“What’s troubling you?” Galinor asks as we make our way through the castle, mindlessly heading toward the courtyard.
Feeling edgy, I run a hand through my hair and growl. “Stuart.”
Every royal family has a man who’d like to place himself on the throne. Stuart is simply mine. He’s my second cousin, eleven years my elder, and third in line for the crown after Dristan. In his eyes, I’ve never done anything right.
As my brother oversees our sea militia, Stuart heads up my armies. My elite knights, all older than I, practically worship him.
No matter how hard I study or how little I socialized over the last five years because I knew the crown was coming and I had to prepare for it—I feel they are constantly judging me.
Galinor scoffs. “Stuart’s jealous that his cousin will wear the crown. Ignore him. He’s not worth your time.”
“It’s not only that,” I admit. “I haven’t had a moment to stop—just to breathe—for five years. Once I’m king…” I let the words trail off.
It’s a selfish thought—one I’d admit only to my brother and a select few other people. I know thousands would kill to be in my position, and I know I live a blessed life. But…
My feet slow to a stop as soon as we’re out the front entry, and my eyes fall on the sea.
Sometimes I envy Dristan. He can leave whenever it pleases him, for as long as he wants. I haven’t set foot on my ship in over a year.
It’s Anwen who breaks the silence. She clasps my arm, giving me encouragement in her warm way. “You will be a good king—the best king Triblue could hope for. All these years, you’ve been working so hard, waiting—biding your time until your father decided you were ready—but once you’re crowned, things will fall into place.”
I’m about to answer her when we’re interrupted by a chorus of female giggles. I hold in my groan as I spot the women grouped together by the fountain. They’re ornaments of the garden—dressed in their finest, sparkling like jewels. Loud and shrill as only a flock of peacocks could be.
“Look at all your admirers,” Anwen whispers, trying not to laugh.
I hold up a hand without enthusiasm, acknowledging the assortment of nobles’ daughters Mother has invited to my coronation. She is not so subtly suggesting I find a queen, and she’d like me to be quick about it. My friends are married, most with children, and here I am at twenty-eight years of age, with a crown in my future, and I am still unwed.
“They plague me,” I say to Anwen and Galinor. The women are too far away to hear me. “Day and night.”
“It’s not as if you can tell the difference between them. Pick one and be done with the madness,” Galinor says, earning a nasty look from his wife.
What am I supposed to tell him? That I want what he has with Anwen? Or Dristan with Rosie? What a sad fool I’d be to admit it out loud.
But is it wrong to want someone I connect with? Someone who looks at me and doesn’t see the crown, castle, and prosperous trading ports?
Poor rich prince—even I’m disgusted with myself.
“I’m surprised your parents haven’t made an alliance with one of the kingdoms,” Galinor says.
I eye Anwen, teasing. “All the desirable options are taken.”
She blushes, but Galinor only shakes his head.
One of the women breaks off from the flock—a brave one venturing forth, leaving the safety of her companions. The rest watch her with wide eyes, a combination of amusement and jealousy written on their faces, as easy to read as a book.
The young woman is beautiful, with glossy, dark brown hair that falls past her shoulders in soft ringlets. Her dress is elegant, most likely designed at the finest shop in Vernow, and the color of emeralds. She walks with confidence—as if she’s used to men falling at her feet.
It’s that smug look that kills her chances. I want a sweet girl, a girl who’s soft and mild and cares more for those around her than herself. Unable to help myself, I glance again at Anwen.
There’s a little tug in my gut, not something I’ve acknowledged for years. She was mad about Galinor from the moment she laid eyes on him. I knew it then, and I stayed back, happy to travel with the group when she needed us.
Yet if she’d looked my way even once, I wouldn’t have walked away when we reached Triblue.
But she didn’t, and that’s all right.
It’s all right.
“Your Majesty,” the brown-haired girl simpers as she dips into a low curtsy in front of me.
“Not yet,” I answer.
She gives me a demure shrug that’s meant to draw attention to her bare shoulders and other attractive features. “Perhaps. But what’s a few more weeks in the grand scheme of things?”
I give her a closed-lip smile, wishing I could play the part everyone expects me to play. But I’m tired of the game, tired of the routine, tired of the life.
The girl steps into me, looping her arm through mine.
“Won’t you join us?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light though I would like nothing more than to shake the pretty parasite free.
She bats her eyelashes in a practiced manner, pressing herself too close for a lady. “Of course.”
Anwen and Galinor share a glance, looking as if they’re going to burst into riotous laughter. Thankfully, they contain themselves.
“Perhaps you can show me the garden?” the woman on my arm purrs.
“My pleasure,” I say, though if she were paying any attention to me and not my title, she would see that it’s really not.
“Shall we accompany you?” Anwen asks as soon as she schools the rotten glee on her face.
I eye her and Galinor both. “Please.”
We exchange introductions, and I learn the forward girl’s name is Rynna. Her family hails from Lenrook, which is coincidentally the only kingdom I’ve been tossed out of. I don’t mention that to her.
