Elodie of the Sea

by Shari L. Tapscott

  I draw swirling patterns in the sand, longing to use my magic but knowing I must conserve it. Just as I’m covering a yawn, I hear voices. Immediately, I perk up, turning toward the single entrance to the circular center room.

  Aristos turns to me with his hands clasped behind his back. His eyes are strangely bright, so eager to watch Bran make the wrong decision.

  After adjusting my skirts and running my fingers through my hair, trying to look presentable, I sit with the golden vial in my lap, waiting.

  Bran turns the corner, ready for something to leap out at him, which by now I’m sure he’s learned is not only a possibility but a probability. He has a gash across his cheek, and his tunic is ripped. Galinor is with him, looking worse for wear himself.

  But I have eyes for Bran alone. His gaze meets mine, and his shoulders sag with relief—until he sees Aristos. He then draws himself up to his full height, clasping the hilt of his sword.

  “Congratulations on finding the middle of the labyrinth,” Aristos says, his voice somehow mocking even if his tone is cordial. “Your companion will no longer be needed.”

  One of Aristos’s knights materializes from around the corner, standing silent, ready to escort Galinor safely back to the entrance of the maze.

  Galinor hesitates, but Bran nods and quietly expresses his thanks to the crown-prince of Glendon. Galinor nods, silently wishing Bran the best, and then he follows the knight from the room.

  “Now it’s time to choose your prize, King of Triblue,” Aristos says, gesturing to me with an open hand.

  Bran narrows his eyes. “Choose?”

  Aristos wears an almost cat-like smirk, and it grates on my nerves. “Do you see the vial Elodie holds?”

  Of course he does, but Aristos wants a show.

  Bran nods, waiting for the trick.

  “It contains the most powerful serum of concentrated magic known to mankind. It will grant you everything you could possibly desire—wealth, land, obedience, loyalty. Choose the vial, and you will go down as the greatest king in history. Loved, feared, respected, honored. Anything you want is yours.”

  Bran waits, his face perfectly expressionless.

  “Or you can choose Elodie,” Aristos continues, letting his tone go flat. “Should you try to take them both, I will let the labyrinth collapse. The test will be over, and you will die.”

  Aristos is as eager as a fox. “But with the vial, your people will be prosperous, content, safe. And Elodie will simply go home to the people who love her, to the family who cherishes her.”

  Slowly, Bran sheaths his sword and walks my way, his eyes on the vial. My heart flutters as fear works its way through my veins. Aristos is playing right to Bran’s fears, offering everything the new king has ever wanted. And I can’t tell him it’s a lie—nothing but pretty, worthless fairy magic, packaged in a fancy bottle.

  “Never again will your men, your most trusted knights, turn against you,” Aristos continues, stepping forward. “No one will whisper that your cousin should rule your kingdom. You will be the most powerful man in all of Elden, and Triblue will rise above the rest. Greater than Vernow, wealthier than even Errinton was at the height of its power.”

  Bran is in front of me, and his boots brush the edge of my outstretched skirt. His eyes meet mine, and my mouth grows dry. Time stretches on. Seconds seem to turn to minutes, minutes to hours. Deep in my heart, I believed he’d choose me without the slightest hesitation. But he’s here…hesitating.

  He stretches out his hand, silently asking for the vial, and my stomach drops. I blink at him, uncomprehending.

  Then I look away, destroyed, and set the bottle in his palm.

  “Elodie,” Bran says softly, offering me his other hand, ready to help me stand.

  I turn to him, trying to hide the hurt that threatens to suffocate me. “You can’t have both.”

  “I don’t want both.” He waits, patient.

  Confused, I clasp his hand and allow him to help me rise. His fingers wind through mine, and a ghost of a smile crosses his face.

  “I choose Elodie,” Bran says, turning to Aristos. He then offers the worthless vial and its promise of glory to Aristos.

  The merman stares at him, shocked. “You realize what I’ve offered you is far greater than anything Elodie’s power can ever give you? Her magic is magnificent, no doubt, but even she is limited.”

