“Careful. Tri might eat all of your cookies,” Dane joked.
“I would like to see that,” Mungo teased as we followed him into a hidden alcove. A small but richly decorated door was inset inside. I realized you could not see it from above. Or really, unless you were looking right at it. I had to bow to go through it, as did Dane. Mungo did not.
A smile lit up my face at the inviting scene inside.
Beyond the door was a cozy room with soft-looking, well-worn chairs around a table. A magical fireplace was crackling merrily. Luckily, unlike the land fires humans were so fond of, magical fires did not give off harmful smoke or soot.
Somehow, the table was already set with tea and a three-tiered tray of cookies. All different kinds.
My eyes got wide and my stomach rumbled again.
“You always have them ready, somehow.”
“Your friend Annaruth had something to do with that,” Mungo said with a chuckle. “Please, sit.”
I realized they were both waiting for me to sit first. I sighed, thinking the rules pertaining to females and males were woefully out of date. Though nothing compared to what I had read about two-leggers in my Human History and Etiquette scrolls!
“Please, eat. Don’t be shy, child.”
I smiled tentatively and selected a cookie while Mungo poured us tea. I closed my eyes as a tangy taste filled my mouth in a flavor explosion. It was sweet, but not too sweet. It was perfect.
“That’s ginger. It’s a root that grows on land. Not on it. Actually in it. Marvelous, is it not?”
“Marvelous,” I agreed once my mouth was empty. I took another bite, trying to stifle a groan of pleasure. It was just as delicious the second time.
“You must try every kind,” Mungo added. “At least twice!”
He winked at Dane, and I knew, I just knew that my bottomless appetite had somehow been discussed previously. I blushed a little but happily reached for another cookie. I stopped, staring as the ginger cookie reappeared from the empty spot.
“See? I told you that you must try them all at least twice!”
I blinked, staring back and forth between them.
“I’ve never seen magic like this.”
“Ah, it’s usually forbidden.”
“It is?”
He nodded somberly.
“Yes. And reserved for when hungry young Princes need to keep their strength up during their studies.”
I swallowed.
“You were his teacher?”
“Yes, child. I was one of them.”
Mungo nodded as I was suddenly struck by how lonely Dane must have been. Not that Mungo was not wonderful, for he clearly was, but Dane had not been around other children other than the other Princes and Princesses. If they were anything like Waverly, I did not envy him that. And as the heir, I knew he was kept separate from even them.
A childhood without children was no childhood at all.
Of course, mine had been similarly lonely, but I was an orphan, not a Prince. I’d only learned by sneaking books and eavesdropping on Thalia’s lessons.
I’d been caught cleaning the same spot over and over again during particularly interesting lessons and punished for it more than once.
“The best of them,” Dane avowed quietly, and I could see how much Mungo meant to him. But Mungo waved off the compliment as if he did not deserve it.
“Now, what can I do for you children?”
I selected another cookie as Dane explained about the roses.
“Ah, yes. They are everywhere, but no one thinks to ask,” Mungo said, sounding pleased. He took a sip of his steaming tea, and I wondered briefly if the pot would also magically refill itself. “There is quite a story behind those. Would you like to hear? It’s quite long.”
“Yes, of course,” Dane said.
“We’d love to,” I added, exchanging a glance with the Prince. Except he didn’t look like a Prince. Well, he did, with his uniform and good looks, but he also looked like a handsome young Mer listening to his grandfather speak.
And that’s what Mungo was to him, I realized. This was his safe place. With all the coldness he had endured day in and day out, this place was like the Royal kitchen. It was warm and safe.
It was sacred.
And he’d brought me here without hesitation.
“Mers have told this story for millennia, and it has changed over time. When I was a young Mer, many knew the tale. But now, no one does.”
He looked at us both.
“I may be the last. And now you two will have to carry the story.”
“Is it a story? Or is it real?”
Mungo took a sip of his tea.
“It is both. The story is so old that many details have been lost or embellished. But the core of the story is true. It did happen. I’ve found too much evidence to support it for me to believe otherwise.” Dane opened his mouth to ask a question but Mungo shook his head. “More on that later. Now, let’s begin.”
I settled back in my chair to listen, a forgotten half-eaten cookie in my hand.
“The story begins on land, not far from here. For you see, the origin of our kind lies on the sand and soil, not in the sea.”
My eyes grew wide at what he was saying. We were . . . descended from two-leggers? Impossible. Or was it?
“There were two villages by the sea. One had sandy beaches. The other had cliffs. And on the highest cliff of all, there lived a witch. She was beautiful, youthful in appearance, though her years were long. She possessed true magic. She was revered by the people of both settlements, not feared, as many powerful women seem to be.”
I nodded in absentminded agreement. I’d noticed that as well. Especially in history. It wasn’t called ‘herstory’ for a reason, I mused.
“One day, a beautiful young man nearly drowned in the sea before her cliffs. She saw him and raced down to the beach to save him. She used her magic to bring him back to life.”
We both gasped. Bringing someone back to life was . . . unheard of. And even if was in the realm of possibility, it would have terrible consequences. Every Mer who could speak and read knew the rule of magic. Whatever you give out will come back to you times three.
