Tempest Revealed by Tracy Deebs

recovered enough to make the journey, and second of all, that he was smart enough not to dive down and try to find me. I was much better suited to a fight in the ocean than he was, and though he worried about me because was my father, the last thing I needed right now was to stress out about him as well as Whatever thing had me in its grip.
    I twisted around, determined to get a good look at the minion of Tiamat who had decided to grab me. But there was nothing. No one behind me, no one to the side of me. No oneanywhere. Just a tight clamp around my ankles and the inexorable draw downward that felt an awful lot like fishing in reverse—with me as the catch and my dad as bait.
    I powered up the light bubble again, made the glow brighter, then bent in half so I could get a better look at my ankles. Ancient iron manacles had been fastened around them, so tightly that already I could feel the skin chafing underneath. The manacles were attached on the outside to a rusty chain that spiraled down deeper than I could see.
    I was furious, part of me more than ready to meet whatever had come fishing for me and nearly killed my dad instead. They’d wanted me and I was more than ready to let them try for a piece. But again, my more logical side refused to be ignored and I knew that the absolute last thing I should do was allow myself to be dragged to the bottom of the ocean. Not when I was chained, alone, and had no idea what was waiting for me down there. And not when my dad was still in the water above me, probably frantically searching for me when he should be making his way back to shore.
    Grabbing on to the manacle on my right leg, just where it met the chain, I used every considerable ounce of superhuman strength I had to try to pry it off. The cuffs were old and rusted, the connector eaten through in places, so it shouldn’t have been that hard to rip the link away from the cuff.
    But it wouldn’t so much as budge no matter how hard I tugged and twisted and yanked. Giving up on the right cuff, I turned to the left and started working on it in earnest. It wouldn’t budge either.
    Letting go of the chains, I tried to wiggle my fingers underthe cuffs just where the two sides met. No one had been around to lock them, plus I couldn’t even see where a key could be inserted into the stupid things. Which meant that there was probably some kind of catch on the inside that I could press to make them open. I just had to find it.
    The only problem was the cuffs were tight, really tight. And while my fingers were slender, they weren’t tiny enough to slide between my flesh and the iron, no matter how hard I tried. Which only made me more frustrated and more determined to find a way free.
    I kicked my legs out, somersaulted, twisted around and around so that the chain grew taut. My goal had been to stretch the chain until any little movement put pressure on it, and as I slowly began to press my legs outward, I realized—a little gleefully—that I had succeeded. The chain was so tight that the basic movement of opening my legs was almost impossibly difficult. Strong as I was, I could open them only an inch at a time.
    Though the water muffled the sound, I could feel the vibrations as the chain stretched and stretched and stretched. Whatever was beneath me must have felt it too, because suddenly the downward tugging grew much, much faster.
    I stretched my legs some more, felt a little give as my left leg slammed outward quickly. Yes! It was working. One of the links on the chain was breaking. I had gained only about three inches of movement that time, but it was enough to make me try again. I started scissoring my legs, pressing out harder and faster. It hurt like hell, but I ignored the pain. After all, what was waiting for me at the bottom of the ocean was probably going to hurt a lot worse.
    The chain on my right leg gave first, all at once, and I went tumbling backward—which served only to twist my left leg up in its chain even