“Bran,” Galinor says in a conversational tone. “Perhaps Rynna would like to meet Pika?”
Anwen nudges her husband in the side, subtly chastising him. Then, as if deciding she can’t help herself, she nods along with him and turns to me. “One of your grooms is walking her right now.”
“Do you like animals?” Galinor asks the woman.
She wrinkles her nose. “Not particularly.”
“No matter,” Galinor assures her, grinning. “Pika’s very mild.”
Rynna blinks at the prince, bemused as most women are around Galinor. “All right. I suppose.”
I purse my lips, trying not to laugh.
“Who is Pika?” Rynna asks as we follow Galinor and Anwen, her voice breathy. She’s still pressed to my side like a barnacle.
I give her arm a reassuring pat as we head to the entrance of the garden maze. “Just a cat.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Elodie
Deep in the night, long after the palace is asleep, I sneak from the opulent room Croissin gave me for the evening.
I half expect to find a guard outside my door, but apparently Croissin trusts I won’t run away…or he believes he’s safe now that the binding is complete.
Guilt gnaws at me, making me ill.
Palm-sized seashells let off a dim glow from their fixtures on the walls. They brighten as I pass, the result of their enchantment, but I don’t want them giving away my position should someone notice the hall suddenly lightening.
I hold up my hand, using my magic to will them to go back to sleep.
To my relief, there’s no one loitering in the palace halls at this late hour, and why would they be? With the king’s enchantments in place, there’s no need.
We are safe here, or at least we’re supposed to be. Still, I’m cautious as I leave.
A light breeze rustles through the palms, and even in the dead of night, the island is warm. I’ll miss that when I leave.
Maybe instead of going north, to Elden’s mainland, I’ll travel east, to the islands. I haven’t spent much time there. When I was younger, I wanted to s
ee new things—mountains and snow and evergreen forests.
Absently, I touch the pouch at my side. It conceals a corked glass vial of sea salt. It’s easy enough to buy at markets and local sundries throughout Elden, but I don’t dare leave the island without a backup supply. Without it, my magic will die—and me with it. Though a mermaid can live anywhere she likes, she must take the salt with her, both to consume and to discretely add to weekly baths. Water from fresh aquifers might as well be poison for what it does to us. Perhaps that, even more than our magic, is what separates us from our human cousins.
But if I’m caught with the mineral at my side, the consequences will be great. No one carries it with them on the island—there’s no reason to. We’re surrounded by it. We use it to prepare our food, and it’s in the very water we swim in.
Only when we plan to leave the island, do we bottle the salt in water-safe vials.
“Elodie,” a man whispers from near the wall above the beach. Checking to make sure it’s clear, Aristos edges from the safety of the shadows.
He’s edgy. His eyes are just a little too wide, his movements a little too jumpy.
“This is a bad idea,” I tell him, losing my nerve.
Maybe Croissin’s right; perhaps I will live longer than the others. And if I leave, someone else dies. That’s not right. I can’t allow that.
Aristos and I made our plans briefly after the ceremony in the few minutes we had alone. I haven’t had enough time to decide if this is the right decision.
“You can’t stay,” he says, careful to keep his voice low so it won’t travel on the breeze. “I don’t know what Croissin has planned, but I know it’s nothing good. He mustn’t have access to your magic. What if the gimly was right? What if you are stronger? Imagine the power he would wield. He’s already half mad at just the idea of it.”
It seems too soon for the magic to have addled the king’s mind, and if it has, it’s a sad thing indeed.
“What is it you think he has planned?” I demand, needing something tangible instead of these murmured whispers.
Aristos studies me, and then he grasps my hands and lowers his eyes. “I believe he means to attack Triblue.”
“What?” The solitary word is voiced far too loudly, and together we cringe, waiting, half-frozen, for someone to materialize and drag us back to the castle. Right now, it might look as if we’re having a romantic affair behind Croissin’s back. Perhaps it’s better if the king were to think that than know the truth.
When no one emerges from the shadows, I turn back to Aristos. “Why would he do such a thing?” I whisper.
“He keeps going on about how wrong it is that we’re forced to hide. That we are the ones with the power—that humans should bow to us.”
An attack on Triblue? We will be slaughtered, especially if Croissin is relying on my magic alone to accomplish this strange mania. There’s too few of us and far too many of them.
“It’s insane,” I say.
Aristos nods, squeezing my hands. “I know.”
“Are you certain?”
“No, but I have little doubt I am correct.”
I pull away and rest my head in my hands. It’s too much, and it’s all happening so fast. After a moment, I turn back to Aristos. “And you’ll come with me?”
“I have no choice. When Croissin realizes what I’ve done with the rings…” He flinches and looks away. “I just hope I have enough magic left to reach Triblue.”
He hasn’t shifted in years. Who knows how long he’ll last? And how will I save him if we’re in the middle of the ocean when it dwindles away for good?
“Unless he doesn’t find out,” I say.
He turns back, giving me an incredulous look.
