Tempest Bound: The Fisherman's Lure

Chapter 12: The Siren Queen's Lament

Deeper beneath the Sunken Citadel, the haunting melody led Amara, Rowan, and Seraphine. The melancholy song seemed to infiltrate the walls, every note holding years' weight and causing the water to violently sense loss. Seraphine's heart hammered as they arrived in a big chamber with arched ceiling covered in fading sea life carving. Her posture royal, her eyes far off, a figure sat on a throne of coral and bone in the middle of the chamber.

Lysandra, Sirenues's Queen.

Her eyes were polished pearls reflecting an aged sorrow; her skin had a delicate blue almost translucent tone. Long since tarnished, her crown of coral interwoven with seaweed threads remained. Her hair swirled around her like a black cloud riding with the gentle flow of the river; her face revealed a beauty both dreadful and tragic.

As they arrived, Lysandra glanced at Seraphine's company; her weight was quite evident. Her face was inscrutable, her eyes huge pools of suffering and wrath interwoven. She stared at them for some time before whispering the tide in her voice across the chamber.

"You come seeking the Coral Crown," she said, sounding exhausted and cold. Not the first; you will not be the last either.

Her heart trembled, but Seraphine stood forward speaking powerfully. "I hunt the truth," she remarked. "The truth regarding the Crown and regarding the fate of my father."

Lysandra's eyes concentrated quickly, a flutter of familiarity dancing through them. "Your father was a fool," she murmured softly. Like many others, he sought the Crown believing its power would grant him command over the sea. He was untrue, though. The Crown absorbs; it follows not.

Rowan moved forward, his hands tightening and his eyes intensifying. Then why wear it? he said, his voice tinted with anger. "Why carry the weight if it only is a curse?"

Lysandra's expression slackened and she began to smile slightly, a small sour smile. "Once, I wore the Coral Crown," she said, her voice little more than a whisper. "I was youthful, robust; the queen of my people. But power drives jealousy; my kin turned against me, imprisoned to this cage where I would wear the curse of the Crown alone.

She halted, looking distant as though lost in memory. "The power of the Crown is a relationship developed in blood and anguish, not a gift. It offers but also calls for far more. Those who bear it relate to the will of the sea, to its memories, to its pain. They become something less, then more, never exactly fitting the sea or the world above.

Seraphine shuddered; her father's words kept racing through her head—the cost you might not be willing to pay. Terror and sympathy pressing in her chest, she leaned nearer to meet Lysandra's eye. But why warn me she asked? "Tell me of the curse if you despise mortals... if you see us as fools... why?"

Lysandra's eyes softened, and for a few moment the royal façade slipped to reveal a grief inexplicable. "because I was like you once," she remarked. Young, full of aspirations and hope, free of anxiety about what lay ahead. Looking for the Crown, I felt I could rule it unlike others who had gone before. nevertheless I was misinformed.

Her voice dropped, a faint gloom laced through. "The Crown grabbed everything, including my soul, my kin, my freedom. Now I am bound to this place, condemned to warn those who follow hoping they might choose another path.

Amara focused intently, information blazing in her eyes. She said a soft "The ocean does not forgive, does it?" "It Memories."

Lysandra nodded, staring off far away. "Every soul that has ever sought its power is recalled by the sea. From the struggles and sacrifices of earlier generations, the Coral Crown spins out those memories. It grants power, undoubtedly, but it does it piecemeal until the will of the water stays.

Rowan placed a troubled shadow in his eyes on Seraphine. You have no need to do this, he said gently. You know of the costs. You are not carrying on the course your father chose.

Seraphine stared at him, her chest squeezing with a mix of panic and will. Her voice steely, she said, "I have to understand." I won never know the truth should I turn back now. I have to finish what my father started even if it means running with the Crown's curse.

Lysandra's eyes darkened as a sliver of gloom slid across them. You then are either really daring or pretty stupid, she said. "But know this, Seraphine: searching the Crown will call for more of you than you could possible imagine. It will strip your innocence, your dreams... till the sound of the sea is still.

Seraphine swallowed, the weight of Lysandra's words covering her like a heavy blanket. She knew the risks and that her route forward would be one of peril and sacrifice. She could not, however, go back—not now.

Lysandra watched her for some time before sighing with a worn-out acceptance. "Very well," she said, her voice touched with loss. "I will let you pass..." only, though, should you demonstrate yourselves worthy.

Rowan straightened and fixed his jaw tightly. "What has to be done??"

Lysandra raised her hand and the water around began to shift, dark shadows gathering in the chamber. Dark magic generated chains tied to phantom forms under her direction. The figures were terrible; their body twisted under the spell that imprisoned them; their eyes were empty. Bound to her will, they were her guardians; they moved with an unnatural grace and their chains quietly clinked as they went.

"You have to face my guardians," Lysandra said, her voice cold. "Defeat them, then you might carry on. But know this: the Coral Crown's gloom linked them to this location. Their sympathy will be absent.

Seraphine's heart hammered as the guardians neared her, their predatory need fixed on her. Her will stiffening turned her to face Rowan and Amara.

Her voice was strong, "We're ready."

Lysandra fastened her eyes on her, a flutter of regret over them. Then might the sea show you the compassion it never did for me.

Rowan's hands closed into fists as the guardians moved in; his body was poised and ready; Amara raised her hands and dark power crackled at her fingertips. The struggle will test their camaraderie, confidence in one another as much as their will. The weight of the Crown's curse was pressing on Seraphine, a subdued reminder of the still to come sacrifices.

Though not without cost, Lysandra's reluctant blessing marks the end of the struggle; her last warning would linger as a reminder that the Coral Crown was a weight no mortal could carry without losing a small bit of herself.