Drowned by Nichola Reilly Page A

gods that things would get better. But things have only gotten worse. And now, most of the world thinks his leadership, and his ideas, whatever they may be, are damaging to us. Whether I take his place, I think, is up to the people of this world. That is the best way to preserve the peace, don’t you think?”
    I nod.
    There are a thousand goose bumps springing up on my arms, and he must notice them, because he says, “I’m sorry. Hey. Do you remember when we were younger? When that giant sea turtle shell washed up on shore?”
    Yes, of course I remember. I was about ten, and he was maybe thirteen. Back then, he and Tiam were even friends. But eventually Tiam, though younger, started besting him in races along the shore, in pulling in fish, well, in everything. I think that was why they grew apart. Finn couldn’t stand a younger kid doing things better than he could. Anyway, one day, a turtle shell washed up on shore. It was huge. We took it to the royals, thinking they’d want it, but it smelled, so they let the commoners have it. The commoners spent twenty tides trying to determine what to do with it. Ana wanted to use it as a pot for soup, other people wanted to make it into a bathtub and let everyone use it on rotation. “Oh, yeah. That night. We all convinced Mutter it would make a good boat.”
    He smiles. “And he believed it. And it sank like a rock the second he launched it.”
    I laugh, remembering him thrashing about in the ocean, shrieking like a seagull for his “boat.” We never found it again, after that. “He had one foot in, ready to cast off, and it just disappeared. He was so sure it was going to float!”
    He nods. “Now, that was a bit of fun. But things were different then.”
    Things were different. He doesn’t have to tell me how. Back then, we still had shreds of hope. But fun does seem out of place when there is no hope left.
    He says goodbye, and still warmed by the memory of us as kids, I turn toward the castle.
    At the castle entrance, two guards nod and pull open the enormous metal doors to let me pass. I’m less anxious than the first time I came this way, so I notice more. There are faded letters, like the ones in my room, written above the castle doors in big block print. W OW HO L.
    WowHol? Then I make out an I to the right of the first W. WI OW. I think some letters are missing. Two L’ s, probably, for WILLOW, the people who have always reigned. I wonder when in history they began substituting an A for the I and started going by Wallow. I guess it probably happened gradually, as everything does, once they stopped learning to read and write. The HO L must have once been HOTEL. The Willow Hotel was mentioned in the diary I have, though the Kettlefish ancestor who wrote about it used a lot of antiquated phrases that didn’t make sense. I’m not really even sure what a hotel is. I suppose it is another word for palace.
    As I walk down the vast foyer, I notice there are faded letters above the arched doorways to every room, but I don’t stop to read them. One has the letters DININ over it. The smell of cooked fish wafts out to meet me, and my mouth starts to water. There are tables and chairs inside, and some people are eating. A moment later I realize the letters must have once spelled out DINING.
    I follow an incredible aroma toward a banquet table. I’ve never smelled anything that has made my mouth water so much. Cordon, the cook, who is permanently blue-tinged, bulgy and hairless, like a jellyfish, is doling out heaping spoonfuls of some sort of fish chowder from an enormous pot. The pot is so huge I think that everyone on the island could eat and go back for seconds and thirds. He doesn’t look at me, just places a bowl in front of me, and I go and find a seat alone, in a corner. It feels weird to eat at a table instead of sitting in the sand, balancing my bowl between my knees.
    Even though it burns my tongue, I practically pour the chowder down my throat, it’s so