Chapter 3 - The Princess Who Never Existed
The sword in Lord Cassian Veyr's hand was pointed at Tomas, but his eyes never left Mara.
"Step away from the child, fisherman."
Tomas tightened his grip on the black-gold ring. Behind him, Lysa pulled Mara closer, shielding her small body with her own.
"Get out of my house," Tomas said.
Cassian smiled.
"You've mistaken this for a negotiation."
One of the soldiers moved toward Lysa.
Garrick stepped into his path.
"Touch either of them, and you'll lose that hand."
The soldier hesitated.
Cassian's smile faded.
"Careful, Garrick. You're already standing on the wrong side of a royal warrant."
"Then you should have brought more men."
The silence that followed was broken by a faint scraping sound from the open chest.
All four soldiers turned toward it.
Cassian did not.
He was watching Garrick.
"You've become remarkably protective of this family," he observed. "I wonder what Tomas would think if he knew why."
Tomas looked between them.
"Someone had better start telling me the truth."
Cassian lowered his sword slightly.
"Gladly. The girl you call your granddaughter is not descended from an ordinary fishing family. She carries the blood of the Deep Kingdom's royal house."
Lysa shook her head.
"That's impossible."
"Is it?" Cassian asked. "Has she ever recovered from an illness faster than expected? Spoken words no one taught her? Dreamed of places she has never visited?"
Lysa's expression betrayed her.
Cassian noticed immediately.
"Ah. So you've seen it."
"She's a sick little girl," Lysa snapped.
"She's something considerably more valuable."
Tomas stepped forward.
"Value her in sovereigns, and I'll put you through that door myself."
Cassian gave a short laugh.
"Still thinking like a fisherman. That's precisely why they chose you."
The words struck Tomas harder than any threat.
"Who chose me?"
Before Cassian could answer, the chest shuddered.
A deep metallic growl filled the room.
The soldiers raised their weapons.
And Mara whispered something that made everyone freeze.
"He's lying."
Cassian looked at her.
"About what, little princess?"
Mara's jade eyes narrowed.
"About why he wants me."
For the first time, Cassian seemed genuinely unsettled.
Seven years earlier, Lysa had awakened on a rocky shoreline with a newborn in her arms and no memory of how she had reached the beach.
That was the story she had told Tomas.
It was also the story she had told herself.
Her husband, Rowan, had disappeared at sea shortly before Mara's birth. The searchers had found wreckage from his boat, but no body. Lysa had spent the final weeks of her pregnancy unable to sleep, convinced that every knock at the door would bring news of his death.
When Mara arrived, Tomas believed his daughter had gone into labor alone during a storm.
Lysa had never corrected him.
Because the truth was something she barely understood.
She remembered dark water.
A woman's voice.
And a beautiful silver cradle floating beneath the waves.
Now, standing in her father's cottage with armed strangers surrounding her, those forgotten images began pressing against her thoughts.
Cassian saw her swaying.
"You remember something, don't you?"
Lysa shook her head.
"No."
"Was there a woman?"
"Stop."
"A woman with silver hair?"
"Stop it!"
Cassian stepped closer.
"Did she give you the child?"
Lysa's knees weakened.
Tomas turned toward her.
"Lysa?"
She stared at Mara.
Seven years of love, sleepless nights, laughter, scraped knees, and whispered bedtime stories suddenly seemed to rest upon a question she had never dared ask.
"Mother?" Mara whispered.
Lysa held her tighter.
"You're my daughter."
Cassian watched the exchange with clinical interest.
"Love doesn't alter blood, Mrs. Vale."
"Neither does a royal warrant," Garrick replied.
Cassian turned sharply.
"That child belongs to the Crown."
"No," Garrick said. "You know perfectly well she doesn't."
The room fell silent.
Tomas looked at his old friend.
"Then tell us who she belongs to."
Garrick's expression hardened.
"To herself."
Cassian laughed.
"A noble sentiment from a man who once helped steal her."
The accusation hung in the air.
Tomas slowly released the ring into his pocket.
"Steal her?"
Garrick said nothing.
Cassian sheathed his sword, as though he had suddenly decided that words would cause more damage.
"Did your dear friend tell you where he was on the night the Sea King died?"
