by Tobie Easton
I jump in. “I have an idea,” I tell my parents. “I need you to call a meeting of the full council.”
“And so, in closing, I would like to ask the esteemed members of the orstitii,” I gesture to include everyone on the council, “to abide by the very constitution you yourselves have so recently ratified and put your names to.”
Several sets of eyes narrow at me from where the members of the council sit in a semicircle on white marble stools that have been placed in the throne room across from where my parents sit on a raised platform in their aquamarine thrones. Em floats next to my mother in her official place as heir, and I swim below the platform, between them and the council, as I speak. Lapis and Lazuli sit off to my right with Clay and Leo, and Amy sits with her parents to my left. Their presence fortifies me as I say, “In the constitution’s own words.” Then I drag a whalebone stylus along the wide mouth of the trumpet shell nearby, already screwed on to a massive conch konklili that I cued to the appropriate section.
A dry, bureaucratic voice intones, “All Merpeople, herein defined as anyone who can take the form of scales and skin together, are hereby bound to and protected by this document, and under the jurisdiction hereof.”
I stop the recording and watch as realization dawns on the faces of the council. “So, you see,” I say, “it’s very simple. The constitution puts no requirement on being born Mer in order to qualify as a member of this kingdom—only on the ability to achieve both skin and the scales of a tail at once.” I gesture to Clay, who now undeniably meets that qualification. “In its wisdom, this council chose to leave the definition from the old constitution unchanged when it adopted this new version. Now all I ask in my petition is that the orstitii abides by its own wisdom.”
The definition of what it means to be Mer was the most important information I found when I went digging in the legal section of the library. This part of the old constitution is the very one I talked to Em about in the lab that day. I asked her just to ensure that one ancient sentence was left unchanged. And she did.
“Constitutions can be rewritten,” says one member of the council. He shoots a suspicious glance at Clay.
Before I can answer, Em’s voice rings out, her authoritative tone cutting through the murmuring of the council as they whisper amongst themselves. “We all know how difficult it was to get this constitution ratified in the first place.” She eyes them, and a few send scathing looks in the direction of the man who mentioned another rewrite. I get the impression he was a cause for some of the delays during that ratification process. It doesn’t look like it’s won him many friends. “We also know how crucial it is that we succeeded in passing this constitution into law during a time when our people need stability more than ever.” She hits the word “stability,” so the council understands that trying to change the constitution again or making any decision that deviates from it could turn public opinion against them and create a real threat to the positions of everyone in this room.
“And let me remind you all,” my mother says from her throne, “that many of our people have spent the last two decades living and working among human friends and colleagues. Their children grew up in human communities and went to school alongside humans. They won’t take kindly to the unfair, unlawful treatment of a former human from their own neighborhood.”
“Especially not the one responsible for giving all of us our immortality and putting an end to the wars that took members of every single family,” my dad says, reminding everyone that, like me, Clay is considered a savior of the Mer world. There’s a reason my dad was in charge of P.R. for the Foundation when we lived Above. He understands that people love a good story. This council of career politicians knows that, too.
My dad puts on a friendly, expectant smile as he says to them, “Surely, we all agree that welcoming Clay into our kingdom—that upholding the law and granting him full legal rights—is a reason to celebrate. Let’s get on with the vote so I can call for some refreshments, and then we can get down to the real business of planning a parade. We’ll honor Clay and announce the date of Princess Emeraldine’s wedding.” He shoots another smile at Em, then at Leo, this one as warm and genuine as can be. Then he looks at my mother. “Dear?”
“I call this vote to a count,” my mother decrees.
For a moment, the entire room is still as pond water. But I can hear the thoughts swimming under the surface. Some of the council members may have considered facing off with Clay and me, despite what we symbolize to the people. But with the support of not only the queen and king behind us, but also Em, who will be queen herself one day, no one wants to stake their reputation and position at court on the objection of a single citizenship case, as unprecedented as it may be.
“All in favor of recognizing Clay Ericson as a Merman under the law with all the rights, obligations, and privileges the title entails?” my mother asks.
Every member of the orstitii raises their fins.
