The three knocks shook the entire house.
Not loud.
Not violent.
Just—
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Every drop of water in the kitchen froze in midair.
Brontes stood between me and the door.
He was enormous.
His shoulders nearly touched both sides of the doorway, and the single eye in the middle of his forehead was fixed on the trident-shaped shadow outside.
I whispered:
“Choose what?”
Nobody answered.
I looked at Thomas.
He suddenly found the floor fascinating.
“Thomas?”
“Complicated.”
“That means you know.”
“It means I’m considering whether lying would improve the situation.”
Brontes grunted.
“It won’t.”
“Thank you, Brontes.”
Another voice came through the door.
“Open it.”
Brontes folded his arms.
“No.”
Thunder rolled over the house.
Except there wasn’t a cloud in the sky anymore.
Poseidon said:
“Cyclops.”
Brontes replied:
“God.”
There was something about the way he said it that made me realize this wasn’t their first conversation.
I stepped closer.
“You know him.”
Brontes didn’t turn.
“Yes.”
“How well?”
Thomas coughed.
Brontes sighed.
“Well enough.”
I stared at his back.
“Were you going to tell me?”
“When you were older.”
“I’m twelve.”
“Exactly.”
“What age counts as older?”
“I hadn’t settled on one.”
I almost shouted.
Outside, Poseidon apparently lost patience.
Water pushed beneath the front door.
It didn’t flood the room.
Instead it rose vertically and formed the shape of a man.
A second later, Poseidon stepped through it.
He was taller than I’d expected.
Dark hair streaked with silver.
A weathered face.
Sea-green robes.
And in his hand—
a trident.
I moved behind Brontes.
Poseidon noticed.
Something passed across his face.
Not anger.
Pain.
“You fear me.”
“I don’t know you.”
“I am your father.”
I looked at Brontes.
He said nothing.
So I asked Poseidon:
“Where were you yesterday?”
The god frowned.
“What?”
“Yesterday.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Brontes made pancakes. They were terrible.”
“They were slightly overdone.”
“They were black.”
“Crisp.”
I looked at Poseidon.
“Where were you?”
His expression changed.
I continued.
“Where were you when I broke my arm?”
Silence.
“When I couldn’t sleep because of storms?”
Nothing.
“When I learned to read?”
Poseidon lowered his trident slightly.
“I watched when I could.”
“From where?”
“The sea.”
I stared at him.
“We live eighty miles from the sea.”
Thomas quietly said:
“Technically, underground waterways—”
I glared at him.
“Not helping.”
Poseidon looked at Brontes.
“You taught her insolence.”
Brontes shrugged.
“She developed most of it independently.”
For one second, I thought Poseidon might strike him.
Instead—
he smiled.
Barely.
Then it disappeared.
“We don’t have time.”
Brontes’s expression changed.
“You said she could choose.”
“She can.”
“Then explain the choice.”
Poseidon looked at me.
“You may remain here with Brontes.”
I blinked.
That wasn’t what I’d expected.
“Or?”
“Or come with me.”
“To Olympus?”
“No.”
“To the ocean?”
“No.”
“Then where?”
Poseidon looked toward the floor.
“Below it.”
The water still floating near the ceiling suddenly fell.
Every glass shattered.
Brontes grabbed my shoulders.
Poseidon raised his trident.
The house trembled.
Then stopped.
I whispered:
“What was that?”
Poseidon said:
“Something that should still be asleep.”
Brontes looked furious.
“You told us the seals would hold.”
“They did.”
“Past tense?”
Poseidon didn’t answer.
Thomas whispered:
“Oh, that’s bad.”
I looked between them.
“What seals?”
Poseidon walked toward the kitchen table.
With one movement of his trident, the burnt pancakes slid aside.
Brontes looked offended.
“I was eating those.”
Nobody cared.
Poseidon touched the table.
Water spread across the wood.
It became a map.
Oceans.
Continents.
Islands.
Then red circles appeared across the Atlantic.
One.
Two.
Five.
Twelve.
Poseidon pointed toward them.
“These are ancient sea gates.”
“Gates to what?”
“The Deep Court.”
Brontes whispered:
“No.”
I looked at him.
“You know what that is?”
“Stories.”
Poseidon corrected him.
“History.”
Long before Olympus ruled the seas, something else had lived beneath them.
Not one monster.
Not an army.
A civilization.
The Deep Court.
Ancient beings who didn’t worship the gods.
According to Poseidon, they had existed before Zeus claimed the sky and before Poseidon claimed the oceans.
When the Olympians rose, the Deep Court refused to recognize them.
There was a war.
Eventually, the gates were sealed.
Poseidon became guardian of those seals.
I pointed at the red circles.
“And they’re opening?”
“Three have failed.”
“Why?”
Poseidon looked directly at me.
“Because someone is calling them.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who?”
“We don’t know.”
Brontes stepped forward.
“Then why do you want her?”
Poseidon hesitated.
I noticed.
“So this isn’t just because I’m your daughter.”
“No.”
“Then tell me.”
Poseidon looked at Brontes.