Tomas remembered the vision in the pearl.
Elara holding a blade.
Garrick holding a newborn.
"At the underwater palace," Tomas answered.
Cassian raised an eyebrow.
"Then you've already seen more than I expected."
Garrick moved toward Tomas.
"That vision doesn't show everything."
"Then explain what it does show!"
Garrick's face twisted with pain.
"The king was betrayed. The court was divided. Your wife was trying to prevent something terrible."
"By holding a knife to his back?"
"She wasn't the murderer."
Cassian tilted his head.
"An interesting distinction."
Tomas rounded on him.
"What does that mean?"
"It means the person who holds the weapon isn't always the person who gives the order."
A heavy thud came from inside the chest.
Everyone looked toward it.
The lid rose another inch.
From the darkness beneath it, a long black claw emerged.
One soldier stepped forward and thrust his spear toward the opening.
"Don't!" Garrick shouted.
Too late.
The claw struck.
The spear shattered into splinters.
The soldier screamed as an invisible force lifted him off his feet and slammed him against the ceiling.
His armor buckled.
Then he fell.
He struck the floor unconscious.
The claw withdrew.
The chest became still.
Cassian's remaining soldiers backed away.
Tomas stared at the broken spear.
"What in the gods' names is inside that thing?"
Cassian's face had lost its color.
"A mistake," he whispered.
Garrick turned toward him.
"You knew the seventh seal was damaged?"
Cassian did not answer.
"You sent men to retrieve it knowing what might escape?"
"I expected the Queen to have maintained the prison."
Garrick's expression darkened.
"Then you've been deceived."
A terrible realization formed in Tomas's mind.
The Sea Queen had given him the chest after he saved her children.
She had warned him that greedy men would pursue it.
But she had never explained what it contained.
And she had never told him why she could not keep it herself.
Tomas looked at Mara.
Her eyes were still glowing.
The black seawater beneath the chest began creeping toward her bare feet.
"Mara," he said quietly, "come to me."
She shook her head.
"Grandfather, he wants out."
"Who?"
"The one in the box."
The water stopped moving.
Mara continued.
"But there's someone else in there too."
Cassian's expression changed.
"Someone else?"
Mara nodded.
"A woman."
Lysa inhaled sharply.
Tomas felt the room grow colder.
"What woman, sweetheart?"
Mara closed her eyes.
For a moment, her small face became strangely solemn.
"She has a broken necklace. Her hands are tied. She keeps singing."
Garrick went utterly still.
"What song?"
Mara began humming.
It was a simple melody, soft and haunting, with the rising and falling rhythm of gentle waves.
Tomas knew it.
Elara had sung it every night when Lysa was a child.
She had called it The Sleeping Tide.
Tomas gripped the table.
"Elara?"
Mara opened her eyes.
"She says she's sorry."
A tear slid down Tomas's cheek.
He barely noticed.
"Sorry for what?"
Mara's voice trembled.
"For what she did to the king."
Garrick stepped forward.
"That's enough."
Cassian's eyes sharpened.
"No. Let her finish."
Garrick seized his arm.
"She's a child, not an oracle for you to interrogate."
Cassian pulled free.
"You've spent eleven years protecting a secret that killed a sovereign. Your objections are becoming tiresome."
"Then arrest me."
"I intend to."
Cassian drew a small silver whistle from his coat.
He blew into it.
No sound reached Tomas's ears.
But Mara screamed.
She collapsed in Lysa's arms, clutching her head.
The luminous color vanished from her eyes.
Lysa dropped to her knees.
"What did you do?"
Cassian lowered the whistle.
"An old precaution. Royal blood responds to certain frequencies."
Garrick struck him.
The blow sent Cassian staggering into the wall.
Two soldiers immediately leveled their swords at Garrick.
Cassian wiped blood from his mouth.
Then he smiled.
"There you are."
Garrick stared at him.
"The traitor who murdered his own commander."
Tomas looked up.
"What?"
Cassian straightened his coat.
"Didn't he tell you? Garrick Thorne was once captain of the Royal Inquisition's northern division."
Tomas felt another piece of his world collapse.
Garrick had always claimed to be a former merchant sailor.
"Is that true?"
Garrick slowly nodded.