“You did it!” Caspian scoops me up in a hug as soon as he sees me in the hallway. For the first time in a long time, his nearness doesn’t feel awkward or like something I need to be extra careful to avoid. His hug is just a hug, joyful and full of the purest friendship. “Amy told me everything,” he says as we separate. “She said you were amazing.” Since Caspian isn’t a member of the royal family, the orstitii didn’t invite him to attend the morning’s proceedings, so he’s been helping his grandmother in the Magic Department. She told him he’ll be working off the cost of every one of the potions he took from her copper case. Plus overtime. I’m going to help, too, starting tomorrow.
I duck my head. “I’m just relieved it worked.”
“It worked because you made it work.”
“It felt good. Standing up to the council, having the law on my side.”
Caspian nods. “I’m happy for both of you.” His blue eyes shine with sincerity.
“Thanks, Casp.”
“Oh, listen. Whenever you have time, my grandma wants to talk to you. She’s going to offer you an apprenticeship in the Magic Department.”
“Yeah, she, um, hinted at that last night, after I turned over the dagger and detailed the spell for her again.” She said she sees potential in me, that I might even be able to take over for her as head of the department someday. “To be honest, though, I kind of feel like this was my last big spell. I did it for Clay, but,” I shrug, “I don’t want magic to be my future.”
I don’t want to end up like Ondine, thinking I can change the world with one big, dangerous ritual or another. I’ll probably still stay in touch with my own magic, hone it so I can control it and continue using the bond with Clay, but I don’t want strengthening it to become my life’s work. I don’t think it would be good for me.
Is that relief on Caspian’s face? Maybe he’d come to the same conclusion about me.
I tilt my head toward a more isolated alcove and guide him over so we have more privacy. “Actually, I’ve been thinking.”
I fall silent. Caspian waits, knowing me well enough to know I’m trying to figure out how to phrase what I’m about to say. “Amy’s so much younger than I am and she’s using her new position as a member of the royal family to really … do something that will be meaningful to people and could even shape policy to make their lives better.” The press got ahold of some of those shell responses Amy sent to glei elskee and voklell Mer expressing her support, and now Amy’s voice has been playing across the low-frequency waves for the entire populace to hear. She’s taken it in stride and even agreed to do a few interviews because she thinks hearing what she has to say might help people. “And what am I doing? Accurate or not, I’m the one Merkind perceives as a savior of our species, so I could probably have, like, a voice if I chose to. And I should choose to, shouldn’t I? I’ve been so focused on Clay and on wading my way through my own guilt over everything I’ve done, but …” I straighten my shoulders, lift my chin. “Now maybe it’s time I focused on something
… bigger than Clay and me.”
Caspian smiles at me the way he smiles at his sister Coraline when she does something to make him especially proud. “You could do that.”
“So, I’ve been thinking that when college acceptances come in, if I get in anywhere—”
“Which you will,” he says.
“Well, before the academic year starts, I might change my major from Undeclared to pre-law. You know, the social sciences, something like that.” I look up at him, and when he doesn’t immediately shut down the idea by pointing out that someone who’s committed the high crime of sireny and barely avoided a few others has no place in law school, I continue, the words rushing together. “Then maybe I could take what I learn about human legal systems and bring it back here. Educate people or work for reforms or, I don’t know, maybe sit on a Tribunal one day, and make better decisions. When I’m, y’know, wiser and have … all the knowledge and better posture and—”
He stops me from rambling. “I think you’d be great at that.”
“You do?”
“I do. I think you’ve proven you have an affinity for understanding the law, and it seems like you’re genuinely interested.”
“Yeah, I think I am.” Which, hey, I’ve never felt like that about anything before, so that’s something, right? Something big. Maybe the something big I want to do. “It’s worth exploring anyway.”
“Definitely.”
If anyone would think I have no right to consider a legal career, it would be Caspian; he’s been harder on me about my sireny than anyone, even Em. Knowing he supports me in this makes a smile push up into my cheeks so hard, they start to hurt.
Just when I think I might burst with the happiness of all the new possibilities today has brought, Caspian’s next question sobers me. “Do your aunt and uncle have any update on Ondine?”
I shake my head. “Nothing yet.” When the team of guards got to the attic of that house last night, they found Mr. Havelock tied up and unconscious, just like we left him. But Ondine was nowhere to be found.
