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Sharifar's humiliating claim.  
    I am Lascari! And he would prove it.
    He would die soon enough. Perhaps even from another dragonfish attack. But he would die knowing who he was, knowing the pride of the Lascari was his by birth. He didn't want to die now, like this, in doubt and shame.  
    I will listen , he conceded at last.
    A strong, cool hand grasped his flailing one and brought him face to face with the goddess again. His pain faded, his blood stopped flowing, and his lungs stopped burning. Angry and resentful, Zarien regarded Sharifar stonily and resisted the lure of her exquisite beauty. She smiled sympathetically.  
    It's time for you to seek your true father , she told him, just as it is time for me to embrace my consort.  
    My true father , he repeated without belief or enthusiasm.
    You will bring my consort to me .
    As you wish , he replied obediently, burning with outrage.
    You will make your own choices about your father .
    He couldn't stop himself, for thoughts flowed with far less control than words: Sorin is my father .  
    Sorin raised you, but he is not your father .
    Then why didn't he tell me that himself ?
    Because you were only a child.
    Suddenly, despite the goddess's protection, he felt the full   weight and chill of the sea's depths again. Could Sharifar's claims possibly be true? Was this appalling discovery something Sorin would have revealed to him once he truly became a man?
    The affectionate name by which he had always known Sorin came unbidden to his thoughts: Papa...  
    Sorin cannot be your father any longer.  
    But when he knows I'm alive—
    You're going to walk the dryland , she said. You can never be Lascari again. Your sea-bound life is over.
    But I... His mind went blank as her words ripened in his heart. She was right. No matter who was really his father, and no matter how glad the Lascari would be to learn he was alive, setting foot upon land would ensure banishment from the clan for the rest of his life.  
    This was the price of his life. He could never be Lascari again.  
    He would have preferred death, except that he could not let Sharifar send him incomplete to that shore which had no other shore. He had to know the truth about his birth, about his blood, before he sailed into death.
    I... I will be an outcast . If he weren't hovering beyond life, somewhere in the domain of the gods, he would have had to fight tears.
    You will find your own life ashore , she promised.
    The sea is my life .
    The world is changing, Zarien. You must change with it.  
    I want to see my—I want to see Sorin , he said suddenly. I want him to tell me. To my face.
    In time, perhaps. Now you must go in search of my consort.
    On land?
    Yes.
    Your consort is... No, surely not. Your consort is a drylander?  
      Yes.
    You can't take a drylander as your consort! How can the sea-born accept him as their king?  
    He is chosen by Dar.  
    Dar is... She is not...  
    The volcano rules even the sea-born.  
    But the sea-born do not worship—
    The sea-born will accept my consort, as I will accept Dar's choice for my mate.  
    Then I... I will bring him , Zarien said with far more resignation than hope. To earn my life, I will bring him to you .  
    Perhaps sensing all the doubts he tried to hide from her, Sharifar added, It will be no small thing, Zarien, to bring back the first king of the sea-born in a thousand years .  
    That, at least, was true. How will I know him?
    She smiled again. It's enough that I will know him .
    But I— He gasped when she released both his hands, abandoning him to the fierce current. Sharifar!
    She spread her graceful fins through the water and moved forward, following him. The shimmering veils grew larger and larger, covering Zarien, spreading around him like the open sky on a clear day. From this veiled covering emerged a long slender object, slowly floating toward him. He recognized what it was only moments before colliding with it—a stahra , the weapon of a man.