Twenty tides have passed since Leelee and her lover Makhulu parted. The tyrant Vahtu is dead, and his wayward son Kahlutu sits on the throne in his place. Leelee has been forced to return to the clear, warm reefs of the City to become her Clan's reluctant High Priestess, while Makhulu remains in the forbidding waters of the Kiakhu Clan to advise and support the new King.
Now, when the fragile peace between the Clans is threatened on all sides, a catastrophe strikes the Clanfolk that makes all their differences irrelevant and introduces Leelee and Makhulu to a new adversary—The Golden Queen.
A sequel to Tides of Fire: The Rebellion which was first published in 2016. It has a 5 star rating in the US Amazon site.
Makhulu forced himself to concentrate on the closely inscribed tablets in front of him. It was at times like these, late at night when he was tired and alone, that the emptiness hit him hardest. Before Vahtu’s death, there had always been Kahlutu or Leteal and his lover, Tahki. But Leteal was dead, impaled on Makhulu’s dagger, and Tahki had perished by his own act. Kahlutu spent his nights with Aula, the pretty, silent, Ice-maiden he had married, and their newborn son.
Slit! I’m just bored. That’s what’s the matter with me. What are these flaming tablets about anyway? He passed his hand across his eyes and focused once more on the work in front of him.
He glanced up as a circle of ripples in the entry channel alerted him to the approach of a visitor. A sleek head appeared, with hair neither black nor gilt but a brindled mixture of the two, like the pelt of a seal pup.
“Vakahtu?”
Vakahtu rose out of the pool, bowed in a perfunctory way, and pulled himself onto the sand with smooth economy of effort. His tail gleamed in the light of the whale-oil lamps. It was neither Kiakhu black nor Leahtu silver. Where his muscled torso met his tail, the thick hide was pearly silver, then dark grey and silver alternated in blurred lines down to his tail fin, which was pure Kiakhu black.
He was of both clans, and neither, an outcast since birth, fit only for the oyster beds or the Pleasure Caves. Yet he carried himself with assurance, and his ice-blue eyes did not shift under Makhulu’s. He waited for Makhulu to speak.
Makhulu tossed him a bottle salvaged from the wreck of a four-arm vessel. He caught it one-handed, lifted it in a silent salute, and drank deeply.
Makhulu broke the silence with a touch of impatience. “What have you to report?”
“I’m in.”
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French
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Already translated.
Translated by Tochukwu Benedict Ezeifekwuaba
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Portuguese
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Already translated.
Translated by nick hops
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Spanish
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Already translated.
Translated by Andrea Rojo Hernández
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