  “I love Elodie—the woman herself,” Bran says simply. “Not her magic. I have no use for it; I do not want it.”

  My relief is so instantaneous, I grow dizzy. I grasp Bran’s hand tighter to steady myself.

  Aristos shakes his head, incredulous and growing angry. He had no doubt Bran would choose the vial, and now…

  With a calculating, wild look in his eyes, Aristos slowly tucks away the fairy illusion and draws the blade sheathed at his side. “Very well. But the game isn’t over—you must return to the entrance of the labyrinth before sundown, and the hour is growing late.”

  I eye the sword. “Aristos—this isn’t part—”

  “My labyrinth,” the merman snarls at me, “my rules.”

  But I knew this was going to happen, knew that if—when—Bran chose me this would no longer be about Cassia, no longer about proving to me that humans are a vile, detestable race. This has become about pride, about winning.

  Calmly, Bran draws his sword. It’s a handsome blade, darker than steel, perhaps crafted from the new drachite Errinton started exporting several years ago.

  “First blood?” Bran asks, readying himself for the impending duel.

  Aristos snorts. “How about last breath?”

  With that, the merman lunges. Bran meets him, and the clash of the metal echoes in the ocean-walled room. I take several steps back and twist the ring around my finger, waiting.

  They circle and pace, swords flashing. The small, makeshift arena is filled with the sound of their boots scuffling in the sand, the clang of their blades, and the ocean, lapping from above, gradually spilling water over the labyrinth walls as Aristos loses control of the magic required to hold it.

  Bran takes a swipe, slicing Aristos’s arm. “First blood—accept it, and let’s be finished with this madness. No one need die today.”

  The merman hisses in pain and anger, and he swings again, out of breath and panting.

  “Aristos!” I yell, watching the top of the circular walls begin to quiver. “You must stop!”

  I remember Bran sparing with his knight. I believe he has the skill to best my old friend, but I don’t trust Aristos to play by the rules, especially when it’s a battle to the death. He’s consumed with rage, but as soon as he realizes he cannot win, he will release his hold on the sea, use his stolen magic to shift, and Bran will drown.

  Bran blocks the attack. The collision is so great, with so much strength coming from both opponents, Bran’s blade breaks Aristos’s steel sword. Aristos gapes at the jagged, dagger-length blade in his hand, and then, with a growl, he rushes Bran, perhaps hoping to disarm him with brute strength.

  Bran pivots as Aristos plows forward, managing to sidestep the merman, and ends up behind him. In a smooth, practiced move, the king of Triblue grasps hold of Aristos’s neck, jerks him back, and presses the tip of his drachite blade between the merman’s shoulders.

  Aristos trembles with anger, and his shoulders move with each ragged breath he takes. His face, so handsome, is contorted in an ugly mask of hate.

  “I do not wish to kill you,” Bran says, his voice low and controlled, but there is anger in his tone, something he holds back.

  “That is because you are spineless, not worthy to be king of any kingdom, and certainly not worthy of the destined queen of Isle Milayle,” Aristos spits out. “But you only think you have won.”

  I know the moment Aristos chooses to let the labyrinth collapse. A smile crosses his face, showing his perfectly white teeth. It makes him look feral, mad.

  “No!” I yell as the walls come crashing down, the water claiming the
ocean floor once more. Bran shoves Aristos away and reaches for me, knowing I don’t have magic enough to change.

  “Elodie!” he yells.

  Our fingers barely touch before the ocean pulls us apart, sucking us under its cold waters. The world spins, and I’m left reeling, disoriented. I swim hard, using my human legs, hoping to locate the surface. The currents are strong, and the water shifts and moves, settling back into place.

  Just when I think I am lost, that I will either have to shift or let the ocean claim me, I find my way.

  I gasp as I reach the surface and cough, choking on water as I suck in precious air. Waves rise and fall. They take me with them, pushing me under again and again.

  My magic aches to change, but I fight the need.

