Heart of Atlantis

Chapter 14

Quinn held out her hand, determined to make a fresh start with bulldog guy, in spite of the way he was staring at her flushed cheeks. “Quinn Dawson. Nice to meet you.”

The man looked at her hand, and then back at her face.

“It’s human custom to shake hands in greeting,” Alaric said, already heading down the hall. “Myrken, this is the woman I’m going to spend the rest of my life with. Be nice.”

Myrken, already pale, wobbled a little, as if he were going to fall over right there in front of the ancient tapestry on the wall behind him. Silvery green dragons soared over an island kingdom of perfect, tiny stitches.

“He does that now,” Quinn confided to Myrken. “Smiles. It’s almost frightening, isn’t it?”

“There you go again, making unfounded declarations about my future without consulting me,” she called after Alaric’s retreating back.

“Sorry, I have a crisis to solve.” He flashed an unrepentant grin over his shoulder, and Myrken made a weird noise that sounded like a cross between a gulp and a yelp.

“Did he . . . Did Lord Alaric just smile again?”

Quinn shrugged. “I know. It’s kind of freaking me out, too.”

Leaving Myrken to his shock, she ran down the hall after Alaric. “Wait for me. Team, remember?”

They descended stairs and flew down hallways at top speed, arriving at a room Quinn had definitely not seen in the tour Alaric had given her on the way in. The entire room, maybe twenty-five by twenty-five square feet, was completely empty. No benches, no plants, no art on the walls. Nothing at all in the room except for a pedestal, topped with a cushion, where she guessed the Trident had previously been on display. Currently it was floating in the air, twisting and turning like it was alive, sending out brilliant flashes of white, blue, and green light.

She skidded to a stop, almost running into Alaric’s muscular back.

“Is it supposed to do that?”

He shot her a look.

“I’ll take that as a no. Do you think this has something to do with Ptolemy playing magic games with Poseidon’s Pride?”

“Almost certainly. The Trident has never, in all of recorded history, acted like this.”

She watched it as it whirled in a surprisingly elegant manner for what was, basically, an overgrown fork with jewels in it. She counted six jewels of various colors, plus one empty setting that was clearly waiting to be filled with the missing gem.

“Did you have to find all the others, too?”

“Yes, it has been an interesting time. The final gem must be safely in place in the Trident before Atlantis can rise.”

Alaric bodily lifted her and leapt to the side as one particularly bright flash of white light blasted the spot where they’d been standing and smashed a hole in the wall.

“This thing isn’t kidding around,” she said. “Is there an off switch?”

“Unfortunately, no. If I approach it, I may be able to put it in stasis, but getting that close to it may be challenging,” Alaric said. His hands glowed with blue-green light as he called to his magic, in preparation for whatever suicidal trick he was planning.

The problem was, she didn’t know how to stop him, or if she should even try. It didn’t seem like a job anybody else could handle.

“What can I do?” She scanned the room for ideas of any way she might be able to help, but came up empty. The only variance from the blank palette of bare walls and floor was a series of niches that may have been designed originally to hold plants or art, high up on the walls, above and out of the Trident’s current firing range pattern.

“What if I find a way to get up there above the line of fire and drop down on top of it? Do you have a rope—”

“If I had a rope, I would tie you up with it,” Alaric growled. He whirled to face her, and his eyes were flaring with heat and magic. “Do you ever, even once, not immediately decide to throw yourself in the middle of the most dangerous situations possible?”

She pretended to think about it for a second or two, and then grabbed his arm and yanked him out of the path of a blast of green light that blew a hole in the door behind them.

“Nope,” she said. “Lucky for you, since you’re the most dangerous man I’ve ever met. A sane woman would run away from you, not toward you.”

He cast his gaze up, as if asking for divine intervention, then grabbed her and kissed her so fast she almost didn’t realize it was happening. Then he stepped between her and the Trident and hurled a barrage of energy spheres at it as fast as he could form them.

These weren’t the destructive kind, though. Quinn watched as the spheres joined together to form a large bubble around the Trident. The bubble at first dispersed the force of the magic blasts, and then contained them altogether.

Quinn started clapping. “Great job. Now what?”

Alaric didn’t answer, and when she turned to look at him, she discovered why. His face was taut with strain, and he held his hands out in front of him as if physically holding the force field or energy bubble or whatever it was in place.

“Can’t hold this alone for long,” he gritted out. “Go get help.”

She paused to pat him on the back. “Hey, it’s the magical symbol of a god. It’s got big juju. I’m impressed you managed to stop it at all.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Big juju?”

“I’ll explain later.”

She ran out of the room, shouting for help, and almost collided with Myrken, who was wringing his hands right outside the door.

“Get all your most powerful people in there to help Alaric contain that Trident,” she told him. She paused, remembering what Alaric had told Ven back in Japan. “I’m going to the palace to find Christophe and Serai. He mentioned them as the most magically powerful, right?”

Myrken just stared at her, and she started to get mad. “Look, if this is some kind of ‘we don’t take orders from women’ thing—”

“Humans,” he muttered. “Your gender is immaterial.”

