“So. I’m in the company of a real Triton Royal,” he says. Then he spits on the floor between them. He has the same bulge in his mouth the other Syrena did. “My name’s Tyrden. You’ll want to remember that.”
Galen doesn’t grace him with a reaction, much less a muffled reply through the cloth in his mouth.
“You don’t have to play dumb, boy,” Tyrden says. “Everyone knows all about you. But just so we’re clear…” He stands and moves to lift Galen’s shirt. Again, Galen doesn’t resist. What is the point in denying it now? They believe him to be a Royal. So much so that they went to the trouble of abducting him. If anything, Tyrden is probably just curious. With a town full of Poseidon descendants, he most likely has never seen a Triton Royal.
Tyrden rests his eyes on Galen’s trident. “I’ve never seen a real one,” Tyrden says, as if reading Galen’s mind. He drops the shirt and walks back to the chair. Taking his time getting comfortable, he shifts and adjusts himself until the metal legs squeak and threaten to buckle.
Galen wonders if Tyrden is making this kind of show to build anticipation. Grom does this when he’s trying to intimidate someone. Acts like the other person doesn’t even exist. Usually it works.
But not on Galen.
When Tyrden finally looks at him, he has a smile on his face that can only be described as disturbing. “I’m here to ask you some questions, boy. And if you don’t cooperate … Well, I’m here to see to it that you do cooperate. I hope we understand each other.” He leans forward, and the chair groans with the movement. “So. How is it that you found us so far inland? What are you doing here?”
Galen huffs into the cloth invading his mouth.
Tyrden jumps to his feet and unties it. Galen flexes his jaw several times, working some relief into the joints. Tyrden sits back down, this time with much less zeal.
“Thank you for removing that,” Galen says calmly, looking Tyrden in the eye. He is perfectly capable of being unsettling, too. And of being unpredictable. Grom was a great tutor.
But Tyrden is not easily unsettled. “You’re welcome. If you scream for help, I’ll harvest each of your teeth and keep them in a jar in my kitchen.” When Galen says nothing, his captor crosses his arms. “Did you think I removed your gag for the fun of it? Answer my questions.”
Galen cocks his head. “In fact, I did think that. Surely you don’t actually expect me to tell you anything.”
“Is that right?”
When Galen nods, Tyrden rises from his chair and walks across the room to the table. Then he reaches under it, retrieving the biggest knife Galen ever recalls seeing. With ease, Tyrden removes the duct tape that secured it in its hiding place.
The blade is rusted in some places—or is that dried blood?—and the grip is well worn. Tyrden handles it expertly, spinning it in his hands as if it were some sort of toy baton. He sits back down.
“You’ll have to do better than that,” Galen says, trying not to visibly swallow. “I’m not sure about you land dwellers, but we ocean dwellers tend to have very thick skin.”
Tyrden chuckles. “Not impressed yet, boy? Well, give me a chance to change your mind.” He leans back in the chair and clearly relaxes. “Have you ever seen a rhinoceros, Highness?” He rubs his shirt over the blade as if to clean it. The questionable stains do not budge. “You see, here on land, rhinos live in a place called Africa. Humans have a silly formal name for them, pachyderms, which means thick skin. Their skin is actually as thick as any full-blooded Syrena. In fact, some parts of their skin are double the thickness of ours. That’s the part we used to test our weapons. We had to make sure that if you Tritons stirred up trouble for us again, then we’d be ready for the fight. We based all our designs on the ability to penetrate rhino skin. This knife here can slice the thickest part of a rhino with one swipe, boy. Impressed yet?”
In a word, yes. Not just by the knife, but by what Galen suddenly realizes is all the time and trouble these land dwellers took in preparing for some sort of war. The defenses they’d already thought of. Making weapons just for Syrena skin. Choosing a location too far inland for Triton’s gift to do any damage. Forging bonds with humans, multiplying their numbers and respective skills.
Yes, Galen is very impressed. But giving Tyrden the answers he craves is still out of the question. Mainly because, if all the citizens are armed this way, that means Neptune seems to be expecting a conflict with the ocean dwellers, instead of just preparing for a potential attack.
When Galen’s rebuttal is still silence, Tyrden presses his lips together into what isn’t quite a grin. “Hard to excite are we, Highness? Let’s see what else I can do to convince you.”
In an instant, Tyrden is on his feet and hovering over Galen. He brings the blade close to Galen’s cheek, so close he can almost feel the knife quiver in his assailant’s hand. Out of nowhere, Tyrden raises his hand to show Galen his palm. Then he raises the knife to it. Raking it across slowly, delicately, Tyrden breaks through his own skin. The laceration is so thin, so precise it’s as if his hand has forgotten to bleed for a few seconds. But bleed, it does.
With a blank expression, Tyrden lets Galen watch the blood drip down his hand, snake across his wrist, and drop like silken beads to the floor. Strange as it may be, it appears as though he enjoys watching the blood pool at his feet. He then uses the knife to slice off a piece of Galen’s T-shirt, barely missing the flesh of his stomach. In fact, if Galen hadn’t reflexively sucked in, it could have gutted him. His reaction doesn’t go unnoticed by Tyrden.