It wasn’t always a straight line, or perfectly weighed, but it happened. Good and bad. The final results were often unexpected, and if bad, wickedly twisted.
“The young man blinked up at her gratefully, his eyes the blue of the sky. The witch fell in love with him in that moment. Sadly, he only felt gratitude toward her. But that did not dissuade her. She began going into town instead of keeping to herself as she usually did. Trading with the shopkeepers. Joining in celebrations. Tending to the sick, as she had always done, but only if they came to her house overlooking the sea. All of this in hopes of catching a glimpse of her young man or hearing a kind word from him. For Allisander was kind. He was stronger than most, well-liked, intelligent, and kind. It was no wonder the witch, whose name was Tracinda, loved him. She chose whom to love wisely. But she should not have held on so hard. For love does not flourish in a cave or a clenched fist.”
I took another bite of my cookie, chewing it slowly as I stared at Mungo in rapt attention.
“As you may have guessed, the story does not go well. Tracinda was there when a young beauty from the next village attended a festival. It only took one look. One sliver of a second. Allisander saw Leandra and that was it. True love sprang between them, pure and eternal. The witch knew it the moment it happened. For that kind of love is a force of nature. It creates ripples. Their love blew through her like an icy wind, hardening her heart. She tried to stop the young lovers. She threw magical obstacles in their way. She glamoured herself to look even younger, to have the same crimson hair color, to have eyes the color of the sea.”
He paused, looking at me with a wry smile.
“In fact, her coloring was much like yours, dear.” Mungo pointed to a cookie. “Try that one next.”
I took the cookie wordlessly, taking a tin
y bite. The tart tastes of limon, butter, and sugar filled my mouth. But I was too intent on Mungo’s story to comment on it.
“Tracinda grew more and more bitter. Her magic changed. It became darker and more destructive. She started hurting people instead of helping. She gave Leandra a fever that made her pale and wan, but it backfired. Instead of making Allisander fall out of love by stealing her beauty, albeit temporarily, he spent every moment by her side. When the fever broke, Allisander asked for permission to marry Leandra. And, of course, Tracinda had spies everywhere so she saw it all. You see, she was the first to have familiars. She could see through their eyes. That is a gift we all inherited from her.”
My mouth popped open. We had familiars because of an evil witch from thousands of years ago?
“Can we do that?” I asked softly.
“Me? No. You two . . . I’m not sure, dear,” Mungo said with a twinkle in his eye. “Have you tried?”
I shook my head slowly. Mungo pointed to another cookie, and I took it, my eyes glued to the Royal Librarian. He refilled our tea with his never-ending teapot and continued.
“Of course, seeing their joy made everything worse. Tracinda flew into a rage. She didn’t understand that their love stole nothing from her. He had never been hers to keep or to lose. She tore her house apart, sending her familiars scattering. She spent days without sleeping, whipping up spells without unleashing them. But instead of weakening her, her power grew. And grew. And grew. So that when she came up with the perfect, most diabolical plan to punish the lovers for their happiness, even though it was beyond any magic performed before or since, it worked.”
I realized I had crumbled the cookie in my hand. I was leaning forward, rapt and somehow nervous. I felt bad for Leandra and Allisander. I even pitied the witch, though not nearly as much.
“She came up with a way to keep them apart forever. And to make sure they suffered their separation, she also made them immortal. Of course, that backfired for her as well. Because just as they were apart, so was she. And just as they were immortal, so too was the witch. But without her magic or youth or beauty. The spell had stolen all of that from her. But it was nothing compared to what it did to Allisander’s village, or to Leandra’s.”
“She cursed the entire village?”
“Not deliberately, but the magic had grown too large. Of course, only the three of them were given immortality, or near immortality, guaranteeing that they would be forever alone. Although we all reaped the benefits of magic and long life. Well, not all of us.”
“You’ve magic enough,” Dane said gruffly.
“That is why we live so much longer than two-leggers. We are descendants of one of the lovers . . .” I breathed in wonder. “Wait, you don’t have magic, Mungo?”
“Not a spit of it. Just a very good memory.”
“I didn’t think I had magic until I had help discovering it. Maybe you are the same?”
“I had plenty of help, child,” he said, patting my hand. “But you are kind to think so.”
“Please, continue the story,” I said primly, selecting another limon cookie and having a dainty sip of tea.
Mungo smiled and gave me a warm wink.
“As you may have guessed, the witch sent one of the lovers to the sea.”
“Leandra?” I asked.
“Yes. Her eyes were the color of the sea. Her village was full of fishermen. And so, the magic that the witch had unleashed turned them all to, well, us.”
“The magic chose?”
“Yes, child. Magic that strong has a mind of its own. She set the intention in motion and the magic did what it would. She wished to keep them apart. As far apart as two people could be. So one village was sent to the sea, and the other . . .”
He looked up.
“To the sky . . .” I whispered.
“Exactly right. Allisander, for all his goodness and his sky blue eyes, was given wings. His village as well.”
“But they could fly! That seems like the better part of the bargain,” I said, wondering what that might be like.