“No, I mean it.” I think about it for a second, and an idea solidifies in my mind. “Tell Croissin I nullified the spell before the ceremony—tell him you caught me sneaking from the palace. You tried to stop me, but I knocked you unconscious.”
A smile forms on his face, as if he likes the idea but can’t imagine it would work. “Croissin won’t ever believe—”
My magic hits him before he realizes what I’ve done. Thankfully, it’s a lot gentler than an actual blow to the head. Immediately, the merman falls. I barely catch him. Though I crumple under his weight, I somehow manage to lower him to the ground without causing either of us injury.
Aristos won’t wake until long past dawn. Croissin is much more likely to believe my story if he finds his brother unconscious.
But this also means I’ll never come back to the island, never see my family again. For as long as I live, I’ll be a fugitive of Isle Milayle. A criminal, a disgrace.
I glance back at the palace. It sits on a slight incline, visible no matter where on the island you stand. After a few moments, my attention drifts toward the cottages in the village. It’s nothing more than a small group of homes for the people who prefer to live close together. I can just make out the thatched roof of the house I grew up in.
My chest tightens.
Gently, I run my hand down Aristos’s arm. “Forgive me, dear friend.”
Without daring to look back even once more, I wade into the water and let my magic flow over me as I discard this life and set out for a new one.
***
There are seventeen islands to the east of Isle Milayle, all of them clustered together. Thirteen islands are perfectly safe, with respectable ports and respectable people.
The one I’ve arrived at is not.
As I watch the pirates loitering on the pier, I silently curse my terrible sense of direction. I’m too far north.
I knew I should have headed to the mainland. The swim is harder, especially in winter when fierce storms blow in from the north and make the sea churn, but the kingdom of Triblue is a much easier target to reach considering it’s so long and large.
I watch the comings and goings of the island, treading water with human legs because I don’t dare linger near the shore while sporting a tail.
I could swim for the next one, but I’m hungry, and Croissin is going to send out scouts to look for me soon—if he hasn’t already.
Coming to the islands was a bad idea. I need to get as far away from Isle Milayle as possible.
My eyes wander to the large, sailed ships that bob in the cove. Men linger on their decks, but no one seems to have anything to do. They call to each other occasionally, laughing and jeering while they pass about a bottle of rum. The pirates are likely too tipsy to notice me hiding behind a group of boulders near the shore, but there’s no reason to risk it.
Storm clouds loom in the distance, but the warm wind blows west, and the worst of it should miss the island. It’s nearing evening, and music is already playing from somewhere in the streets. Because it’s winter, and the ships won’t dare sail until spring, the pirates linger, drunk and content, still celebrating last year’s spoils.
In truth, this island might not be a bad place to hide—if I can find a way to blend in. The men appear to outnumber the women at least five to one, but I wait patiently until I’ve seen several girls to assess. They look like gypsies in their long, colorful skirts that are patched together with an assortment of fabrics.
After a while, I feel confident enough to swim to shore, heading for a patch of foliage near the water’s edge. I gather my magic and let it wash over me, creating an illusion of fabric and scarves that match those worn by the island maids. It’s always challenging to create something new, but it will have to do until I can buy real clothing.
Until I can figure out how to pay for a real dress.
These men, with their dirty clothes that don’t look like they’ve been washed in years and hair that hasn’t seen soap in even longer, don’t seem like the type to buy glamorous paintings of themselves.
Just after I think it, I spot a particularly short captain on the dock. He wears a long burgundy jacket, a white frilled shirt with an impressive ruffle of collar, and a hat with a feather two times as long a
s his sword.
Perhaps I was mistaken.
After straightening my enchanted clothing and quickly twisting my hair into a somewhat respectable bun, I make my way onto the beach.
I watch as the fancy captain stops to speak with a man coming down the gangplank of a nearby ship. The second man wears a similar jacket but no hat. His black boots are scuffed, his hair wind-tousled, and there’s a carefree look on his handsome face.
The newcomer greets the ostentatious captain with a handshake and a nod, but it’s obvious he too is amused by the man’s attire. I study them, hoping to find hints of how I may hide amongst the people of the island. I must stand here too long because the second man suddenly looks up, and our gazes meet.
Startled, I take an abrupt step back. The man furrows his brows and nods several times before ending his conversation and heading my way.
I surreptitiously look left and then right, but there’s nowhere to go. If I run, I’ll look guilty of something, and the last thing I need is to appear suspicious.
“Hello there,” the man calls as he makes his way to me, easily navigating the wet beach, not minding that sand now clings to his boots. “Why haven’t we met?”
“I arrived not long ago.”
His eyes drift over me, and a lopsided smile toys at his lips. “That’s strange considering it’s winter, and no one new has arrived in over a month.”
Oh, that’s right.
“Time flies on the island, doesn’t it?” I say.
“What ship did you arrive on?”
My eyes again flick to the boats resting carelessly in the cove before I return my attention to him.
“That one there,” I say, pointing to one at random.
“Is that so?” It’s obvious he doesn’t believe me, but fortunately, he still seems amused. “The one with the mermaid on the prow?”
I nod.
Elodie of the Sea Page 3