Kingdom of Salt and Sirens

by J. A. Armitage

  To her astonishment and great relief, Lord Caleb had been the last one in line.

  Before someone else could try to start the queue anew, she scrambled back onto her throne, clapped twice, and shouted.

  "Let the festivities begin!”

  17

  Mara

  After leaving Amista, Mara trailed the edges of the ballroom, fingers brushing the papered walls as the humans' music began to play. The texture was decadent beneath her fingers and she pulled her hand away, rubbing in wonder. It reminded her of touching a reef of coral, or finding a spot on the sea floor where shells had gathered.

  Regret stabbed at her. There were parts of her life before she missed. She wished that she could show Amista that part of her world. It wasn't all bloodbaths and soul-sucking.

  But for now, she was part of Amista's world. That was enough. For the moment, anyway.

  "Hello again." The old one, Amista's grandmother, greeted her.

  She passed an empty flute of champagne off on a passing servant's tray and tilted her head at Mara.

  "Hello," Mara said carefully. She thought that their meeting had gone well.

  But the woman had a very predatory way about her, a manner that spoke to something ancient and deep within Mara. She didn't know how to take that the woman had sought her out again. If it was mere curiosity, good. Fine and dandy. But if it was more than that...

  "My granddaughter seems very fond of you," Amista's grandmother said abruptly.

  Not the start Mara had hoped for. "I... am very fond of her too. I owe her a lot."

  A lot was an understatement. She owed her her very soul.

  Because for better or worse, Mara did have a soul now, she was certain of it. She was no longer the solitary creature she'd been as a Mordgris, concerned only with rage and pride and bloodlust.

  She was weighed down with concerns over how her actions might affect someone other than herself. She felt guilt over leaving her sister Mordgris, but certain they spared her little thought. More souls for them, that way. But the negative feelings had a positive side of the coin as well: Mara finally knew what happy felt like.

  Her eyes rested on Amista as Amista at last rose from her throne and started toward them. She grinned when Mara met her eyes.

  Amista’s grandmother followed Mara’s gaze. "She will be a good queen," she said. "And she could use a friend... so long as we can trust you."

  Amista drew even with them in time to hear the tail-end of the sentence. "Grandmother," she whispered. She threw Mara a look, eyes filled with apology as she quietly demanded answers from her grandmother. "What are you doing? I trust Mara with my life."

  Warmth filled Mara’s chest upon hearing that confession. In the past, it would have been a mistake for any human to trust her with a life. But now... she vowed that Amista would not regret trusting her. She would keep her life around Mara.

  Her grandmother narrowed her eyes at Mara and drew Amista away by the elbow. Maybe human ears wouldn’t have been capable of hearing the rest of their conversation, but Mordgris were.

  Lady Prellae must have thought she was far enough away that Mara wouldn't be able to hear her when she hissed. “You trust her so easily—and you don't think that was just a little bit foolish, given there was just an attempt on your life? This girl just washes up on shore at the precise moment you've decided to take a walk on the beach. By the all the gods, Amista, she could be an Allarian spy!”

  "She's not," Amista said confidently.

  "How do you know?" her grandmother pressed her.

  "I just..." Amista's bravado faded. Mara tried to hide a grin. Her grandmother wouldn’t believe the truth, even if they told her. Helpless to explain further, Amista shrugged. "I know her."

  Her grandmother was already shaking her head. “Oh, my dear girl. I was young and in love once too.”

  Amista reared back like a bolt of lightning had struck her.

  Love? Mara wondered. Another word she’d need Amista to explain to her.

  “But it can blind a person,” her grandmother continued. “Take care with yourself. Remember your promise to me.”

  "What are we watching?" The loud whisper of a human male's voice interrupted as it wafted into Mara's ears.

  She jumped and glared at the sandy-haired man who now clutched his sides in laughter. Mara only frowned, watching him.

