The Triton

Chapter 8: Sasha

JUST UNDER 20 YEARS AGO

High in the great spires of Mera, the city was brighter and quieter. Especially when the sun had set above the waters, dousing the city in black. The spires themselves lit the night, tendrils of the glowing white stone that shone in peaceful solarity.

Few had the wealth to build this tall, to stretch up towards the palace above - but Lord Grom certainly did. Fine draperies hung on his walls, depictions of tridents and religious figures, of the Princess––each a luxury in the underwater world, a reminder of his position, his status, his power.

Half-naked and half-drunk, the Lord lay splayed atop his massive bed, the whole of it a dark red velvet, another display of froughtless wealth. A nasty heap of a creature, his barreling gut shook as he snored softly, disheveled hair unkept and messy. Long days called for indulgence, so he so often reminded himself.

Just outside his bedchambers stood seven figures. Six men, tridents on their backs, stood rigidly straight, a Captain who called himself Truno peering as the seventh figure approached.

She was short, draped elegantly in a fine red robe, the same red velvet of Grom's bed. Truno knew this robe well: it was a message for any whore who received it: come to Grom's tower, make him happy, then be paid well. If not, death––simple, brutal, and horrible. It was loose enough so as to hide the female's form, the Lord's "surprise," something he boasted of to anyone but his wife or children, and especially his Captain. Truno had seen it far too often these days.

Dark, amber eyes of firelight peered up to him from beneath its intricately embroidered hem, crackling like a fireplace in the night. Truno knew the emotions splayed on them all too well: fear, nervousness, a darkness that only these girls knew. But in that first moment, he noticed something else, a sinking sensation he felt in his gut: she was calm, purposeful.

In an instant, that purpose and calm was lost in the clouds of nervousness and fear. The captain blinked once more, refocusing. It had been a long day, and in these times, everyone felt the suffering of war.

Eleanora's ban on magic in the city had left stressors everywhere, though the Captain understood. Fear is the outcome of war, and fear of damage to the capital city of the Stormlands, of the merfolk people––he understood why she had banned any non-essential magics. In respect of her power, all obeyed... those who didn't, terrible rumors surfaced about their absences.

Truno and his men were mercenaries, over a dozen men hired by Lord Grom for protection during the war. Not being a member of Eleanora's armies meant no magic, and no magic meant he could not use his powers. Being a Truthspeaker was trying, but valuable in this line of work––he could not tell lies, nor could anyone who he asked a question.

But not since he'd stepped foot in this city, Grom leaving his province for the safety of the capital city.

"Search her," the captain said, a stony coldness to his voice, a coldness he'd had to train his voice to have after all these years.

The Captain watched her, pushing against the anger that pulled at the corner of his jaw, the sides of his temple, the tightness that formed in his lungs and spine. Every night for almost three weeks straight.

But that anger was dwarfed by the smirk that pulled at the corner of his lips. War was bad for everyone, but here he was, looking at pretty little things and lining his pockets handsomely for it.

Three of his men stepped forwards, smirks of their own twisting their faces. The girl watched the captain as they pulled her cloak open, revealing and prodding about the lacy underthings underneath. The Captain, facetious honor quickly disregarded, let his eyes claw across her body. It was just business, he told himself. He'd lied the same lie every night the girl had been searched for weapons––he was just doing his job.