"Yes."
"And you never thought to mention it?"
"I left that life behind."
Cassian laughed.
"After killing the man who ordered the purge of the First Tide's descendants."
Garrick's jaw tightened.
"He ordered children executed."
"He ordered dangerous bloodlines contained."
"He ordered infants thrown into boiling salt."
Cassian's smile vanished.
For a moment, even the soldiers looked uncomfortable.
Tomas understood then that Garrick's silence had not been simple cowardice.
It was guilt.
And perhaps something worse.
Outside, hoofbeats thundered through the village.
Cassian glanced toward the window.
More soldiers were arriving.
Tomas could see their silver banners through the morning mist.
There was no escape through the front door.
Garrick moved close enough to whisper.
"There's a tunnel beneath your cellar."
Tomas stared.
"What?"
"Elara built it before she died. It leads through the old smugglers' passage to the northern cliffs."
"How do you know about a tunnel beneath my house?"
Garrick hesitated.
Cassian noticed their exchange.
"Planning another escape, Captain?"
Garrick ignored him.
"Take Lysa and Mara. Leave now."
Tomas looked toward the flooded cellar.
"And the chest?"
Garrick glanced at it.
"Leave it."
The chest gave a low, furious scrape.
Cassian raised his sword.
"No one leaves until the girl is in my custody."
Garrick turned.
"Then you'll have to kill me."
Cassian regarded him for several seconds.
"That can be arranged."
He nodded to his men.
Two soldiers advanced.
Garrick drew a short blade from beneath his coat.
The first soldier lunged.
Garrick sidestepped and struck him across the wrist. The man's sword fell.
The second swung toward his shoulder.
Garrick caught the blow on his blade, twisted, and drove his elbow into the soldier's throat.
The man collapsed, gasping.
Cassian drew his own sword.
Unlike his soldiers, he did not charge.
He circled.
"You've grown slow."
Garrick said nothing.
"And sentimental."
Steel rang against steel.
Cassian's first strike nearly caught Garrick across the chest.
The second drove him backward.
Tomas seized a heavy iron poker from beside the hearth.
He had never been a swordsman.
But he knew how to swing a boat hook.
When Cassian stepped past the table, Tomas struck the back of his knee.
Cassian stumbled.
Garrick slammed him into the wall.
"Run!" Garrick shouted.
Lysa lifted Mara.
Tomas pulled open the cellar door.
Cold seawater covered the steps, but beneath the far wall he could now see a narrow stone archway that had not been visible before.
A hidden passage.
Elara had concealed it behind wooden boards.
Boards the strange water had torn away.
For eleven years, Tomas had lived above a secret his wife had built.
He wanted to scream.
Instead, he helped Lysa descend.
Mara looked back.
"Grandfather!"
Tomas turned.
The chest was glowing.
The silver light from its opening had become brighter.
Within it, Tomas saw something moving.
Not the clawed creature.
A pale hand.
Human in shape.
A woman's hand wearing a familiar wedding ring.
Then came Elara's voice.
"Tomas, don't leave me with him."
He froze.
Lysa called from below.
"Father!"
Tomas stared at the chest.
Eleven years of grief pulled him toward it.
For one impossible moment, he imagined opening the lid, seeing Elara alive, and finally hearing the truth from her own lips.
But Garrick's shout broke the spell.
"She's not the only thing in there!"
Cassian broke free and drove his sword into Garrick's side.
Garrick cried out.
Blood spread across his coat.
Tomas made his choice.
He turned away from the chest and descended into the cellar.
Behind him, Cassian shouted an order.
Then came a terrible cracking noise.
The seventh iron band shattered completely.
The tunnel beneath the cottage was narrow and freezing.
Water streamed along its stone floor.
Lysa carried Mara while Tomas followed, struggling to breathe through the pain in his ribs.
Behind them, the cottage trembled.
A deafening roar passed through the underground passage.
Dust fell from the ceiling.
Then came silence.
Lysa stopped.
"Father, what was that?"
Tomas shook his head.
"I don't know."
Mara lifted her head from Lysa's shoulder.
"He's awake."
Tomas felt sick.
"Who?"
"The prisoner."
From far behind them came a sound that was neither human nor animal.
A deep, rolling laugh.