  “Bran!” I yell between coughing fits, frantically searching for him in the ocean around me. Water splashes my face, stinging my eyes. My hair is twisted around my face, and I pull it free before I dive, searching the depths with my useless human legs.

  Memories of the dragon attack wrap around me, making me almost dizzy with worry.

  The salt water feeds my magic, but it’s already too depleted to repair itself.

  I come up for air once more, losing hope.

  Then I see him not far away, emerging from the water, coughing and sputtering.

  “Bran!” I croak, already swimming for him.

  As soon as I am close enough, he wraps his arm around my waist and yanks me close. We tread water, clinging to each other. I cry against his shoulder. The tears are silent, and they join the ocean, undetected.

  Our breathing is ragged, and Bran coughs several more times. After another minute, he sets his hands on my cheeks, looking into my eyes. “I thought I lost you.”

  I choke back a sob, overcome. “You are the fragile one.”

  The nearly drowned king laughs as he crushes his lips to mine. It’s a kiss of desperate relief, and it tugs at my heart in ways that are almost too painful to bear.

  “Look,” Bran says quietly, nodding toward the west. The last of the sun’s rays sink into the water, leaving the sky rosy. “We’re out of the labyrinth, aren’t we? I believe that means I won.”

  He’s smiling, but I remember that we’re not alone in the waters. I turn about, scanning the now gently rolling waves. “Where’s Aristos?”

  He’s here somewhere, in his merman shape no doubt. We are far from the shore, and this time, I won’t be able to swim us back to safety.

  “How are we—” I’m cut off by a rumbling noise. Around us, the water begins to quiver, and bubbles rise from below. Suddenly, we are thrust into the air, propelled by the rising ocean floor. Our legs give out, and we fall to the ground, grasping each other, trying to keep our balance. Water runs down the sandy ground, back toward the ocean, as an islet forms from the earth below. Startled crabs and other sea life skitter and flop about, frantically searching for pockets of water in the sand and rocks.

  As soon as I get my balance, I scoop a floundering sea turtle into my arms, careful to avoid his snapping jaws, and help him back into the sea. The air feels colder than before, wrong. Dark magic swirls around us, testing us, searching for our weaknesses. Bran rises, his eyes focusing on something behind me.

  Aristos stands in the middle of the newly formed isle. Not bothering to dry himself, the merman allows water to stream down his arms and legs. His dark hair is wet and disheveled, and his eyes are hard. “You are a difficult pest to be rid of,” he says to Bran.

  “Aristos, please,” I beg, “don’t do this.”

  With the wave of his hand, I’m swept to the side of the islet by an unseen force that steals the very breath from my lungs. I fall to the ground, gasping. It’s as if the air has been knocked from me, and it’s simply gone. Bran yells, and my vision blurs. Finally, my lungs remember how to work, and I inhale sharply.

  “You survived my labyrinth, and you bested me with blades,” Aristos says to Bran, fully ignoring me. “But let’s see if you can defeat my magic.”

  A shrill, unearthly scream fills the air, blocking the sound of the water. I cower for half a second, startled by the intensity of the dark magic. And then I’m on my feet, running for Bran. I only get four steps before I crash into an unseen barrier.

  Aristos looks over, amused. “You’re caged, Ellie. I couldn’t have you using your magic to aid him, wasting it as you try to play the heroine.”

  “Fight me like a man,” Bran hollers, drawing Aristos’s attention back as he braces himself. “Not like a coward who cannot face his adversary.”

  Laughing, Aristos raises his hand, and the voice in the wind screams again. This time, mist overtakes the islet, rushing for Bran. It surrounds the king, bringing him to his knees.

  I close my eyes, calling what’s left of my own magic—the light, pure gift that was born in me that creates and heals. Aristos might be right—I might not be able to penetrate his invisible cage, but I know something he does not. Something Bran doesn’t know either.

  I linked myself to the gentle king when I gave him the silver band, knew that I would willingly, eagerly, give him the rest of my magic if it meant saving his life. Now I must make a shield out of it, protect Bran like our king protects Milayle. It can be done—I know it. And if I can accomplish it, I will be the first mermaid ever to harness that part of our power.

