Page 45 of The Siren and the Dark Tide

“What was that?” asked Riella. “Where did we go?”

“To the home of the Sea Witch, of course. She does not dwell on the flesh-and-blood plane. With her blessing, I offer you the map.”

Riella took the parchment and inspected it, letting out a small laugh of victory. The marked undersea caves were familiar to her. But then, she remembered that she could no longer swim to those depths. On the bright side, nor could any human.

“Thank you,” said Riella to Ferrante. “But was there anything else? I believe I was severed from your voice midway through a sentence.”

The old man heaved a sigh. “Some things are best not to know.”

A violent sense of premonition washed over her. At that moment, she knew that she was existing in the time before some great and awful truth. And when that moment passed, she’d be living in the after.

“Tell me,” she said, gripping the map.

He bowed his head and spoke the same sentence aloud, this time to completion.

“On the next full moon, the siren-who-walks will be reunited with her Voice, only to perish at dawn and be washed away with the tide.”

CHAPTER 17

Riella felt impossibly calm in the face of Ferrante’s prediction.

She stood, returning the map to her bustier. “Well, thank you. I am glad to be forewarned.”

Ferrante gave her a solemn nod.

She hastened to the turquoise water, Jarin closely following.

“Riella—” he started, reaching for her elbow.

But she did not wish for more words—especially not from a human. The siren dove under the crystalline water and swam to the other side. Those peaceful few moments underwater were a respite from reality.

Then, she surfaced, and her situation hit her in the face like the harsh sun.

Riella would die at the next full moon, less than two weeks away. The fate foretold was hers, no doubt. She was the only siren-who-walked.

And someone would wield the amulet. But who? Since Ferrante did not specify, perhaps that part of the prophecy was not set in stone. She could find the amulet, and use it to defeat Polinth. That could be her fate.

Feeling strangely numb, she climbed from the water and sat on the edge of the sandstone bank while Jarin swam after her.

If she was to die, all she could do was make her final days count for as much as possible. Find the amulet. Save the elf. Kill Polinth.

Jarin surfaced, flicking his wet hair from his eyes, and looked for her.

“I didn’t realize that would be the message,” he said, swimming over to the siren.

“Of course, you didn’t,” she replied stiffly, her legs in the water. “How could you?”

He shook his head, his handsome face aggrieved. “Perhaps he’s wrong.”

“Is he often wrong?”

Jarin clenched his jaw, saying nothing.

The siren squeezed the water from her hair. “I only care about saving Seraphine now. And that’s fine, because what kind of life would I have had with legs, anyway? I’m a mutant.”

“You can’t—” He faltered.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I can’t what?”

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