And for the first time in my life, my mind is calm. Not even an F1. It’s such a beautiful, deliciously boring sensation to be 100 percent pain free. I don’t feel mentally hunched over. The burden has been lifted. I look down at the glove. What is it doing to me?
I’m pulled out of my bliss by the cheering crowd, and a good thing too, because Fathom is rushing at me with his sharpened blades. He’s going to cut me in half. I throw up my hands, knowing they won’t stop the jagged saws he uses to kill, but instinct takes over. There’s an explosion, a geyser of water rocketing out of the ocean, soaring through the air and slamming into Fathom’s back, a missile of liquid. The spout hovers in midair, waiting, and when the prince tries to stand again, it smacks him down.
The crowd gasps.
“Lyric?” my mother says. “Are you doing that?”
I marvel at the glove. Yes, I’m doing this. I’m not sure how, not even sure I could do it again, but yes, this is me, and I like it.
The high minister rushes between us. “This fight must stop at once,” she cries. “She wears the gauntlet. She hears the Voice.”
The prime stomps toward me with his wife by his side. They share the same murderous look. “You cannot stop this, old woman!” Minerva shrieks.
The priestess shakes her head. “In all matters regarding the Great Abyss, I have supreme power. The girl communicates with the giver and the taker. She rules the wave, and is needed. She cannot be sacrificed.”
The prime’s brother steps into the circle.
“Braken, this is not your place,” the prime shouts.
“Brother, do not let your hunger for revenge allow you to do something gravely foolish. There are so few who can hear the Voice—”
“Shut your mouth, Braken!” Minerva commands. “She is not one of us. She is a human bottom feeder.”
Fathom gets to his feet and approaches his father. “Your Majesty, my uncle speaks with wisdom. Lyric Walker commands the sea. She cannot be squandered to pay for her mother’s crimes. She will be needed when the Rusalka find us.”
“You are not to speak of the murderers!” the prime bellows, and the crowd boos Fathom.
“You are offended by the truth? So am I. But it must be discussed. The Rusalka rose up against us and used the power this girl has to kill us in the millions,” Fathom says. “They drove us from the hunting grounds and forced us into hiding on the shore. We are all that’s left. It is time to give up your glorious plans for invasion of the mainland and focus on the Rusalka threat.”
Terrance rushes to join us and is met with jeers. “Alpha, listen to me now. The authors of our genocide have found us.”
The crowd gasps.
“The Rusalka are coming here?” Nor cries.
I remember Doyle’s comment about the Alpha cavalry, but he had it wrong. The creatures in the water aren’t coming to help. They’re coming to finish the job!
“We have to warn people!” I shout.
“Your people are preparing war against us as well,” Braken says to me. “I do not believe they will listen to our warnings. No, like always, we will fight our own battles, but it may very well be our final stand. You could be the difference between survival for some and complete extermination.”
“Pardon her mother and end the challenge,” Nor demands. “Our future is at stake.”
The prime stands and points his finger at all of us, so angry he’s shaking. His eyes are wild. It’s true what Terrance said. He’s lost his mind. “Your roles, all of your roles, are not as advisers but as servants to my whims and desires.”
“You must listen to Braken’s council. He is your brother!” Nor shouts.
“The next person to talk will die,” Minerva says. “Ah, finally the people remember their places. Now, Fathom, continue the challenge, and when you are done, bring your father the bottom feeder’s head.”
“I will not.”
“Your disrespect is outrageous,” his father rages.
“I have stood with every decision you have made—most I did not agree with—and I fought for every one,” Fathom shouts. “I have been beaten and bloodied for you—”
“As is your obligation!” his father bellows.
“I have given you a lifetime of fighting,” Fathom says. “I ask for one thing in return, as a father’s gift to a dutiful son. Father, spare Lyric Walker and her mother.”
The prime’s blades slide out of his arms, and he marches down the stairs toward me. “If you will not do it, then I can manage! Your feelings for this ape embarrass you. Do you think I would allow you to lie with her, bear my grandchildren?”
“Show the boy what respect means, my darling,” Minerva cries.
I search the crowd for Arcade and find her behind me. Her stoic face cannot hide her distraught eyes. She looks at me and I am ashamed.
Fathom’s blades spring out of his arms, and he leaps into his father’s path.
“I will not let you.”
“The heir challenges the father,” the prime says. “Was that your plan all along? Did you hope to change my mind, make me weak before my subjects? All for a little surface girl? You dishonor me.”