“And those over there are puffins. The bills are so orange.”

“And what about that one? With the long, pointed beak?”

“A curlew. Their beaks are as long as swords.” His memory had always impressed Trynne. Her heart filled with love for the little boy who was as happy and carefree as their father hadn’t been in his own youth. Owen’s absence made the child melancholy at times, but he knew how deeply he was loved, and Trynne was grateful that he had never grown tired of holding their mother’s hand.

The salty smell of the ocean, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore, and the cry of the seagulls overhead—all of it flooded her with memories of other times she’d visited with her mother. It was Sinia’s favorite place, but though it was beautiful, it was also a reminder of the inexorable power of the Deep Fathoms. The tiny beads of polished glass they trampled in the sand were relics of Leoneyis, a kingdom that had been swallowed by the sea. Her mother had often described to her visions she’d seen of Leoneyis at its prime—the enormous palace full of huge glass windows and glass chandeliers, dangling prisms that spun rainbows everywhere when the sunlight struck them. Yet the great wealth of the king had corrupted his heart. In time, he had forsaken the Fountain and destroyed all the Oath Maidens, ultimately depriving his kingdom of everything. Only those who had gathered in the sanctuary of St. Penryn had been spared the tidal flood that had destroyed the realm.

They walked for some distance along the shore, hidden by the huge rocks and land that formed the edge of the coast past the beach. Only at the harbor was the water deep enough to permit boats during high and low tide. Any fleet that tried to bottle in Ploemeur would end up being dashed against the rocks if it anchored too close.

Trynne’s mother had taught her the magical defenses of the city multiple times. Yet Sinia had insisted on bringing both of her children to check on them one last time.

The first of the caves could only be reached during low tide. At high tide, the low entrance was submerged, concealing it from others. The jagged stone cliff was green with moss that dripped constantly as if shedding tears. Small gnats floated in the air, and the loamy smell of decaying vegetation filled Trynne’s nose as they walked up the crisp sand to the cave. Gannon dashed ahead impetuously, grinning with excitement as he rushed into the dark entrance. The hissing surf came nigh to the mouth of the cave.