Free Tangled Tides (The Sea Monster Memoirs) by Karen Amanda Hooper Page B

of the water for over twelve hours. A memory I froze ten years ago returned to her and—
    Treygan,
Caspian interrupted calmly. Indrea smiled and laid her hand on top of his.
    Yes, elders?
    Caspian swam toward me, placed his hand on Yara's forehead and closed his eyes. When he opened them I heard the faint murmur of his secondary thoughts being pushed away.
She will be fine. A bit more rest is all she requires.
    I nodded with relief.
    We will have another guardian take Yara to Koraline's,
Indrea said.
She needs to be in a resting pool.
    I can take her.
    Caspian gingerly took her from my arms.
You have other essential matters to attend to. Go harvest the Catacombs.
    It's daytime,
I argued.
    You will have to ask for an exception. Many are in desperate need of C-weed.
    I stared at Yara, unconscious in Caspian's arms, then closed my eyes so they couldn't hear my thoughts. The pain in my chest, the tingling in my wrists when she touched me, they were warning signs. I could not become emotionally involved with Yara. More importantly, she couldn't grow fond of me. That would be a catastrophe.
    Caspian touched my shoulder.
Do not worry yourself with Yara's health.
    I beg your pardon, Caspian, but Yara's wellbeing is my responsibility.
    Indrea's eyes flashed purple as she sent tranquil waves over me. For the first time in days, my muscles relaxed.
You've done well, Treygan,
she said.
Let the rest of us do what we can to help ease the burden placed upon you. You are only one merman—and a fine one at that. Do as Caspian said. Return when the weed supply is back in balance.
    As you wish, Indrea. Thank you, Caspian.
    They both nodded.
    I glanced at Yara one more time before swimming out of the hall. She was in the hands of merfolk who would take exceptional care of her. No matter how badly I wanted to stay, I had to leave her. My unexpected feelings for her meant I needed to stay away from her until the Triple Eighteen.
     
     
    I n the Catacombs, almost no life existed. A few plants grew out of concrete statues. That was it. No fish or sea creatures swam through the labyrinth, no coral flourished, not one snail crept across the ocean floor. Nada.
    For the first few years, the eerie tombs and lack of color creeped me out. I had the same reoccurring nightmare about being trapped in a deserted blue and gray void. Massive concrete eyes stared at me, never blinking. Their screams and cries for help made the ocean boil until my skin and tail fur melted off. Several times I woke up screaming. Back then the fear of dying—or worse, being alone forever—overwhelmed me.
    Maybe it still did.
    Picking weed from the tombs gave me too much time to think. I hated it. Hated the job, hated the Catacombs, hated that I'd known and loved most of the souls entombed in the cold stone. Swimming around statues of dead friends and family while picking weeds, had to be the worst job in the worlds. But it was my job, and it wasn't like I could up and quit. Treygan and I were the only two souls who could swim into the Catacombs, and he sure as hell wouldn't give my kind the plants they needed.
    When the water around me began to vibrate, I knew it was him. Treygan never entered the Catacombs during my shift. In all the years we had been harvesting, neither of us had ever reneged on our agreement.
    He swam around my mother's tomb, biceps flexed and shoulders hunched, guarded and vigilant. The uptight bastard would never change. I floated behind a selkie statue, keeping my claws out of sight behind the stone wall of what had been her flowing hair. Treygan and I had no reason to fight—yet—but better to be safe than snapped in half.
    Treygan, we've been avoiding each other for over a decade. Seeing you two days in a row is making me nauseous.
    Those ugly, blue eyes of his narrowed, but he kept calm.
I need to harvest our crops.
    It's daytime. This place is off limits to you.
    He glided closer.
I'm requesting an exception. Our supply is running dangerously low.