Brontes nodded.
That frightened me.
Poseidon said:
“Your mother came from the Deep Court.”
I laughed.
Nobody else did.
My smile disappeared.
“My mother?”
“Yes.”
“Who was she?”
Poseidon answered:
“Thalia.”
The name meant nothing to me.
But it meant something to Brontes.
His eye closed.
I stared at him.
“You knew her.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Brontes sat down.
The chair complained under his weight.
“She brought you to me.”
The room became very quiet.
I had always believed Brontes found me.
That was the story.
A Cyclops living alone in the hills found an abandoned baby wrapped in a blue blanket.
He raised her.
End of story.
Apparently not.
“My mother gave me to you?”
Brontes nodded.
“She came here during a storm.”
“How old was I?”
“Three days.”
“Why you?”
Brontes looked at Poseidon.
“Because she knew Olympus would search every temple, every harbor and every household connected to the gods.”
Poseidon finished:
“But nobody would search the home of a Cyclops who wanted nothing to do with Olympus.”
I stared at Brontes.
“You hid me.”
“Yes.”
“From him?”
“At first.”
Poseidon’s jaw tightened.
“At first?”
Brontes looked at me.
“Then from everyone.”
I stepped backward.
“Why?”
Thomas finally spoke.
“Because you’re not simply Poseidon’s daughter.”
Poseidon corrected him.
“She’s my daughter.”
“Yes, Lord Poseidon. Biologically.”
Brontes stood.
“But she’s also Thalia’s.”
Poseidon looked at me.
“Your mother was heir to the Deep Court.”
I couldn’t speak.
He continued.
“The gates recognize blood.”
I understood before he said it.
“Mine.”
“Yes.”
The gigantic trident shadow returned across the window.
But this time I wasn’t looking at it.
I was looking at Brontes.
“You knew?”
“I knew your mother came from below.”
“Did you know she was their heir?”
“She told me enough.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you were six and eating mud.”
“That was one time.”
“Three.”
“Two.”
Thomas said:
“Definitely three.”
“Thomas!”
Poseidon struck the floor with his trident.
“Enough.”
Brontes immediately pointed at him.
“Don’t shout at her.”
Poseidon looked genuinely stunned.
“You are giving me parenting instructions?”
“I have twelve years more experience.”
Thomas slowly moved away from them.
I almost laughed.
Almost.
Then I remembered something.
“Where is my mother?”
Nobody answered.
My chest tightened.
“Is she dead?”
Poseidon looked toward the watery map.
“I don’t know.”
Brontes stood.
“You told me she was.”
“I believed she was.”
“That’s different.”
“Yes.”
“When did you learn?”
“Six days ago.”
Brontes’s expression became dangerous.
“And you waited six days?”
“To confirm it.”
Poseidon touched the map.
A new image appeared.
Dark water.
Stone columns.
A woman standing between them.
She had black hair.
My eyes.
And around her neck was the same shell pendant I’d worn since I was a baby.
I touched mine.
“Mom?”
The image was blurry.
Poseidon said:
“This was captured beyond the Third Gate.”
“When?”
“Six days ago.”
“She survived?”
“Possibly.”
“Possibly?”
“We don’t know whether this image shows your mother as she is now or a memory preserved by the gate.”
There it was.
Not certainty.
Evidence.
A clue.
But not proof.
I appreciated that more than another lie.
Then the woman in the image moved.
She turned.
Looked directly toward whatever had recorded her.
And spoke.
The watery map carried her voice.
“Do not bring my daughter here.”
I stopped breathing.
Brontes looked at Poseidon.
“She knew.”
“Yes.”
“She knew you’d find her.”
“Yes.”
I stared at Poseidon.
“My mother told you not to bring me.”
“Yes.”
“Yet you’re here asking me to come.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Poseidon raised the trident.
The watery image changed.
Something enormous moved behind Thalia.
Not toward her.
Away from her.
Then the Third Gate cracked.
Poseidon said:
“Because I believe she’s trying to keep something closed.”
The house shook again.
This time harder.
One of our windows fractured.
Brontes pulled me against him.
I looked at Poseidon.
“And you think I can help?”
“I think the gates may obey you.”
“May?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t know?”
“No.”
That surprised me.
Gods weren’t supposed to say that.
Poseidon lowered himself onto one knee.
Suddenly he wasn’t towering over me.
“You asked what you’re choosing.”
I nodded.
“If you stay, Brontes will continue protecting you. I will strengthen the wards around this valley.”
Brontes narrowed his eye.
“And?”
“If the gates continue failing, hiding her may eventually become impossible.”
“And if I go with you?”
Poseidon looked at me.
“You may discover what happened to your mother.”
“Or?”
“You may discover why she wanted you kept away.”
I hated both choices.
So I asked:
“Can Brontes come?”
Poseidon looked at the Cyclops.
“No.”
I immediately said:
“Then I’m staying.”
Poseidon blinked.
Brontes tried not to smile.
“Leo—”
“My name isn’t Leo.”
Everyone stared at him.
Poseidon frowned.
