Bride of the Sea_A Little Mermaid Retelling

by Emma Hamm

  “There always is, my lady.”

  It was far warmer inside the house. She hadn’t noticed the chill in the air until stepping inside. Without thinking, she toed off her shoes and wandered.

  A small stove sat in the corner next to a table, ivy carved onto its legs. Herbs hung from the ceiling, drying for winter and filling the air with a sweet scent. Saoirse filled her lungs and trailed her fingers over the hanging lavender to release more of its perfume.

  Trinkets sat on the fireplace. Small glass animals, tiny bottles filled with flowers, and sand dollars from the beach. She touched the mantelpiece with a soft smile.

  The men hesitated behind her, the artisan finally breaking the silence. “Does she always make herself at home like this?”

  “Not always,” Manus replied. She could hear the smile in his voice. “Only the places she likes most.”

  She glanced over her shoulder to find them both staring at her shoes.

  “I remember this,” the artisan mused. “She wasn’t wearing shoes the day I met her either.”

  “She tends not to.”

  “That’s strange for a lady of her stature.”

  “I wouldn’t say anything about the lady is normal.”

  She made a face at Manus. “I’m perfectly normal, perhaps it is all of you who are strange to me.”

  The artisan cleared his throat. “Considering you were raised a princess in another land, I am quite certain we must all be strange to you my lady.”

  That silly rumor once again. Saoirse curled her hands into fists, frustrated that she would be trapped in the lie again. Instead of confirming or denying, she gestured to the room. “Why are we here? I appreciate seeing you, artisan, but I am curious about the intent of the visit.”

  Manus walked to her side and plucked a glass horse from the mantle. “I thought you’d like to see his workroom before we request a commission.”

  “Is that where you work?” she asked the artisan.

  He nodded.

  “I would very much like to see that. I haven’t seen glasswork like yours before, not even among the richest of houses.” Saoirse paused, thoughts whirling in her mind. “Why is that?”

  The artisan rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I’m like your husband, my lady.”

  “Like my husband?” she repeated the answer. “What do you mean?”

  “When I was a boy, my mother set me out in a field because I was ill. A little too old to tempt the faeries in most cases, but even when I was young I had a talent for art. They took me in, healed me, taught me everything I know about glassworks.” He sat down at the table and pulled his shirt to the side. Next to his throat was a symbol she knew very well.

  Her heart caught in her throat. It was a small flower, barely noticeable and some might think it a scar. The Seelie Fae marked their human slaves. She didn’t know whose symbol this was, but she knew what it meant all the same.

  “I’m sorry,” she breathed. “They should never have taken you.”

  “It wasn’t as bad as you might think. They were kind enough, fed me well, taught me to use my hands in ways I could never have dreamt.” He held his hands palm up for her to look at. “Although, they aren’t really mine anymore.”

  Her stomach fell in a pit of dread. She stepped forward and caught his hands in hers. Faint silver lines circled his wrists. She hadn’t noticed before, but they were even slightly different colors than the rest of his body.

  “I’ve seen nothing like this before,” she murmured. “What did they do to you?”

  “It wasn’t painful, my lady.”

  “They shouldn’t have done this.” The violent tones rocked her body forward.

  The artisan widened his eyes, and she knew he had pieced everything together. Quietly, so Manus wouldn’t overhear them, he said, “It wasn’t you who did this to me.”

  “I am sorry all the same.”

  She folded his fingers flat, lifted his hands, and kissed the center of his palms. Merrow magic flowed from her lips to his skin. She pressed compassion, understanding, and healing energies into his body.

  He breathed out a shocked tone. “My lady, you don’t have to—”

  It was too late to stop. The faerie gift glowed along the edges of his stitched hands, and his fingers twitched.

  The artisan stared down with wide eyes. “They feel… they feel…”

  “Better?”

  “Yes.” The word vibrated with his shock. “Like they know they’re my hands.”

