“Just tell me I’m close,” Quince says to me. “That’ll give me the second wind to cross the finish line.”

“You are,” I answer quickly. “Not far at all.”

“Ah, I see you’ve found him,” Daddy says as he arrives on the scene.

“He’s exhausted,” I tell Daddy, “but he’s determined to finish.”

Daddy nods. “Then the least we can do is escort the lad the rest of the way.”

“Are you sure that won’t break the rules?” I ask. “I don’t want him to have gone to all this effort just to throw it away.”

“It’s fine,” Daddy insists. “So long as no one pulls him home.”

I give Daddy a grateful smile before turning to Quince.

“Okay, let’s finish this thing,” I say. “We’ll swim at your pace and I’ll be by your side the rest of the way.”

He smiles. Not quite the cocky, mischievous smile I’ve grown to know and love, but that guy is in there, under the exhaustion.

Quince tilts forward and reaches out, scooping his hands back in a wide arc to propel himself forward. I notice that his legs are barely moving, like he doesn’t have the energy to add a kick to the stroke.

“How can I help?” I ask, desperate to do something more than just watch him scoop his way to Thalassinia.

“Tell me a story,” he says, his eyes drifting half shut. “Tell me about your weekend.”

Okay, I can do that.

“Let’s see,” I say, trying to figure out the most interesting way to tell him about my very boring travels. For a human who hasn’t visited those kingdoms, though, I suppose they’re not so boring. I decide to skip the diplomatic mission parts and focus on the adventure.

“First we went to the kingdom of Trigonum. It’s north of Thalassinia, and the Bermuda Triangle is in the eastern part of the kingdom.”

“Cool,” he says, his pace picking up a little bit. “Do wakemakers and other mer things go missing there too? Or is it just human planes and ships?”

“A bit of both,” I admit. “The vortex has been known to whip up some pretty dangerous whirlpools. I guess it’s like the mer-world equivalent of tornado alley, only with whirlpools instead of twisters.”

Quince smiles, and that’s all the encouragement I need to keep going.

“Because of the triangle, there are lots and lots of shipwrecks in Trigonum,” I tell him, and I feel like I’m telling a bedtime story. “Human-object salvage is one of their biggest industries. They export things like deck chairs and fine china and even trinkets like pocket watches and jewelry.”

“Pirate treasure?”

“Not as much as you’d think,” I reply. “But some, definitely. There’s a rumor that they found a huge collection of Spanish gold coins last year, but a human salvage operation found it at almost the same time, so they can’t recover the treasure.”

Quince nods, and we swim in silence for a few strokes. I’m glad that my guards and Daddy and his guards are keeping a fair distance. That makes it feel like Quince and I are swimming home alone.

“Tell me more,” he says. “Where else did you go?”

“Next I went to Antillenes, the Caribbean kingdom south of Acropora.” I close my eyes and picture the beautiful blue seas, the vibrant sea life, and the friendly people who make up one of the Western Atlantic’s most southern kingdoms. “That kingdom is very laid-back, even by mer standards. They are extremely rich in rare sea flowers and they have a big mer tourism trade, so they are a wealthy kingdom.”

Quince doesn’t respond, but he keeps swimming. So I keep talking.

“Their queen, Cypraea, is one of the most beautiful mermaids I have ever seen.” Every mermaid in all the seven seas is jealous of her beauty, and I’m no exception. “She has long golden-blond hair that flows almost to the tip of her tailfin. And her scales are gold and ivory.”

“Doesn’t hold a candle to you,” Quince whispers.

“You haven’t seen her yet,” I argue.

“Lily, don’t—”

“Oh, look,” I shout when he starts to tell me not to put myself down—which I don’t need a bond to tell me he was about to do. “We’re almost to the city’s edge.”

Quince’s eyes open wide, and he smiles at the sight of Thalassinia’s suburbs.

“Now you just have to make it to the palace in the center,” I say, cheering him on. I think back to three years of watching Coach Hill motivate the swim team. Sometimes he just cheers for them, sometimes he tells them they’re losers who couldn’t beat a Chihuahua doing a dog paddle—I never really understood that one—and sometimes he tries to motivate them with rewards. I’ve had more pizza dinners than I can count because the boys kicked it up a notch to best their times for the promise of free food. Maybe that technique will work on Quince.

“Let’s race,” I say. “If you win, we can have seaghetti for dinner instead of sushi.”

“And if you win?” he asks.

I give him a wicked grin. “You have to eat hoya.”

“What’s hoya?”

“Sea pineapple,” I answer innocently.

He frowns. “That doesn’t sound like a punishment. I like pineapple.”

“This isn’t pineapple,” I say as I kick my tailfin a little harder, pushing myself into the lead. “In fact, it isn’t even a plant.”