Chapter 316
The journey to the Nu encampment takes less time than I expect, mostly because Wake is determined to outswim our guard escort out of sheer spite. I think he wants to get there before Lovelace sends another gold-plated “suggestion” or tries to keep me locked in another room padded with silks and laced tea. Honestly, I wouldn’t blame him.
Our guard is a tall, mute fish of a man named Tharros, who hasn’t said a word since we left the palace. I’m not sure if he’s been ordered to remain silent or if he just doesn’t want to get between Wake and another Estellis power play. Probably the latter. Smart man.
I let the tension unravel from my shoulders the second the crystalline spires of Estellis fade into the backdrop and the deep, dark waters open before us. There’s something freeing about being away from the palace. No soft purple drinks. No glass smiles hiding blood-stained teeth. Just me, Wake, a silent soldier, and a chance to feel like myself again.
The Nu encampment isn’t far—just beyond the outer reef wall, nestled among a cluster of ancient kelp groves that shimmer blue and green in the early morning light. The camp itself is small but orderly. Tents made of woven eelgrass and coral bones. Symbols of Nu carved into the sedimentary rock surrounding the perimeter. And at the center of it all, Miore—Heir of the Primordial Waters—standing tall in a simple wrap of silver silk, his hair drifting weightlessly around him like seafoam.
He turns at our approach and lights up when he sees us. “Phoebe! Wake!”
I don’t bother to hold back my grin. “Nice camp. Very not-Estellis of you.”
Miore laughs and pulls me into a firm embrace. There’s more strength in him than the last time I saw him. Less hesitation in his movement, more certainty in his presence. When he releases me, he claps Wake on the shoulder. “You survived the trench. Guess that makes you official.”
Wake smirks. “Guess so.”
We exchange a few more greetings before Miore motions us toward a nearby table carved from driftwood and reef. A simple spread is laid out—sea grapes, fish scales fried in krill oil, and a salty tea I actually trust to drink. I sit, Tharros remains lurking somewhere behind us like a shadow, and Miore leans forward with a look that means business.
“I’ve been preparing for this,” he says. “This Conclave. Ever since the Flounder dropped me off, I’ve been rebuilding. Reworking how we do everything in the Primordial Waters.”
“Rebuilding what?” I ask.
“Our council structure. Our succession laws. The entire relationship between our ruling line and the Elders.” He rubs his palms together, fidgeting for just a moment. “Khale and Cora helped me draft some of it while I was in the Eternal Sunrise. They’ve been incredible, but I’ve got to carry it now. This Conclave—it’s my first real test. If I screw it up…”
“You won’t,” I cut in.
“You’ve got the support of your council, don’t you?” Wake asks.
Miore nods. “Most of them. Enough. But support is conditional in our waters. If I can’t keep our current alliances strong, they’ll think I’m gambling with the Clan’s future. That’s why I need to prove I’m capable of negotiating. Of maintaining power without sacrificing tradition.”
“You’ll be fine,” I say. “Just don’t drink anything purple while you’re in Estellis.”
Miore blinks. “Noted?”
Wake leans forward. “We need to get a read on the other Clans before the Conclave starts.”
Miore frowns. “You mean talk to them beforehand?”
“Exactly,” Wake says. “We can’t wait until the ballroom is full of robes and egos and expectation. That’s too late. We need to get a foothold now.”
I nod. “A few quiet conversations before the politics kick in. The right words to the right people, it could be enough to sway them before anyone else gets to them. Before Shoal or Lily or anyone else poisons the well.”
Miore hesitates. “Which Clan are you thinking?”
“Olokun,” I say without pause. “The Cradle’s delegation arrived not long before us. They’re already camped outside the city.”
Wake adds, “They’re proud. Not easy to sway, but stable. They’ll respect strength if we show it.”
“They’re also not going to take kindly to subterfuge,” I warn. “We’ll have to come to them honest, direct, with something they can stand behind.”
Miore nods slowly. “My people used to trade with theirs. Our waters overlapped for centuries. If anyone can help open that door…”
He doesn’t finish the sentence, but I catch his meaning.
“If anyone can, it’s you,” I say.
He meets my eyes, and for the first time since we sat down, I see it—the resolve. It’s there now, buried under the nerves, but stronger than before.
He’s not the same lost Heir we pulled from the ruins of that research facility.
He’s becoming something more.
Wake stretches and stands. “Then we make contact today. Before the ball. We don’t need to form an alliance—we just need to plant the seed.”
Miore stands too. “You’ll have my support. My advisors will push back, but if we present it as a show of unity, they’ll get behind it.”
“We’re running out of time,” I say. “Shoal’s got a plan and a timeline. We don’t have the luxury of waiting anymore.”
Wake’s eyes meet mine and there’s fire there. “Then let’s light a fire of our own.”
We part with Miore soon after, promises made, plans forming. As Wake and I rise toward Estellis with Tharros trailing behind us, the looming palace grows larger in the distance—too bright. Too beautiful. Too ready.
But I don’t feel trapped anymore.
Because now?
We’re starting to take the fight back.
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