  “Faerie gifts sometimes come with a price. These hands have always known they belonged to another, and they did not want to accept you.” She curled his fingers into his palms and squeezed. “Now they do.”

  “Will it affect my art?”

  “I think your craft will only become even better. They’ll work with you now, not against you.”

  “Thank you, my lady. Thank you so much.”

  She smiled. “It’s the least I could do. You’ve gifted me with so many dreams of wonderful glass figures.”

  The artisan stood abruptly, energy zinging through his body and crackling in the air. “Then let me bring your dreams to life. You’ve seen how I work, now come with me. Let me show you what I am capable of creating but could never sell.”

  She took his offered hand and danced her fingers along the seam. Manus hovered in the shadows, a ball of nervous energy who held himself back. He wouldn’t like another man touching her.

  Thankfully, he did not step in.

  They walked towards the back door. She could see barely glowing runes etched onto the surface. Some she recognized, words of lasting power and hidden secrets. Others she did not. Their fine lines had been painted by a careful hand.

  “Magic?” she asked. “Who placed these in your home?”

  “A faerie friend. When I returned, all my friends and family were dead. Two hundred years had passed in this world.” The artisan gestured at the door. “This was my final parting gift from those who had taught me so much.”

  She squinted at the top rune, knowing there was something familiar about it. Saoirse gasped in shock. “That’s a door to the Otherworld.”

  “Indeed, it is.”

  “They gave you a door to Faerie?” She stared up at the artisan with a new appreciation for his skill. “They loved you.”

  “In a way. The Seelie court was never a friend to me, but they loved what I could do. Come, we will not be bothered.”

  In any other circumstance, Saoirse would have forced Manus to remain behind. The Otherworld was a dangerous place for even the most astute person. However, she could see sunlight leaking beneath the door and knew the runes of protection.

  Whoever had created this door had wanted to keep the artisan safe.

  Saoirse stepped forward and pressed her hand to the worn wood. It pulsed with love, desperation, and a longing so pure it made her palm sting.

  “She loved you,” Saoirse observed. “Quite a bit for a faerie.”

  “She thought I was special.”

  “But you couldn’t be together.”

  The artisan shuffled. “No, faerie nobility cannot be with humans. Not in the way we wanted, and nothing else would have sufficed.”

  “That’s where you get all your inspiration. Not from the Otherworld.” She turned with her hand still pressed to the enchanted door. “Your inspiration comes from her.”

  “In everything I create.”

  Her heart filled with a love so bright it seared her insides. No wonder faeries avoided this emotion like the plague. It hurt even when it was someone else’s.

  Manus met her gaze. His features softened, his eyes tender as he stared into her dark eyes. He felt it too. She was certain of it.

  “Shall we?” she asked.

  “After you.”

  Saoirse pushed open the door and walked into a garden filled with the most spectacular sight she’d ever seen.

  Plants of all shapes and sizes bloomed larger than her head. Giant blue hydrangeas surrounded g
lass sculptures of life-sized people. Women frozen mid dance. Men bowing and offering roses to their beloved. Faeries of all shapes and sizes twirling, singing, playing music. An entire frozen court, each lovingly created out of the finest glass.

  Sunlight played off the figures, reflecting rainbows all around the faerie grotto. A soft wind blew tiny seed pods in dancing lines. Faerie lights joined them and bounced around Saoirse. They settled in her hair and trilled high pitched notes.

  She pressed her hands to her mouth.

  Home. She was home, or as near to it as she could get.

  “It’s—” Her tongue laced in a knot. She couldn’t think, could barely breathe.

  Manus stopped beside her and tugged her into his arms. “It’s beautiful.”

  The artisan walked through his garden with his hands clasped behind his back. “It’s taken me years to create so many, although not as long as you might think. The hands do a lot of the work for me.”

  “How many have you made?” she asked.

