Izar had thought Maia insane, with her allegations that he was the son of a mistress of Antares’s, but she’d been right: Izar was born of Antares’s liaison, except with a mermaid instead of a woman. But if Izar was Antares’s biological son just as much as Saiph, why had Antares always loved Saiph but viewed Izar as a means to an end? Because Izar was partly merman, and thus, from Antares’s perspective, he was beneath human—beneath Antares and Saiph—except in the realm of inventiveness.
When Maia’s car had exploded on the way to a divorce lawyer, Izar had been blamed for it because he’d been tinkering with the hood of her car the night before. But nothing Izar had done should have caused an explosion. It must have been Antares who’d rigged Maia’s car to explode, for she would have obtained half of his wealth in a divorce settlement. Pursuant to Maia’s death, Antares had paid Canopus half a million dollars to get the charges against Izar removed. At the time, Izar had thought Antares had saved him from jail because of his love for him; now, he thought it must be because Antares had wanted Izar to be able to invent underwater fire, something impossible from a prison cell.
Izar touched his wrist where his platinum chip had been. When he had charred his wrist during his fire experimentation, he had gone to see Doctor Navi, and both Antares and Zaurak had visited him in Doctor Navi’s office. In the ocean, Izar had assumed that Zaurak must have told Doctor Navi to plant the tracking device in him—now he knew it was Antares who must have done so. With the chip in him, Izar could be tracked and killed as soon as his purpose was served. And it was now served—Castor was ready—and Izar had transformed from an asset to a liability: Antares and Saiph did not want to share with him the wealth that he had created for them.
Antares and Saiph had to have been working together on the numerous murder attempts on his life. The contents of the gray tin that Izar had discovered on his desk, for instance—the amber scroll, the half-shell, and the card with coordinates—must have come from Antares.
Yer a pawn in a game, Rigel had said. Saiph, yes, but not Antares—Izar could never have imagined that Antares would want him dead—Antares, who had adopted him, cared for him, protected him against the world—Antares, for whom he would have given his life. Izar had been a puppet, Antares, the puppeteer.
“I’m sorry, Izar,” Zaurak repeated.
“You’ve suffered plenty on my account,” Izar said, looking at Zaurak’s fly-swarmed leg. “I’m the one who should be sorry.”
“No matter what happens to me tomorrow,” Zaurak said gruffly, grasping the back of Izar’s neck, “I want you to escape and live.”
“You wouldn’t leave me behind, and I’m not about to leave you behind. You’re all I have left now.”
On land, Zaurak was all Izar had left; in the ocean, there was a small chance he also had Coralline. He wondered what she was doing at this moment. She was probably busy with wedding preparations, he imagined, perhaps fussing over the lace of her bridal bodice or deciding how she would fashion her long hair. He did not know anything about weddings underwater, but there would be a bride and a groom, and Coralline would be the bride and Ecklon the groom. Unless, of course, she decided against marrying Ecklon. Unless she loved Izar, as Izar loved her.
He knew his thinking was wishful, but he could not help indulging in it, not only for his sake but also hers. If she decided against marrying Ecklon tomorrow, she would not be at the wedding venue, Kelp Cove, and Castor would find himself in an empty arena. If she did decide to marry Ecklon tomorrow, things would be very different. Assuming that his escape attempt worked, Izar was planning to reach her wedding in time to disable Castor, but he worried that the robot was practically invincible. With a chest full of bullets, Castor would shoot anyone who approached him or whom he deemed even a remote threat—Izar had programmed him with this self-defense instinct. And Castor’s eyes were long-range, three-dimensional cameras, such that Saiph would be able to view Castor’s underwater environment on a computer screen, and guide and focus his violence toward Coralline.
If Coralline married tomorrow, she would likely die tomorrow. If she didn’t, she would live. Izar thought again of Mintaka’s words: The celebration will be a funeral.
He needed to remember Coralline viscerally, the need just as stark as that for oxygen. Leaping to his feet, he rushed to his satchel below the jaundiced light-bulb. Made of treated algae, the sack was different on land than in it had been in the water—fully dry now, its folds were no longer malleable but starched and hard. The zip was also tighter, requiring more tugging. Izar opened it nonetheless and, reaching a hand inside, pulled out Coralline’s notepad. The algae upon its cover looked like a shapeless smear, and many of the pages were stuck together, having lost their shape—but Izar cradled the little notepad as though it was her hand he caressed.
A glow emanated from within his satchel. Putting the notepad down on the floor, he rummaged inside the bag, shifting aside the stiff layers along its bottom, and gasped: There, in an under-compartment, shining as brightly as a torch, was the elixir intended for her brother.
Izar and Coralline had planned that Izar would give it to her upon his return to the Telescope Tower. But after his conversation with Osmundea, and then after he’d seen Coralline kissing Ecklon, he’d forgotten all about it.
“What’s that light?” Zaurak called.
Izar could not speak, but he turned to look at Zaurak, so Zaurak would know he had heard him. An idea fell into his mind: He had forgotten to give the elixir to Coralline, but he could give it to Zaurak. It would heal Zaurak’s leg, which would help them escape this room tomorrow, which would in turn help Izar get into the water and save Coralline from Castor.
Izar sprinted to Zaurak and knelt before him. Clasping the elixir between his thumb and forefinger, he held it before Zaurak’s nose, such that its reflection shone as twin moons in Zaurak’s eyes. “This is an elixir that will heal your leg and save your life. Take it.”
“Save it for yourself,” Zaurak said, “in case you need it tomorrow.”
“No. Take it. I insist.” Izar deposited the elixir in the palm of Zaurak’s hand.
27
The Queen of Poison
"You have a visitor,” Abalone said, opening Coralline’s door a wedge.
Abalone slipped aside, and Rhodomela slithered in through the crack of the doorway, like an eel through a crevice. She was wearing a black bodice, and her black hair was wound in her signature, severe bun. She slammed the door in Abalone’s face.
Rhodomela had never visited Coralline at home before. She must be here to collect an apology, Coralline thought. “I’m sorry. I should not have trespassed into The Irregular Remedy to prepare my desmarestia-sea-oak solution, and I should not have spoken to you as I did during my probationary review.”
Rhodomela did not seem to be listening; instead, she was sniffing, her hooked nose twitching. Had the room started to smell? Coralline wondered. It might well have: When she had worked for Rhodomela, Coralline had once visited an elderly merman on his deathbed, and her nostrils had gotten a whiff of something as indescribable as it was discernible—intuitively, she had recognized it as the smell of death. Coralline’s family had perhaps grown immune to her odor, because it would have grown steadily over the days; like a change in weight, it would be more noticeable to an outsider. Rhodomela knew death better than she knew life, and she’d detected it immediately. Coralline smiled—Rhodomela’s reaction suggested that Coralline’s death truly must be near.