Salt Storm: The Salted Series: Episodes #31-35 by Galvin, Aaron (read 50 shades of grey .TXT) 📕

her tears as the Blackfin led her onward. She remembered the roar of the crowd the first time she had been introduced to the people of New Pearlaya. Countless strangers had filled the stands on the opposite side then, all dressed in an array of finery as if each were in a competition to garner the most intrigue. She recalled her gaze sweeping over the royals, their makeup and dyed hair in every shade of color imaginable – brilliant oranges and greens, sky-blues with streaks of neon pink, and furious reds. Some among them had spackled themselves with glitter, their faces and arms glimmering in the torchlight, entrancing Sydney with their every wave, all vying to gain her notice.

Now, there were more commoners than not, more grime and worse upon their faces and the tattered clothes they wore. In the scorn living upon many of their faces, Sydney estimated the Blackfin had spoken some truth to her, at least; her mother was doomed to the crowd’s pre-supposed judgement before even being brought on trial. Still, Sydney found some sympathy among the lot when she and the Blackfin neared the arena bottom and approached an ivory bridge.

Crossing over, Sydney glanced over the side at the pitch-black water beneath her and surrounding the whole of the barge. How deep does it go? She wondered, the darkness affording no clues as to whether the water were twenty feet deep, or else led all the way down into the Abyss.

Sydney winced at another pinch in her bicep – the Blackfin urging her to look ahead rather than off of his directed path. She relented to the pain he caused her, refocusing on what lay ahead.

A private, tented viewing box stood as the stage’s centerpiece and focal point of the Nautilus arena. Therein, the Merrow king, Darius, sat upon a plush and polished, high-backed chair of old oak.

The look Darius gave Sydney offered no hint of delight at her arrival. The king was slow to rise in greeting her too. When he did eventually stand to welcome her, it was to take Sydney by the hand and guide her to sit in the smaller, wood-carved throne beside his taller one.

Only when the crowd cheered and applauded at the reunited display between the supposed father and his princess did Darius brighten and wave, playing the role of a happy, charming king as Sydney now understood he had done for her also in private.

“Smile and wave, Sydney,” Darius said under his breath, even as he continued playing to the crowd. “Let them see you happy to be rescued and returned to my side.”

Sydney obeyed, her hand shaking as it rose. Obeying the king’s command, the mere gesture of Sydney waving sent the crowd into a fervor, her name and title shouted by many. Others whistled and cheered. But are their reactions real? Sydney wondered of the crowd. Or are they like me? All playing their part because of what will happen if they don’t?

Darius gave her no time to ponder such thoughts. At the crowd’s first sign of approval in Sydney, he made an even grander show at ushering her in front of him and then sweeping behind her like a gentleman bowing before his lady. The performance brought forth more applause. Whether genuine or forced, the audience did not cease in their appreciation as the king waved a final time. Then, he took Sydney by the hand and led her back toward the royal tent to still more cheers.

“What is this?” Sydney dared to ask Darius as they entered in and the king guided her to sit in the chair to his left. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Whatever this is,” said Sydney, sitting in the chair offered to her. “You throw me into a watery cell, then leave me in the oubliette. Now, you’re presenting me to the crowd like I’m still a princess. Like I’m your daughter and nothing has changed.”

“Nothing has,” said Darius. “Not in the eyes of the people, at least.” His lip curled. “Or not yet anyway, though I hope the reminders of the oubliette will serve you now. Let you think on all that has occurred thus far. Aye, and on the lives of your friends and mother too, Sydney, lest you think to disobey me now or anything that comes next.”

Sydney shivered as the king turned from her, motioning to another in their company instead.

“Blackfin,” said the king. “Let these traitor trials begin . . .”

Trials? Sydney wondered, again cuing on the word. Who else is being tried today, except Mom?

Malik wasted no time in obeying the order. “Painted Guard!” He barked at Solomon and the others in his company before leading them toward the covered cages.

Of those who had still been cheering in the crowd, Sydney saw them all silenced at the sight of Malik Blackfin and his Orcs. Where she hoped to hear some disagreement or disapproval from any in the audience, no other voice but his cut through the silent crowd as Malik Blackfin took center stage.

“People of New Pearlaya!” He bellowed for all to hear, as if he were born to such an act. “Today, you witness history unfolding! Aye, today, my people, you understand that no one is above the laws of our great city, nor the five oceans either. For today, my friends . . . today, you see justice weighed even upon a queen and her subjects in equal measure.”

Where Sydney had thought the crowd loud before, nothing from them compared to the sounds that echoed throughout the Nautilus when the Blackfin finished his speech.

They want this . . . Sydney understood then, her face warming when Malik nodded for Solomon and the other Orcs to approach one of the covered cages. Her eyes welled at the crowd’s hunger for the show to continue as Solomon ripped off the violet covering of the centermost cage.

Sydney gasped at the sight of the prisoner within. Oh, Mom. She thought, tears staining her cheeks. What