  She'd missed the end of the conversation Amista was having with her grandmother. The young queen pecked her grandmother on the cheek and they strode back toward Mara and the man. Mara waited for him to make himself scarce and when he didn’t, her frown deepened. This male was lucky she didn't tear the spleen from his body where he stood.

  "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He waved a hand in apology. "That was rude, to startle you like that when I haven't even made your acquaintance." He swept her a bow as Amista drew even with them. "Lord Caleb Montipin, but call me Monty. Everyone does. Except this one." He tilted his head toward Amista with a teasing grin. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and waited for something.

  Mara stared at him, and raised a brow.

  Amista coughed. "He's waiting for you to tell him your name."

  Oh... She looked him up and down, to decide if he was worthy of it, she alone named of all the Mordgris, for the sea goddess. She found him a bit... wanting.

  When she didn't speak, Amista whispered again. "It's one of those expected things we talked about."

  Damn it all. Fine. "Mara," she said flatly.

  "A pleasure, Mara!" he seized her hand between his and began pumping it vigorously.

  She hissed and snatched her hand away, darting back against the wall.

  “Sorry!” Amista exclaimed, coming to stand between them. She chuckled, nervously tucking an errant blonde lock of hair behind her ear. “They don't do that where Mara's from. They're not as effusive.”

  "And where exactly is Mara from?" Amista's grandmother jumped on the chance to ask. Amista glared at her.

  She and Mara were saved from having to answer when a flaming arrow struck the ground at Amista's feet.

  Screams overtook the ballroom. The fire had missed Amista's skirt by mere inches.

  “Protect you queen!" Amista's grandmother shouted as guards barreled towards them.

  Mara pushed Amista behind her and scanned the upper levels of the ballroom. Amista peered over her shoulder. Any of the people up there could have been behind the attempt, but if the assailant was wise, he or she was gone already.

  "Your Majesty," the captain of the guard panted, pushing through the people scrambling for an exit. The captain had reached them with three other guardsmen bringing up the rear behind him. "Are you hurt?"

  Amista shook her head, her hair falling from the elegant updo the hairstylist had arranged. "I'm fine. Do we have the person who did this in custody yet, Captain?"

  "Not yet, ma'am." His eyes surveyed the crowd with dismay. "We need to get you out of here. I don't relish the idea of taking you through a panicked crowd though."

  Amista snorted. "The alternatives are a cloakroom or a balcony where another shooter may be lying in wait, captain. Through the crowd we must go." She clasped Mara's hand and raised it to show their twined fingers and jerked her head back to where her grandmother and Lord Caleb stood as well. "They come with me. You'll post a guard at my chamber's exit and no one will enter or exit until you've cleared the palace grounds."

  He nodded. "Yes ma'am. Best we leave at once."

  They ushered them through the palace at a hurried speed, Amista's grandmother having the hardest time of the lot of them to keep up, but at last they reached the royal chambers, closing and locking the door behind them.

  Amista turned to her guests and smiled shakily. "Well. Shall we have some tea?”

  18

  Amista

  Amista did her best to shake the nerves that were assaulting her. She’d nearly been killed—again.

  Being queen, she was finding, was a perilous job. It didn’t matter who held the positi
on. Whether they were a good person, or a bad one... there were always going to be people who wanted to kill them.

  But, she calmed herself. You have found the people who care for you just for being you. And isn’t that worth all of the risk?

  She nodded to herself, reminding herself

  She led them into the furthest room in her suite. It was a favorite, one that even her father hadn't been able to ruin for her as a child. Books lined the walls and the smell of leather and parchment filled the air. She strode over to a tea cart and poured her guests some tea.

  Her back straightened as she heard something hit the ground and the creak of a door closing.

  Lord Caleb stood in front of the closed door, clutching a fireplace poker, Amista's grandmother at his feet.

  Horror curdled inside of her. Her grandmother's eyes were closed and she was so very still. Amista couldn't tell if she was even breathing.

  "Relax," Lord Caleb snapped. "She's no threat to my cause. I hit her with the blunt end. He pointed the fireplace poker at her and smiled cruelly. "I'm saving this part for you."