“Maybe so. But think on it. They could not hide what they could do from prying eyes as we can. The sea protects us. Nor could they fit inside their homes with those wings! And how could they farm or work with metals or fire? Their wings were always in the way! They were forced to flee higher and higher until they settled on the highest mountain tops in the remotest part of the world.”
“So they still live? Among the two-leggers?”
“I do not know that, child. But I do know that they did for thousands of years.”
“How do you know?”
“My books are full of them!’ Mungo said, gesturing back toward the library. “Humans call them ‘Angels’ just as they call us ‘Sirens’. Neither could be further from the truth.”
“And what became of the witch?”
“Ah, you are tenderhearted to think of her.”
“What she did was very bad. I do not know what I think of her.”
He nodded.
“Nothing is simple. It is wise that you can see that there was more to her than evil. After all, she made us,” he said with a chortle.
“If she was brokenhearted, that means she had a heart to begin with,” I reasoned.
“Just so! But it became twisted with disappointment.”
“And what of the lovers? Did they never meet? Do they live still?”
“It is my belief that all three of them still walk, fly, or swim. But I cannot tell for certain. Perhaps young Marcum could tell you.”
Dane and I exchanged a look. Of course. Why had we not pestered him to begin with?
Well, I would be pestering him. Marcum couldn’t exactly turn down a request from the Prince.
“I can see you two are already off to the next thing.”
“Not at all, Mungo,” Dane said politely. “We are happy to stay.”
“Thank you for telling us the story. I can’t believe no one knows it anymore,” I said.
“It is sad. It is written in several old scrolls, but the pages are crumbling. I’ll show you where I keep the rarest texts on the way out,” he promised me. “His Highness already knows.”
I nodded slowly, in awe of the honor.
“Please come visit me again, child,” Mungo said as he pressed a kiss to my cheek. I promised that I would and waited while the Prince and the Librarian exchanged a few quiet words.
We swam out and turned the watch as the arched doors magically shut and locked behind us. The delicate swirls that covered the wood rearranged themselves as they sealed.
“Does he get lonely in there?”
“I visit often. But not as much as I should,” Dane said. He shook his head. “Mungo once told me that the books were his friends. I think he has a few others he calls friends. Annaruth, for one. And . . .”
I nodded.
“Let’s go find Marcum.”
Chapter 21
“Finally! I’ve been waiting for you to come and talk to me.”
I cocked an eyebrow at the young Mer grinning at me from his couch. Marcum had been placed in the Royal wing, too. I felt slightly better about not being the only non-Royal to avoid the barracks.
Still, having the wraiths covering for us opened up all kinds of possibilities . . .
I had plans to sneak out again. Soon. Tonight, if things went well. But I didn’t want anyone else to know.
Not even Dane.
I gave him an uneasy look and got back to the matter at hand.
“So, do you know . . . everything?”
He gave a quick shout of laughter.
“Definitely not,” he said, smoothing down his uniform. Marcum might be attending the Academy, but he already had the job. He didn’t have to take combat.
As the first Seer in centuries, he had his own personal guard.
And . . . he was taught other methods of self-preservation. Privately, from what I understood. What I would give to be a starfish on the wall in those private lessons
!
“I see meaningful events, destinies, things like that. I do get snippets of the mundane as well. But not everything that is happening to everyone at all times.” He grinned at me. “That would be exhausting. And a bit creepy.”
I nodded, feeling a bit of relief. I’d had the terrible idea that between Annaruth and Marcum, I might not have any privacy at all.
“A lot of my visions are about you, however.”
“Me?” I asked, my eyes wide. I looked at Dane and back at Marcum. “Do I want to know?”
“You didn’t come here to ask me about yourself, did you, Tri?”
I shook my head and he smiled.
“Go on, then. Ask me.”
“Can you see the truth of what happened . . . in the past?”
“Ah . . . that is a very interesting question,” he said. “I can sometimes attempt to see something specific. An event. Or a particular Mer. Even two-leggers, on occasion.”
“Two-leggers?” I asked in awe.
“Of course. Why would my vision be restricted by water and air if it is not restricted by time or space? Now tell me what you wish you know.”
I looked at Dane. He nodded.
“I wish to know if the tale of how we came to be is true. I want to know if the lovers are still alive. And if the witch yet roams the earth.”
“I am not familiar with this tale,” Marcum said, leaning forward. “Tell me.”
Chapter 22
I swam swiftly through the dark water, looking behind now and then to be sure I was not being followed.
So far, it looked like I was in the clear.
The visit with Marcum had been . . . intriguing. Dane had told much of the tale, with me adding details I thought pertinent. But we didn’t get our answer right away as we had hoped. Marcum had told us he would reach back through time to see what he could learn, but he couldn’t guarantee what, if anything, he might see.
Or when he might see it. But perhaps, if it was as meaningful as we thought, he might have a vision tonight.
He had been as astonished as we that we were possibly descended from two-leggers. That we were originally from dry land. Maybe that explained my longing to see the soil and the hills and the bright green and blue that I’d only glimpsed when traveling too close to the shore or taking a forbidden swim to the surface.
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