Raging Sea (Undertow, #2)(63)

“Arcade is hurt,” I say.

“Arcade is a warrior,” he says.

“Seriously,” I say.

I lead him into the room and he hovers over her bed, lifting her wounded arm and studying the dressings where her hand once was. I brace myself for some nonsense about trophies won in war, that a wound is evidence of a fight, and that she will cherish this loss, but if he is thinking it, he keeps it to himself.

“Like all Triton, Arcade carved the cutting edges of her Kala with stones, from the time she was a small child until she had her first kill. Every edge is unique, the closest thing our people can produce to art. This wound has ruined her work. It is a terrible tragedy for her. Her designs were widely admired. When we were still living in the hunting grounds, she often told me she considered being a teacher, instructing young Triton in the forms their Kala can take. I encouraged her passion. I believe she would have been very good at it.”

He stands over Arcade for a long moment before turning to me.

“Will you take care of her?” he asks.

“Shouldn’t she be with you?”

He shakes his head. “Please do me a kindness and do not tell her I was here. She will be offended if she learns I was concerned. It will imply that I think she is weak.”

“That’s insane,” my father says.

My mother shakes her head. “It’s true. Triton do not nurse the wounded. It is insulting to the victim’s strength and tenacity. If she wants him, she will ask, though I suspect she will not, out of pride.”

“So that’s it?” I cry. “You’re going to go? And if she survives, then you two will go back to the normal routine, like nothing happened?”

“What would you have me do for her?” Fathom snaps.

“I don’t know! Sit with her! Read to her. Sing her a song. She’s your selfsame, isn’t she?” I know it comes out spiteful. My bitterness is ever ready when he’s near, but the actual words I’m saying are completely rational. Yes, I know that I’m a walking contradiction. A week ago I wanted to steal him away from her. I’ve envied her. Now she’s seriously hurt and he should be with her. It’s the kind, human, sane thing to do. Staying would prove to me that he’s not soulless, but he can’t bring himself to do it, for her or me. I’m starting to see that he isn’t worthy of either of us.

Fathom goes to the door.

“Is this how you would have treated me if I was hurt?”

He stops, but he does not face me.

“I would have learned a new way with you,” he says.

“You know, I used to think she was lucky!” I shout. “But now I’m thinking she’s cursed!”

He turns. For a moment he looks as if I have stabbed him, but it vanishes just as quickly, and once again he is made of stone.

Then he leaves.



Bex and I move our beds so that we are on either side of Arcade. Mine is on the left, hers is on the right. We all lie in the dark, listening to the Triton girl’s halted breathing, fearful of sleeping, in case she needs something. My parents whisper to each other in the adjacent room. My mother gets up and pours a glass of water, then paces the floor. I know she’s watching over us, kneading the meat of her palm with her thumb as she does when she’s nervous. Bex tosses and turns in her sheets.

It’s torturous. The last thing I need is silence, because my mind fills the quiet with troubles. In three days, the children will be dropped onto a beach crawling with Rusalka, and they will die. Most likely, so will I. It was a miracle I survived that day on the beach, with the Rusalka leaping out of the waves with their hungry teeth, the prime and his insane wife trying to kill me, and the black tidal wave that nearly tore the world in two. Tens of thousands of people didn’t share that miracle with me: Mr. Ervin, Gabriel, Luna, Thrill, Ghost, Surf, Mrs. Ramirez, Tammy, even Bex’s stepfather, Russell—probably all dead, smashed to bits by the towering water, their bodies dragged out to sea. I don’t suppose I’ll get lucky again. I was so sure I would find a chink in the Tempest armor and get us all out of here, but the opportunity to find the EMP and escape never revealed itself.

What will it feel like to die? I wonder if it hurts. I wonder what happens next, or even if there is a next. The priests at church talked about heaven. They said all my friends and family who had already died would be waiting there for me. Everyone I ever knew—well, not Russell, but Shadow and the others. It would be nice to see them again. Then there’s the Alpha belief—the return to the Great Abyss, the beginning and the end, the big nothing. It’s hard to wrap my head around nothing. The concept of not existing, that all of this life and its troubles were pointless. It’s depressing. I suppose it’s why the Alpha live so fiercely. If this life is all there is, why not barrel through it?

I think of Chloe, with her sweet, hopeful eyes. I have grown to adore all the children, despite my best efforts, but she’s special to me. She squirreled into my heart, with her stuffed bunny rabbit and her freckled nose. A whole life that should have been hers will probably be smashed into nothing.

And then there’s Riley. I want him to live.

“Where are you going?” Bex whispers to me as I crawl out of bed.

“I’m going down to the park to train. I’ve got to save these kids,” I tell her.

I find the guard outside my door. He looks surprised to see me this late.