  Mara growled moving forward. From the corner of her eye, Amista saw her claws sharpening. She shook her head a fraction of an inch and Mara paused.

  Lord Caleb was across the room and with Mara's abilities, they were in no immediate danger. She wanted answers first.

  "You're the one behind the attacks," she breathed, looking up at Lord Caleb.

  "Not as stupid as you look, are you?" he asked, twirling the poker. "Yes, that was me. I seem to have a bad luck streak of hiring incompetent assassins. Should have gone for an expert instead of trying to get a bargain. Well, how's this for a bargain: I'll kill you myself, make it look like a master assassin climbed in through the window.”

  He put a hand to his chest and then pretended to wipe away tears. “I, of course, bravely tried to fight him off, but alas, our poor queen. The trained savage was too much for me and I was overpowered. She was brave, oh she fought as long as she could. Rushed him to try and save me, but it did her no good.

  "But... why?" she asked, truly baffled. This was the part that confused her the most. What did the Montipin family have to gain by killing her?

  "Do you have any idea how much Allarians would pay for our wine?" he asked, deadly serious. "They're too far north to cultivate a good vine properly; it's too cold over the mountains. But if our fair and just ruler would only call off this blessed conflict, and succumb to Allarian rule as is meant to be, I could sell to them properly, instead of trading on the black market and paying the inordinate amount of taxes and tariffs that this Tigrid government has imposed upon our fair trade."

  Weakly, Amista asked, "I don't suppose it occurred to you to lobby for a council vote?"

  He glared at her. "I put my plans on hold after the first assassin failed, and I heard you were looking for a husband. I mean—if I could undo this mess as your King—"

  "You would never have been King," Amista swore.

  “If I could undo it as your King,” Montipin spoke louder over her words, thrusting the poker toward them threateningly. “From a position of power, then I would not only be able to trade with the Allarians, but they'd probably honor me and give me an Allarian title! But then you prolonged our visits, and I knew I wouldn’t be King... but I could still destabilize the government enough to give the Allarian forces a chance. That chance was slipping away.”

  He leveled the poker’s tip at Amista’s chest. “Enough talking. I won't let it slip away again."

  With a mad yell, he rushed toward Amista. Amista held her ground, prepared to fight for her life. She’d wrestle that weapon from his hands if need be.

  But it never came to that.

  Montipin stopped short as Mara stepped forward, utterly calm and her head tilted.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, thrown off. He panted. “Don’t be stupid, girl. You need not die with her today.”

  Mara smiled. “I am not a girl, human. I am a monster.”

  Her face shifted, her teeth elongated and multiplied until there were needles upon needles lining her mouth. Her skin turned from burnished brown to silver-gray and her eyes were a darker black than the night sky outside—that, at least, had the stars to bring some light to it.

  “What are you?” Lord Caleb asked, horrified and awed.

  "Don't trouble yourself with that worry, my lord," Mara's chorus of a voice spoke. "You'll have no concerns at all in a moment."

  With that, she ripped into him. Blood speckled the walls and only the distance between the entrance to her suite and them could have prevented the guards outside from hearing the screams.

  Amista averted her eyes, feeling queasy at the amount of blood being shed, but she was of no mind to stop Mara. Montipin deserved everything that was coming to him.

  "My gods," came a new, horrified voice. Her grandmother had awoken and was staring with fascination at the blood dripping down Mara's chin to the dress she'd worn earlier, her mind connecting the dots from the mysterious girl she'd met earlier to the Mordgris who stood before her now.

  Mara froze, shrinking her talons and teeth until she looked like just another human.

  Her grandmother padded forward at a snail’s pace. Her eyes were squinted, looking from Mara to Lord Caleb’s decimated corpse and back again. She scrutinized Amista’s wide-eyed, but unafraid expression.

  “So. It was Lord Montipin who was behind the attacks?”

  Amista swallowed the frog in her throat and spoke. “Yes. He wanted to trade with Allaria.”

