-imposed isolation, Galen supposes the king may not know how to act appropriately anymore. Otherwise, he’d have to question His Majesty’s sanity in allowing a genuine smirk to tug at the corners of his mouth. As if Romul had told a joke.
    Galen wonders what his own expression betrays. Fury? Disbelief? Nervousness? But he’s not given much time to contemplate.
    Tandel, an Archive from the Triton house and elected leader of the council for this tribunal, takes the center stone and hushes the Arena. “My friends, Romul has given us something to consider, and it is much appreciated. But he is the first to give testimony. If we are to resolve the matter, we must hear from the rest.” This seems to placate the masses. Tandel nods in self-satisfaction more than graciousness. “Now, we have Lestar, respected Tracker of House Poseidon, to give testimony.”
    Lestar is seasoned, of an age to remember Nalia’s unique pulse, her identity. Toraf says a Tracker never forgets a pulse. If that’s true, Lestar can positively identify Nalia as the Poseidon princess. His testimony, along with Yudor’s, will end this ridiculous trial.
    To Galen’s relief, Lestar wastes no time in doing so. “My friends, thank you for hearing my testimony today. I am honored to be a part of such a happy occasion. Happy because our lost Poseidon heir has returned to us. Many of you older ones are aware that I led the search party after the mine explosion all those seasons ago.” This incites nods from among the assembly. Both houses know the story; it’s one of the worst tragedies in the history of their kind. “You younger ones have heard the tale passed down through the generations. If you have, you would know that I was one of the last to give up hope of ever finding our princess alive. I searched many days after the last Tracker party was sent out.” Lestar turns to Nalia, an affectionate smile pursing his lips. “My friends, please believe when I say this one you call ‘newcomer’ is not new at all. I swear on the law and my ability as a Tracker, she is Nalia, heir of House Poseidon. I have known this one since