  Concentrating, I pour the magic into the link, freely gifting it to Bran, using it through him. The dark magic wails and screams when it touches my creation, writhing as if burned, and it shies away from the king of Triblue.

  Tears stream down my face because it’s working.

  Bran’s dazed for half a moment. He’s on his knees, trying to catch his breath. Once he does, he turns to me, horrified and angry.

  “Fight him!” I yell, strengthening the protective sphere around Bran, shielding him with everything I have.

  “What have you done?” he demands.

  I fall to my knees, growing dizzy. “Don’t let it be for naught.”

  And he understands. He stares at me, looking as if he’s trying to find a way to stop me, but it’s too late. Our eyes lock for a short time, not a second if that, but I take him in, cherishing this last moment. The king is bruised and bloodied, his clothing is ripped, but he’s the most perfect man I’ve ever seen—and the last one I will ever see. And he knows it.

  “Please,” I beg.

  At that, his pain morphs to hot, angry determination, and he turns to Aristos. The merman fights with his dark magic, trying to bend it to his will. He growls when he sees Bran approaching, and he gives up—lets go of the fleeing magic. It dissipates into the air as he reaches for the broken sword at his side.

  My vision goes hazy as I release the last of my magic, let it go, give it to Bran. Without Aristos’s dark help, the fight is short. Unconsciousness takes me as I see the merman stumble and fall, his time in this world finished.

  And then Bran’s next to me. Aristos’s barrier is gone, and Bran pulls me into his arms, just as he did the day he found me on the shore.

  “Elodie,” he whispers, sounding anguished. “Don’t leave me.”

  I blindly reach for him, smiling because he’s alive, and that’s all I could ask for. “I love you.”

  And then the darkness, peaceful and warm, comes to collect me, and I willingly let it take me.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Elodie

  It’s strange to wake up when you’re supposed to be dead. But perhaps I wish I was because everything hurts.

  A soft noise brings me further into consciousness, and I blink my eyes, letting them adjust to the cheery light. Yet again, I find myself in the physician’s quarters. Bran is asleep next to me, his hand clasped in mine. His head rests on the bed, next to my shoulder.

  I roll over, facing him, and give him a small nudge.

  He snuffles and lets out a light groan.

  “That looks like a terribly uncomfortable way to sleep,” I say.

  Though he’s still groggy, his
eyes meet mine, and he immediately leans over, wrapping me in an embrace that smells like lavender and oranges and everything good in the world.

  “I don’t appear to be dead,” I mumble against his shoulder.

  The king pulls back. His eyes are partially amused—but still haunted. “You’re not dead,” he confirms.

  I lie very still, searching for my magic, but there is nothing. It’s merely gone, leaving me empty, but somehow not hollow.

  “How? I breathe.

  A mermaid cannot live without her magic; it’s a fact, as true as the sun rising in the east.

  “Your mark is gone as well,” he says softly—as if he’s worried that will scare me.

  It’s all a little too overwhelming, so I press into his embrace, taking comfort in his arms around me.

  “You linked me,” he says after several long minutes. “How could you do that, Elodie?”

  “I love you.”

  He holds me tighter, making me wonder if he thinks I’m going to disappear at any moment, that our connection is the only thing keeping me from wisping away. Eventually, I nudge him forward so I can sit up. My mouth is dry and sticky, and the taste makes me wonder if I swallowed a frog at some point while I was unconscious.

  “I’m thirsty,” I tell him.

  Immediately, Bran rises and brings me a pewter cup. I eye it with suspicion.

  “It’s sea water,” he assures me, almost smiling.

  I take it, grateful, but do the most unladylike thing imaginable as soon as the water crosses my tongue—I spit it out, right onto the floor. Bran gapes at me; I gape at the water.

  It’s disgusting—absolutely revolting. Far too…salty.

  “Bran…” My hand begins to shake, and my stomach clenches. He quickly takes the cup before I spill it.