  “Hundreds. Now and then a faerie will come and take one, they always leave something as a gift.” He paused beside a small pool. “I know you had intended to request a commission, however, I have a piece I think you will want.”

  Captivated, Saoirse followed him down a winding path made of seashells and bits of sea softened glass. Each step sang a song in her ears and nipped at her feet with sharp jabs.

  The pool was crystal clear. It sank into dark depths so blue they challenged the sky. Salt water stung her nose and filled her with memories. A ring of velvety stones circled the entrance to the sea.

  She ached to slide into the water. Her merrow family couldn’t be here, not in the Otherworld. They lived on the edge and too far away from the faerie kingdoms for them to know where she was.

  Manus’s hand clenched on her arm.

  He always knew when her mind wandered beneath the waves. She shook herself and politely asked, “Where is it, artisan?”

  He pointed towards a shadowed corner where a small stream trickled into the pool.

  A glass merrow woman sat on a stone, brushing her hair with an ornate shell. She stared into the distance with a sorrowful expression. The tail was made out of bright green glass, matching the vibrant color of her hair.

  She was the most stunning creation Saoirse had ever seen in her life. It was even more lifelike than the others, almost as if she would turn her head to stare at them.

  And for some strange reason, it made Saoirse unbearably sad. Tears blurred the edges of her vision and her breath caught in her throat.

  “Manus,” she whispered. “That’s the one I want.”

  “Are you certain? We could request anything at all to be made. He will happily make anything we desire.”

  She couldn’t be more certain if he had put a blade to her throat. This was the glass creation she needed to have in her home. They would need to hide it from any human viewing as it was clearly faerie made. Even if the statue needed to be kept in a secret cave, she must have it.

  Unable to speak, Saoirse nodded vigorously.

  Manus frowned at her. He knew something was wrong, he’d always been able to feel that even when she tried to hide it from him.

  “Artisan,” he said. “We’ll take that one home with us.”

  “I am happy to create any additional commission you would like.”

  “I have a few I’d like to order, if you don’t mind?”

  The artisan gestured towards a table surrounded by frozen servants. “Have a seat. We’ll sketch out a few ideas and I should have them ready in a few months.”

  They left Saoirse to stand staring at the merrow.

  She couldn’t understand the violent emotions flooding through her veins. Happiness, sadness, disappointment, all melding together into one ball that sat in the pit of her stomach. She hated it. She wanted it to disappear altogether and leave her be.

  This was a good life. It was a peaceful life where she lived in a land of plenty with a husband who clearly loved her. No matter that she missed the sea, that part of her life was over.

  A lance of sadness pierced her heart and sent poisonous tendrils throughout her body.

  The glass merrow seemed to turn her head and meet her gaze with sorrow mirrored in her eyes. They were two kindred spirits, this lost creature and the stranded merrow. Without the sea, Saoirse was drowning in her own pitiful sadness.

  This was what she had given up. This was the choice she had made.

  She turned and made her way towards the table where the men sat. With each step, she heard a faint wailing of a forgotten merrow and a melancholy sea.

  Golden Light, Rolling Seas

  Manus lifted his head from his desk, grumbling as he ran a hand over his face to wipe away the lingering effects of sleep. How long had he been down here?

  His eyes caught on the candle spluttering at the base. Apparently a while. The candle had been new when he snuck down here to add the final touches to the document Captain Ramsey had given him. The man was relentless and determined to have a paper trail should Manus turn around and no longer want the ship.

  There weren’t enough devils in hell to convince Manus not to sail. The crew he’d hired were reliable; he interviewed them all himself and was convinced they’d work hard. He was ready to be lulled to sleep by the rocking waves. The stillness of the ground unnerved him.

  He reached forward and pinched the flame. Darkness fell over him like a warm blanket.

  Saoirse needed to know. She was too sweet, too innocent, and she’d never understand why he had to go alone.

