even if he drew healing from the sap of another.
The city’s warriors clustered near the Life Tree. Two small boulders rested on the dais, causing the whole dais to slightly tilt. Gemstones tinkled as they rolled against the trunk.
Three warriors carried a third stone and rested it beside the others. The dais tilted farther. Stones rolled and clinked.
The trio easily bore its weight, but a single warrior could not.
Hmm.
The stones were heavier than Ciran had calculated. If they were dropped from the center of the chasm, it would be impossible to swing or angle back to the land.
Itime and Konomelu looked at him.
He held out his wrists.
Again, their guard laughed. “You think to face your death with dignity? Oh, no. We will drag you to it screaming like the coward you are.”
The Luscan guards bound the stones to their ankles.
Now they had a much bigger problem.
With ankles bound, they had no maneuverability. They would fall where they were dropped.
Konomelu and Itime looked to him for guidance.
“We must go.” Ciran indicated straight down.
They nodded their understanding.
The Luscan warrior thumped his chest with the hard base of his trident. Pain echoed in his chest. “No talking.”
He rubbed the spot.
Their guards floated out of grappling range but close enough to stab if they detected resistance. And the prisoners could not afford to get stabbed.
Ciran would time their moment of resistance. The other two subtly nodded, reassured.
Around the Life Tree, the rest of the Luscan warriors straightened and turned toward the largest castle. The vivid green bulb was so colossal that the grand entrance—which could fit six warriors swimming across—looked like a tiny pinprick.
The king emerged and led his entourage to the Life Tree.
The Luscans watched in taut, respectful silence.
His single gray eye glared at them out of his scarred visage. The sheaths for his ceremonial daggers hung from his thin arms and he clenched his trident in his bony knuckles.
He was by far the oldest mer in Lusca, having outlived all the elders who had once caused him so much pain, and the skin around his face was unusually tight around his skull. He had no extra weight, and he was frail, but he’d continued to live on through sheer force of will.
Or of hate.
He shifted his fins to human feet and touched down on the dais beside a long lever.
Prince Lukiyo floated behind him, pale and noble. The sheaths on his arms and thighs were tight and strong, and he carried his trident correctly in his elbow. He took his place to the left of his grandfather.
Another warrior dragged a bound, defiant Nuno. He handed the rope to the king.
Nuno rotated in the water until he locked gazes with his father.
Konomelu clenched his fists behind his back.
“Those cowards have chosen their fates. Face me.” The king yanked Nuno’s rope until the young male obeyed. “Serve me or die.”
Nuno sneered. “Die.”
Prince Lukiyo swam forward. “Nuno. Do not speak so recklessly. This is your last chance. Swear you will follow your king.”
“I’ll follow him into the kraken trench and kick his fins.”
The king pulled a long dagger from its sheath, gripped Nuno’s forearm, and rested the blade under his chin. “You will feed the kraken. Perhaps in chunks.”
Nuno tilted his chin away from the blade, fighting back his horror.
“Grandfather, no, please.” Prince Lukiyo floated in front of Nuno. “I can still reason with him. I beg you—”
The king turned his blade on Prince Lukiyo. The point flicked, scarring his cheek. Prince Lukiyo jerked back.
The king’s good eye narrowed. “A warrior of Lusca does not flinch.”
Prince Lukiyo stiffened.
“And he never begs.” The king turned the blade on Nuno and swam him to the stone weights. “Remember your place, Lukiyo. Do not let the weakness of your birth doom your death.”
Prince Lukiyo flexed his fingers helplessly.
The king eyed Ciran. “Why is he in shackles?”
The guard whitened. “He is an enemy, my king.”
“I have plans for him.” The king gestured with the knife to release Ciran. “Make sure he has a good view.”
Two guards directed him at trident-point to a spot apart from the Luscans ringing the Life Tree. Konomelu and Itime watched him until the guards shackled Nuno to his stone and floated into place, blocking the prisoners from Ciran.
Curse it.
The plan was going more and more awry.
The king returned to the dais and dug out the mating gemstones that had rolled and piled around his lever.
The Luscans must frequently wait for their ceremonies to begin. The younger ones flicked their fins restlessly. The adults remained