She rolled her eyes. “Even worse, you . . . you . . . species racist. Get your ass in there and help Alaric, or I’ll make sure you don’t live to regret it,” she snapped out in her best rebel leader voice.

The man all but saluted and headed inside, shouting for the other acolytes as he did. Quinn didn’t wait to see what happened, but ran for the door so she could go find the castle.

Alaric fought with the brutal power of the Trident for what felt like years, until Myrken and several of the strongest acolytes arrived to help. He ruthlessly drew on their power to help contain the Trident from unleashing any more of those unstable blasts of magic. It wasn’t the physical damage to the room that concerned him. The Trident’s magic had been an integral part of the infrastructure of Atlantis since the continent first sank below the waves. Without its underpinning, he didn’t know how long everything else would hold together.

Conlan entered the room, followed closely by Quinn, Ven, and Erin.

“Christophe and Serai aren’t on Atlantis, but I got Erin,” Quinn said.

Erin was already calling to the Wilding, and Alaric felt the cool breeze of her human magic swirling around him, its eddies whispering dark promises of mayhem and madness.

“Erin, stop,” he said. “We can’t know how the Wilding would interact with the Trident’s current unstable magic, and we already know it doesn’t respond well to your control here in Atlantis. You might help, or you might make everything far worse.”

The Wilding faded, and Erin nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry; it was an instinctive reaction. I wish I could be of more help, but I’m afraid you’re probably right. We heard reports yesterday that magic has been misbehaving all over the world, and it started right around the time your gem was found in Turkey. I’m wondering if all of this is related.”

Myrken flashed a reproachful glance at Alaric, took a deep breath, and bowed to Conlan. “Your Highness. You are welcome in the temple, as always.”

Alaric groaned as he dug deeper for enough power to reinforce the containment field. “I think we can dispense with the courtly manners this once.”

Myrken gasped. “My lord, it’s the high prince.”

“Whose ass will be drowning right along with the rest of us if we don’t contain the Trident,” Alaric snapped.

Conlan nodded. “Thank you, Myrken, but Alaric is right.”

Alaric knew in a brief flash of regret that Myrken had been embarrassed by the conversation, and then he realized that it wasn’t his regret. He was feeling Quinn’s emotion.

“Myrken, I want to apologize for my comments before,” Quinn said, her cheeks flushing a dull red. “I was very concerned for Alaric.”

Myrken bowed deeply, but not before Alaric saw a kind of wonder in his eyes. “It is an honor to take commands from one who so obviously cares so deeply for my lord.”

“Well, let’s not get carried away,” Quinn muttered.

Alaric didn’t know what to say or think or even feel, as the realization hit him that, yet again, Quinn had been trying to protect him. He didn’t even mind the grin Conlan aimed at him, but apparently Quinn did.

“What is this, junior high? Don’t we have better things to do than stand around smiling at each other like idiots?” she snapped.

Myrken gasped, and the other acolytes in the room nearly fainted. The human had just spoken disrespectfully to the high prince and the high priest. Alaric had to fight to keep from laughing out loud, in spite of the dire situation. That was his woman. Defiant to the bitter end.

Conlan’s smile vanished, though, and he nodded sharply. “Yes, we do, and I need answers, now. What in the nine hells is going on and how much damage to Atlantean infrastructure will this cause? And where is Poseidon?”

Alaric frowned, having wondered the same thing. Poseidon was perfectly content to show up whenever he wasn’t wanted, so why didn’t he show up when he was desperately needed? Only he could truly contain the Trident’s power.

“Poseidon, I petition you for your assistance,” he called out, in a thunderous voice supported by magic. “Please come to our aid and to the aid of Atlantis.”

They all waited, almost holding their breath, for several long moments, but silence was the only response. Poseidon either wasn’t listening or didn’t care. They were on their own.

“Huh,” Quinn said. “I don’t suppose he has an iPhone? BlackBerry? Skype?”

Myrken glared at her, but Alaric just shook his head.

“No, although it would be easier, wouldn’t it? If he’d ever answer his phone, that is.”

“Yeah, he seems more like the ‘press 1 for godly intervention, press 2 for unwanted interference with your love life’ kind of guy,” Erin said.

Ven snorted, but then looked nervously around. “Let’s not mock the god in his own temple, okay, Erin?”

“What can we do?” Conlan asked, directing the question at Alaric. “Is there enough power here among your people to sustain this? We need for you to go after Poseidon’s Pride, and even you can’t be in two places at once.”

“It should hold,” Alaric said, gingerly testing the perimeter of the containment field with his magic.

“It will hold,” Myrken said firmly. “I will make sure of it.”

A commotion at the door heralded the arrival of Justice, who strode quickly into the room, his long blue hair flying unbraided around his shoulders.

“We’re in big trouble,” he gasped out, winded. “Huge. Whatever was going on here has damaged more than just the walls in the temple. Lights are out, power is fluctuating, and worse. Much worse.”

He paused to suck in a deep breath. “I ran all the way to and from the dome. We’re in big trouble, everyone. The blast somehow damaged the dome itself. Tiny cracks, no bigger than a hair, have formed all over the surface.”

Justice took another breath and stared straight at Alaric. “The dome is going to fail, and we’re five and a half miles underwater. Everyone on Atlantis will die.”