  He couldn’t bring her. Merrow men lurked beneath the waves. Their webbed fingers and stretched faces haunted his dreams still. He saw them pulling her out of his arms again and again. That damned hand reaching for him even when they both knew he couldn’t save her.

  Manus’s hands curled into fists. He couldn’t do a lot of things but keeping her safe was more important than breathing. If that meant not seeing her for months on end, then he would damned well do that.

  Tingles raced up his fingers. He wanted to touch her, brand the softness of her skin to his palms so that he would remember her when he was stuck on a ship full of men for god knows how long.

  Would he forget her? Never.

  Would she forget him?

  The thought was unsettling. He liked to think he wasn’t an unforgettable man, but he’d caught her staring at the water too often for comfort. She heard the siren call just as he did.

  “Selfish,” he muttered.

  And he was. He kept her here when she wanted to go home, but home wasn’t safe, and the world was against them. Two sides of a coin which could never face each other.

  He stood from the desk and placed a hand firmly against the small of his back. She’d make a joke that he was getting old, and Manus hoped he was. It was only another marker that they’d made it long enough to grow old. That she hadn’t left him, as all merrow wives were wont to do.

  Making certain all his paperwork was still stacked in a corner, he slipped from the small study and made his way towards the stairs. A few more signatures could wait. For now, he had more important business to attend to.

  The house was eerily silent as he made his way to the grand stairwell. Saoirse stayed in her room, just across the hall, and he stayed in his own. It was a strange custom, but the last thing he wanted was for the servants to start talking.

  His palm glided over the soft wood of the banister, soothing his troubled thoughts. Arturo’s wife haunted his memories.

  “Be there for her when the storms come a’calling.”

  And the storms would come. Because all sailors heard the call of the sea and all of them died. If he couldn’t shake the curse on his soul, then he would make sure she lived in the lap of luxury for the rest of her life.

  He wouldn’t leave her a broken woman with a child and nothing to her name. He’d do everything he could to keep her safe.

  “Master?” a quiet voice whispered from the
shadows. “A word?”

  “Etain?” Manus turned. “Is something wrong?”

  The pretty little maid stepped from the shadows, her fingers twisting in the fabric of her skirt. “No, everything is well. It is a beautiful home.”

  “I trust it’s to your liking.”

  “My sister and I like it very well, thank you. It is… better.”

  It didn’t escape his notice how she hesitated. He glanced up the stairs towards his own little heaven, sighed, and walked back down towards the maid.

  “You seem troubled.”

  “It just doesn’t seem right that we’re here, that’s all.”

  “How so?”

  “These people,” she gestured behind her, “they’re not like my sister and I. They were born into positions like this. They’ve spent their entire lives working in houses like this and I’m just afraid to touch anything. What if I break a vase?”

  He tucked his hands into his pockets. “Then I’ll buy a new vase.”

  “Money runs out, Manus, you know that as well as I.”

  His name slipped from her lips too easily. But then again, they’d grown up together on the streets. He’d stolen bits of bread for her and her sister, even when they both found employment in the whorehouses. They’d kept him safe when his mother died until he could get his feet under them.

  She sniffed. “It just don’t seem right. We’d like to leave, if it’s all right with you. It’s just that… Well maybe people like us aren’t meant to rise above our station. Right? Maybe there’s just people who shouldn’t live like this. Maybe we deserved what life handed to us.”

  “Etain, shut up.” He pulled his hands from his pockets and opened his arms. “Come here.”

  She rushed towards him and let him wrap her in a warm embrace. Her shoulders shook under his hands, her hair tangling in the scruff of his chin.

  “Look at what I’ve done, right? You think I’m staring at all these people thinking I don’t belong among them?”

  “Of course you are.”

  He chuckled. “Well, maybe a little. But I’ve got myself a pretty little piece who worships the ground I walk on. I’ve got a house that makes even lords envy me, and a ship ready to sail at my command. We aren’t stuck in the lives that were handed to us. And no one is ever going to make me believe that.”