Under the Water(Fem. Percy)

Chapter 2

The inside of the palace is breathtaking. Large windows arch over the floor, letting the light from thousands of glowing plants trickle in and spin beautiful patterns over cold marble. Colorful fish swim around freestanding pillars. I want to dart after them and take a better look, maybe figure out what species they are, but they scatter into alcoves and out of sight when Dad walks down the long hallway.

Iridescent scales are scattered over his arms, disappearing under the sleeves of his tunic. The black contrasts against his skin, but the blues and greens and purples make me wish I had scales of my own.

Without a word, he wraps me in a hug. I sigh and sag into him. The cotton is soft against my face and hands, and the warmth of his body's already luring me back to sleep. My eyes flutter shut. I let them stay that way for just a minute, then I'm weakly pushing away. Dad laughs.

It's infectious, and a small burst of giggles pass my lips. I try to lift my hand to stifle them, but they turn to a yawn before I manage to.

A hand--a warm hand that doesn't belong to Dad---pushes me back into the embrace. It rubs at my head, talons scritching over my scalp as Triton speaks with Dad about...weather patterns? Boring. Understandable why it's important for them to know, but nowhere interesting enough for me to pay attention to. Instead, I turn my attention to the hand still on my head. Why is Triton doing this? I peer at him through half-lidded eyes. It doesn't match up with anything he's done the few other times I've interacted with him. Maybe it's because Dad's here. Or, and this thought comes with a special brand of irritation, it's because he's messing up my hair while seeming like a good brother.

"Do you want me to carry you to bed?" Dad asks. It's an actual offer. If he doesn't want to do it, nothing can make him, so why say anything? That's what I tell myself at least. And even if he's not being serious, I'm tired. As good of a reason as any to miss a joke.

I tilt my head back and blink blearily up at him. His eyes are different, I note, brighter, and the pupils thinner. Probably to see better in the dark. Wavy, black hair hangs almost to his shoulders. His fingers brush over my cheeks with a feather-light touch.  Oh, I can let him do it. Someone just shy of a hundred-fifty pounds has to be nothing compared to mountains and islands. How nice would it be to close my eyes and pretend I'm young again, even if only for a moment? To feel safe after being ripped from my bed? It's tempting. Some long buried piece of me wants it, and is clawing at my ribs to have me say yes. I shake my head.

Disappointment flickers across his face. He schools it as quick as it comes, but it was still there. He wants to, not just in the way of being nice, but in the way parents are supposed to want to take care of their children. A rare thing from a god. My heart aches, and I wish I could go back. 

I can, technically, say I changed my mind. But he'll know why. He'll know I saw that brief moment of weakness. In his eyes, I'd be a puppy, too eager to please. And maybe he'd be right about that.

Instead, I lean up onto my toes and kiss his cheek. Stubble prickles against my lips.  "I don't think"---Another jaw splitting yawn interrupts me---"you want me clinging to you all night."  The last time I clung to someone was when I was five and Mom could still carry me. What he doesn't know won't hurt him, and really I might still cling. So it's not a lie. Not a big one at least.

Silence wraps around us until he cups my face in his hands. His palms are warm and rough. My eyes, wide but not alert, fix on him with all the love and adoration a child is expected to have for their parent. Somehow, I have a vague memory of this happening before. I was smaller then, and the hands seemed so much bigger. Was it at a park? The time Mom lost me in the zoo? Or after the shark tank fiasco?