Then a voice spoke through the stone itself.
"Seven years."
The tunnel walls vibrated.
"Seven years I have smelled her blood."
Lysa began running.
Tomas followed.
The passage sloped upward toward a faint opening in the cliffs.
The voice continued.
"Seven years she has dreamed my dreams."
Mara began crying.
"Make him stop!"
Tomas caught up to them.
"Don't listen, sweetheart."
The voice grew softer.
Almost tender.
"But now she is close enough to hear the truth."
Suddenly, the water around their ankles rose.
It gathered into the shape of a small child.
A little girl made entirely of black seawater.
Her face was identical to Mara's.
Lysa staggered backward.
The watery figure smiled.
"Hello, sister."
Mara stopped crying.
Her expression changed from terror to bewilderment.
"Sister?"
The figure extended one translucent hand.
"Don't you remember me?"
Tomas stepped between them.
"Stay away from her!"
The water-child looked at him with ancient, sorrowful eyes.
"You saved the Queen's children, fisherman."
Her voice was not the same as the creature's.
It sounded genuinely frightened.
"But the Queen never told you what she did to her own."
The figure began dissolving.
Mara reached toward her.
"Wait!"
The water-child shook her head.
"They'll tell you that I was never born."
Her body collapsed into the stream.
Only her final words remained, echoing through the dark passage.
"But ask Mother why she buried my name."
They emerged onto a narrow ledge overlooking the northern sea.
The morning mist was lifting.
Far below, waves crashed against jagged rocks.
Tomas looked back toward Blackwater Bay.
A column of black smoke rose from the village.
His cottage was burning.
Lysa fell to her knees, clutching Mara.
Everything she had known was disappearing.
Her home.
Her memories.
Her certainty that she understood her own family.
Tomas knelt beside her.
"I'm sorry."
She looked at him.
"Did you know?"
"Know what?"
"That Mara might not be mine?"
Tomas's throat tightened.
"No."
"Then why did Grandmother Elara know about her before she was born?"
He had no answer.
Mara rested her head against Lysa's shoulder.
"You're my mother," she whispered.
Lysa held her fiercely.
"Always."
For a brief moment, Tomas allowed himself to believe they might escape.
Then he heard footsteps.
Someone emerged from the mist ahead.
A woman in a dark green traveling cloak stood beside the only path leading inland.
She was young, perhaps twenty-five, with long auburn hair and a narrow silver dagger at her belt.
Her eyes were the same luminous jade as Mara's.
Tomas raised the iron poker he had carried from the cottage.
"Who are you?"
The woman regarded him with open sorrow.
"My name is Seraphine."
She looked at Mara.
"And I've been searching for this child for seven years."
Lysa rose.
"Stay away from my daughter."
Seraphine's face tightened.
"Your daughter?"
She took a folded piece of parchment from her cloak.
It bore an ancient royal seal.
"Then perhaps you can explain why her birth was recorded in the Deep Kingdom's royal archives."
Tomas stared at the seal.
Seraphine opened the document.
Written beneath the royal insignia were two names.
Two princesses.
Born on the same night.
One was Mara.
The other name had been violently scratched out.
Seraphine's voice trembled.
"One child was sent to the surface. The other was declared dead."
Mara looked up.
"The girl in the water?"
Seraphine went pale.
"You've seen her?"
Mara nodded.
"She said she was my sister."
Seraphine backed away as though struck.
"Then the prison has opened."
Tomas stepped closer.
"What prison? Who was that child?"
Seraphine looked toward the distant smoke rising from Blackwater Bay.
"The Sea Queen had twin daughters. One was meant to inherit the throne."
She turned toward Mara.
"The other was meant to die before her seventh birthday."
Lysa stared at her.
"Which one is Mara?"
Seraphine's silence answered more than words could.
Finally, she whispered:
"That's what the Queen spent seven years making certain no one would ever discover."
Then she raised the parchment so Tomas could see the name of the royal physician who had certified the second infant's death.
It was not an unfamiliar name.
It was the name of the village apothecary who had demanded forty sovereigns for Mara's medicine.
Master Varrick.
And beneath his signature, written in the same careful hand, was a second declaration.
The surviving princess must not reach her eighth year.