  “I see." Her grandmother surveyed the scene, tutting as she examined the body. “Messy. Your work?” she asked Mara.

  Wordlessly, Mara nodded.

  "Don't look so afeared, my dear," Amista's grandmother said. She turned to them, wavering a bit and catching herself on a chair. She clutched at her head. "That man was going to kill our girl. But we do need to figure out what to do with you, now don't we?”

  She took another step forward and her knees buckled. Amista caught her breath, lunging forward to catch her, but Mara was already there, gently catching Lady Prellae’s shoulders and helping her lean against the bookshelf for support. They’d need to get a medic to look at her later.

  Both her grandmother and Amista shot Mara grateful looks and Lady Prellae continued her thought. “One option for our Mara here: we can hide Lord Caleb’s death. You can take his place and assume his place at court and by Amista’s side. I assume you can shapeshift into men as well as women?”

  Mara nodded, stunned.

  “Good. Then, in his place, the two of you will be able to marry expediently.” She looked at them with expectation written across her features. “What do you think?”

  “I... can,” Mara said, darting glances toward Amista. “But I don’t…”

  “No, Mara.” Amista came forward and pulled her toward her, carefully stepping around the body on the floor. “You don’t have to do this.”

  Mara searched her eyes. “Don’t I? Amista, if this is what it takes to be with you, it‘s not so costly a price to pay.”

  “It‘s too high a price for me. I want you to look like you—whatever appearance it is that you choose. I don’t want you to pretend to be someone as terrible as him. And—” Her expression darkened when she looked at the dead body of the man who would have smiled into her eyes while he had her killed. “I want them to know what happens to those who cross me. I want them to know what kind of man he really was.”

  “It will take longer for them to accept the two of you together,” Lady Prellae cautioned.

  Amista shrugged. “So we wait. I’ve got the time. Mara? Do you have the time?”

  “I have time to spare,” Mara said with a grin.

  “I’m glad that’s settled then. After all, we can't have my granddaughter's lady-love diving back into the sea from whence she came.”

  “Love,” Mara repeated thoughtfully. “There’s that word again.” Mara looked at Amista. "Amista," she whispered. "What
is love?"

  The word swelled inside of Amista as she took Mara's hand and placed it upon her heart. She placed her own hand upon Mara's heart and smiled into her eyes. “It's this,” she said. “Two halves of the same soul in two bodies. Uniting as one. This is love, Mara. We are love.”

  “Oh,” said Mara.

  It was good she had Mara here. Because one body would never be enough to contain all the feelings between them when they were together.

  “Love is good,” she said, leaning her forehead against Mara’s.

  Mara grinned. “I believe that, Amista, is what you humans call an understatement.”

  Amista’s laugh was cut off by a kiss as Mara sealed her mouth to hers.

  Epilogue

  They’d thrown open the doors to the Amista’s suite and the royal bedchamber and called in the guards to remove Lord Montipin’s body. The explanations were quick. He was the mastermind behind the attack on their queen. When she’d been locked in a room with him, the only witnesses people he deemed easily expendable, he’d made the decision to do the deed himself. He was posthumously stripped of his title and lands and buried in an unmarked graveyard. There isn’t a gravestone on a single plot in there; it’s where the Tigrids bury their traitors.

  Amista didn’t allow the attack to delay her coronation. Instead, she was crowned right on schedule. The High Priests suggested that she wait a moment to “take a breath,” but she stood firm. Tigrid had been without a confirmed ruler for long enough. It left them vulnerable. She wouldn’t stand for it any longer.

  Her first true act was an official declaration of war against Allaria. If they were going to fight her, it would be out in the open.

  The people praised her for her decisive action.

  She didn’t marry… not immediately anyway.

  With her grandmother’s blessing, Amista bestowed the title of Queen’s Hand upon Mara. Together, she and Lady Prellae became Amista’s most trusted advisors. After two years, Amista defied the rest of the council and married someone without any political ties or dowry.