22

IT’S ALMOST a straight shot from the Jersey Shore to the Cave of Memories, where the Archives live. Galen reaches it within hours. Above him, the thick Arctic ice serves as a first defense against the prying eyes of the humans.

For centuries stacked on centuries, the miles-thick layers of frozen past was the only defense needed. Now, though, humans have figured out how to send down their robotic cameras. Many of the ancient Syrena relics, which once sat out on the seafloor in plain view, were moved to chambers of the cave. Which is a shame, since access to the cave is restricted to Royals and Archives.

He passes a site where huge Roman columns used to loom over Syrena visitors, as if in welcome. Now it’s just an abandoned plot of ocean floor, gray and cold for more reasons than the temperature. Galen shakes his head. Humans really do ruin everything. No, he tells himself. Most humans ruin everything. Not all.

He reaches the portal of the cavern. Two Syrena trackers allow him entry without question. No doubt they sensed him before he even made it as far as Greenland. The narrow portal opens into a wide corridor that looks like a giant jaw full of thin, sharp teeth. The rocks growing down from the top almost touch the growths from the bottom. Galen hopes that if humans ever do infiltrate this site, they’ll feel like a meal.

Even if they dared to travel past the mouth and into the belly, they’d be hard-pressed to find anything foreign that hadn’t been a natural part of this place for thousands of years. The Cave of Memories spans for hundreds of miles, a maze of passages and tunnels and chambers. Some are too narrow for even an eel to slip through. Others could accommodate an army of humans. The relics, the history of Galen’s kind, are hidden away in the deepest parts, through the most complicated passageways. Finding the way out would be impossible, even with the most advanced human technology.

But the Syrena have a natural tool to guide them: sensing. The Archives no longer need sensing in the cave; having exercised and stretched their memories to full capacity, they can find their way without it. Galen grins, thinking of Emma’s irritated expression at learning Syrena have photographic memories, according to Dr. Milligan. She’d almost fallen out of her chair when Galen scored higher than her on their first calculus test.

As he rounds a narrow bend, Galen picks up on Romul’s pulse and follows it through another convoluted mess of passages. Romul is waiting for him in the ceremony chamber, the place where mating records are kept. Galen has never found Romul here before. He wonders if it might have something to do with Paca’s lineage. Is he trying to prove she has Royal blood?

Romul bows before Galen, but it’s Galen who feels humble. “Ah, my favorite of the Royals,” Romul says. “How do things go with you, young Galen?”

“I’m well, Romul. Thank you.”

“What brings you to this distant part of existence, my prince? More importantly, how may I be of service to you?”

“I need some information about the humans again, Romul,” Galen says without hesitation. He’s still wary of Romul’s involvement in Grom’s search for Paca, but asking about the humans is one of Galen’s most common requests. Romul isn’t likely to suspect anything unusual, especially since Galen is ambassador to the humans.

Romul smiles and nods, his black hair long and wispy. “Of course, my prince. What can I do for you?”

“I’d like to view the Tartessos remains. I have questions about the half-breeds.”

Romul raises a surprised brow. “As you wish, young prince. This way, please.”

Galen follows his mentor deeper into the cave. They pass the Scroll Room, which is an inaccurate title for what’s contained there. The fragile papyrus scrolls of mankind’s lost civilizations have long since disintegrated, but the freezing waters of the Arctic keep the other records—tablets, pottery, jewelry, and sometimes whole walls of hieroglyphics—well-preserved.

The freezing temperatures also keep the Tomb Chamber—the giant catacomb of Syrena dead—intact. Galen has never been in the tomb himself, but Rayna used to visit their mother in the first few years after she died. The tomb ensures that Syrena remains will never fall into human hands. Galen shudders as he thinks of the worldwide search that would surely ensue if a Syrena body—or even a bone—were to wash up on a beach somewhere.

They reach the Civic Chamber, the biggest of all the chambers where the ruins of cities are kept. Galen has been here before, many times, but never with a human eye, so to speak. Or rather, the eye of a Half-Breed. Emma could get lost in here for days, maybe months. And he’d love to bring her here to do just that.

Romul leads him past the large remnants of Alexandria, Egypt, and artifacts from Cleopatra’s quarters. Past some ancient temples of Thailand, painstakingly removed from their underwater site and rebuilt here in the Cave of Memories. Past a towering pyramid deconstructed centuries ago off the coast of the island called Japan and reestablished here for a well-deserved eternity. Finally, they reach Tartessos, perhaps the most important of all the cities here, because of its connection to their kind.

Out of them all, Tartessos is the most intact city. Built like an enormous target, the metropolis would have been circular, with streets curving around the central structures. Romul and Galen cross the first salvaged bridge, whose water now flows over it instead of under it. They swim past statue after statue of Poseidon himself—or at least, the humans’ version of him. Even fractured and chipped, missing pieces of tails and parts of his trident, the statues are striking.