Chapter 53 Rift
My father lifted his head. His eyes were milky, the pupils almost gone.
"Nerissa?" he gargled. His voice sounded like water boiling in a pot.
I fell to my knees at the edge of the dais, the charcoal silk of my dress soaking up the cold, stagnant water on the floor. "Father, I'm here. I came back."
He stared at me, but his gaze didn't soften. He looked at the black pearl veil on my head. He looked at the charcoal silk, a color that didn't exist in the ocean. And then, his eyes moved past me.
Klaus stepped into the room.
The singing stopped. The sirens at the base of the throne let out a collective shriek of terror, scrambling backward into the shadows.
"Vampire," my father hissed, his jaw unhinging slightly. A thin line of black fluid leaked from the corner of his mouth. "You brought the butcher to my door, daughter."
"No, Father! He’s... he’s here to help," I lied, the words burning my throat. I looked at Klaus, pleading with my eyes. Do something. Save him.
Klaus didn't move. He stood in the center of the room, his hand on his sword, his gaze fixed on my father with a clinical, devastating focus. He was measuring the rot. He was calculating how much "pure" oil was left in the King’s glands.
"King Thalor," Klaus said, his voice echoing in the hollow chamber. "The Southern Rift is under Imperial quarantine. You and your people are to be relocated to the Citadel for... processing."
"Relocated," my father laughed, a wet, rattling sound. "You mean harvested. You mean you’ve run out of the oil that keeps your Emperor’s skin from sliding off his bones, and you’ve come to take mine."
"The Blight is terminal here," Klaus said, his voice devoid of emotion. "If you stay, you die within the week. If you come with us, you might serve a purpose."
"A purpose!" My father stood up, swaying on his stone legs. He pointed the whalebone scepter at me. "Is that what she is? Your purpose? Look at her, vampire! She is already turning! She smells of your rot and your ink!"
I looked down at my hands. The black lines were pulsing, dark and visible against the pale coral floor.
"Father, please," I begged, reaching for him. "Klaus is trying to find a cure. He’s looking for the Salt-Kiss. He’s—"
"There is no cure for treason!" my father roared.
He took a step toward me, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. He grabbed my shoulder with a hand that felt like a bundle of dry sticks. He leaned in, his breath smelling of the Abyss.
"You gave him your voice," he whispered, his eyes wide and vacant. "You gave the enemy the only thing that could have saved us. You are the reason the water is black, Nerissa. You are the rot."
The words hit me harder than any blow. I felt my heart fracture, a cold, sharp pain that radiated through my entire body. I looked at the man who had raised me, the man who had taught me my first notes, and I saw only hatred.
"I tried to save you," I sobbed. "I took the poison for him so he could lead the fleet here to find you!"
"And look what you brought!" my father screamed, gesturing to the commandos entering the room. "You brought the harpoons! You brought the jars!"
He shoved me away. I fell back against the hard coral, the impact knocking the breath from my lungs.
"Get out!" my father hissed. "Go back to your tower! Go back to your monster! You are no longer of the sea!"
He turned his back on me and sat back on his throne. He closed his eyes and began to hum—a low, discordant note that vibrated with madness.
"Admiral," the lead commando said, stepping forward. "The King is symptomatic. The transition has begun. Should we commence the extraction?"
Extraction. The word for harvesting the oil while the heart was still beating.
I looked at Klaus.
He was staring at my father. His face was a mask of iron, but I saw the way his hand was shaking on the hilt of his sword. He looked at me, lying on the floor, my veil torn, my spirit broken by a father who didn't want to be saved.
"Klaus, don't," I whispered. "Please. Not like this."
Klaus looked at my father, then at the commandos. He saw the black fluid leaking from the King’s eyes. He saw the way the sirens were huddled in the corners, waiting for the end.
"The King is... too far gone," Klaus said. His voice was a jagged rasp. "The oil is contaminated. There is nothing here to harvest."
The commandos hesitated. "But the Emperor’s orders, sir—"
"I am the Grand Admiral!" Klaus roared, his voice shaking the very walls of the palace. "I say the site is a loss! We move to the Abyssal Gates! Now!"
He walked over to me. He didn't ask. He reached down and hauled me up, throwing me over his shoulder as if I were a sack of grain.
"Klaus, let me go!" I thrashed, hitting his back. "He’s my father! I can't leave him here!"
"He’s already dead, Nerissa!" Klaus shouted as he carried me toward the doors. "Look at him! He’s already gone!"
I looked over his shoulder.
My father sat on his throne, his eyes closed, his voice rising in a final, suicidal song of extinction. The black vines of the Scourge were already beginning to crawl up his legs, sealing him to the leviathan ribs.
He didn't look at me. He didn't say goodbye.
Klaus carried me out of the Throne Room, the iron doors slamming shut behind us.
We ran through the dying halls, the sound of the commandos’ boots a frantic rhythm. We reached the diving bell, the airlock hissing as we were sealed inside.
As the bell began to rise, I pressed my face against the glass.
I watched the Palace of the Southern Rift shrink into the darkness. I watched the ghostly, fungal light of the rot swallow the towers. I watched my home disappear into the black oil.
I turned to Klaus.
He was leaning against the iron wall, his eyes closed, his chest heaving. He looked like he had been hollowed out. He looked like he had just committed the greatest treason of his life.
"You lied," I whispered, my voice a broken thread. "You told them he was contaminated. You saved him."
"I didn't save him," Klaus said, opening his eyes. The sapphire was gone, replaced by a dark, aching void. "I just gave him the dignity of drowning in his own palace instead of a jar."
He looked at me, and for a second, the distance between us vanished.
"I lost my home today, too," he murmured.
He reached out and took my hand. His fingers were freezing, but they were solid.
"I'm sorry, Nerissa," he whispered.
I didn't answer. I couldn't.