“Who is Leo?”
I frowned too.
Thomas rubbed his forehead.
“Wrong prophecy file.”
Brontes burst out laughing.
Even I did.
Poseidon did not.
Eventually I said:
“If I go anywhere, Brontes comes.”
“The Deep Court hates Cyclopes.”
“That’s their problem.”
“He may not survive.”
“Then I’m not going.”
Poseidon studied me for a long time.
Then:
“Very well.”
Brontes stopped laughing.
“What?”
Poseidon stood.
“The Cyclops comes.”
Brontes pointed at himself.
“I would like it recorded that I preferred the valley.”
Thomas said:
“Recorded.”
We left before sunrise.
Poseidon didn’t carry me away in a wave.
There was no magical palace waiting outside.
We walked.
Apparently even gods understood that opening a sea gate directly beside a protected house was a terrible idea.
At the coast, Poseidon led us into a cave.
At its end stood a wall of seawater.
Vertical.
Motionless.
I held Brontes’s hand.
“Scared?”
“Completely.”
“Me too.”
“Good.”
He squeezed my hand.
“We can be scared together.”
We stepped through.
The sea opened around us.
A stone road stretched across the ocean floor beneath a dome of air.
Ancient statues watched from the darkness.
None depicted Poseidon.
They depicted women wearing crowns made from shells and black coral.
Then we reached the First Gate.
It was enormous.
Two stone doors taller than our entire house.
Poseidon approached.
Nothing happened.
Brontes approached.
Nothing.
Then I stepped forward.
The gate opened.
Everyone stared at me.
I whispered:
“I don’t think I like that.”
Brontes replied:
“I definitely don’t.”
Beyond it was a ruined city.
At its center stood a throne.
Empty.
I approached it.
Words appeared across the stone.
I couldn’t read the language.
Yet somehow I understood.
THE DAUGHTER OF TWO KINGDOMS RETURNS.
Poseidon went pale.
“What?”
He didn’t answer.
Brontes did.
“I think your family situation just became worse.”
Then someone began clapping.
Slowly.
From behind the throne.
A woman stepped into view.
Black hair.
My eyes.
My shell pendant’s twin around her neck.
I couldn’t breathe.
“Mom?”
Brontes whispered:
“Thalia.”
She looked at me.
Then at Poseidon.
Her expression hardened.
“I told you not to bring her.”
Poseidon raised his trident.
“The gates are failing.”
“I know.”
“You’re alive.”
“Obviously.”
I ran toward her.
Brontes caught me.
“Wait.”
I fought him.
“That’s my mother!”
“I know.”
Thalia’s face broke when she heard that.
But she didn’t come closer.
Instead, she said:
“Listen to Brontes.”
I stopped.
“Why?”
Thalia looked down.
At her feet was a chain.
Black.
Ancient.
It disappeared beneath the throne.
Poseidon whispered:
“What have you done?”
“What you couldn’t.”
She looked at me.
“The gates aren’t keeping the Deep Court imprisoned.”
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
“They’re keeping something imprisoned beneath us.”
The city trembled.
A sound came from somewhere impossibly deep.
Not a roar.
A heartbeat.
THOOM.
Poseidon tightened his grip on his trident.
Thalia said:
“For twelve years, I’ve kept the final seal closed.”
I looked at the chain around her ankle.
“With that?”
“With me.”
Brontes whispered:
“No.”
Thalia smiled sadly.
“The heir of the Deep Court can become its living seal.”
Then I understood why she’d given me away.
If the court found me—
I could replace her.
Poseidon understood too.
“No.”
Thalia looked at him.
“That’s why I hid her.”
Another heartbeat shook the city.
THOOM.
A crack spread across the throne.
I looked at my mother.
“You weren’t hiding me from Poseidon.”
“No.”
“Or Olympus.”
“Not only them.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“I was hiding you from this place.”
Then the chain around her ankle snapped.
Poseidon shouted.
Brontes grabbed me.
The throne split in half.
Darkness opened beneath it.
And something whispered my name.
Not the name Brontes had given me.
Another name.
An ancient one.
A name I’d never heard.
Yet somehow recognized.
Thalia screamed:
“DON’T ANSWER!”
I covered my mouth.
But it was too late.
Because the moment that name reached me—
the shell pendant around my neck opened.
Inside was a tiny piece of black coral.
Poseidon stared at it.
Brontes stared at Thalia.
And my mother whispered:
“Oh no.”
I looked down.
“What?”
She stepped backward.
“That isn’t the pendant I gave Brontes.”
Brontes went completely still.
“Yes, it is.”
“No.”
Thalia pointed at the black coral.
“Mine contained pearl.”
The darkness beneath the throne laughed.
I looked at the Cyclops who had raised me.
“Brontes?”
His eye widened.
For the first time since Poseidon arrived—
he had no joke.
No comforting answer.
Nothing.
Then Thomas whispered from behind us:
“If Brontes didn’t switch the pendant…”
Poseidon slowly turned.
“…someone else did.”
And from the darkness beneath the broken throne, a second trident rose.