Caspian’s grandmother speculated why. She said it had to do with the potion Melusine added to the one her relatives dosed Clay and me with. It was meant to prolong the effects of their potion, but it activates by bonding to a Mer’s magic. Ondine had almost no magic left for it to bond to, so it didn’t work. She must have woken up and managed to get out of the ropes. I hate the thought of her out there somewhere.
Caspian puts a hand on my arm. “She was weakened. She couldn’t have gotten far. I’m sure they’ll find her soon.”
I go to ask him if maybe Melusine knew that the potion wouldn’t work, if maybe she wanted Ondine to get away, but even I don’t really believe that. Suspecting her is more habit than anything. Instead I take a deep breath, then make myself say, “You should bring Melusine to Em and Leo’s wedding if you want to. As your plus one.”
“I was already going to,” he says, but he keeps the words light.
“That’s good,” I respond, and he raises an eyebrow. “Hey, I’m trying. I’m never really going to like her, y’know. But I know nothing I say is going to change how you feel about her.” Not after what she did to help us. Okay, all the things she did. Caspian is in love with her—I watched them together all last night and I’m sure of it—so my opinion isn’t going to sway him. Just like his could never sway me to leave Clay. “But, I do want you to be happy. Really I do.”
“I know, Goldfish,” he says. Even if he already knew, hearing it from me must matter to him because happiness splashes across his features.
“And I don’t think I can actively hate her anymore. So, progress.” My voice grows more serious as I say, “I can’t promise the same thing for Clay, though. She still sirened him, and I can’t ask him to forgive that, even for your sake.”
“I know,” Caspian says again. “And so does she. She would never expect that from him.”
With that cleared up, the tension dissipates, and both our gazes wander around the room.
“Well,” I say, “as long as we avoid any double dates, I guess we should be all right.” But I can’t keep a straight face. “Tides! Can you picture it?”
Casp and I burst out laughing.
Chapter Fifty-One
Melusine
“Congratulations,” I say to Clay in the middle of the crowded ballroom before taking the last sip from my covered goblet. The king decided to hold a buffet-style brunch for the orstitii and everyone else in the palace following their decision. I don’t think my presence at the brunch was appreciated much, but it was tolerated. I speak loudly so Clay will be able to hear my English even though it’s muffled underwater. But to my surprise, his answer isn’t in English.
“Uh … thanks. It is nice for you to say that.” It’s strange talking to Clay when I haven’t in so long, and it’s even stranger when he’s talking in Mermese. “I am happiness for the future.” Storms, his Mermese is pitiful. My English was never that bad.
“That’s pretty good,” I tell him. He brightens, his smile lighting up his whole face. What? I’ve always been a good liar.
“It is difficult. But Caspian teachings will give me more now.”
I smile and nod. Then decide to switch to English.
I don’t want to risk getting closer and making him uncomfortable, so instead I swim to his other side, where the water between us is stiller and less likely to carry my words away on the current. “Are you heading out already?” He was saying goodbye to Lia’s parents and thanking them before I swam over here.
“Yeah. I gotta get home. My mom thinks I slept over at a friend’s house last night after a party. I texted her before I got to the house yesterday and told her my phone might die and not to worry if she didn’t hear from me, but if I don’t check in soon she’s gonna freak.”
“What do you plan to tell her about all of this?”
“Well, for now I can lock my room at night so she won’t see my tail while I’m sleeping. I usually stay up pretty late, much later than she does. As long as I set my alarm and get up early, I can unlock it again before she wakes up.” He talks fast, no doubt relieved to be able to finally speak English after trying all day to make polite conversation in Mermese with the orstitii and members of the palace staff. “I can do that for a few more months, then Lia and I can say we’re taking a summer trip to celebrate getting back together. After that, I’ll be off at college. But, uh, I would like to tell her the truth eventually. I know I can never tell my dad, ’cause of his job and everything, but I’m much closer with my mom, so I want to tell her.” He glances over at a few of the orstitii standing by the dessert display. “Lia says we’ll need to petition for a waiver to the Secrecy Edict, so that’s a battle for another day.”
I nod. Now what do we talk about?
“How’s your dad?” Clay asks.
While he and Lia spent the morning fighting for Clay’s acceptance, I spent it in the prison’s hospital facilities doing nothing. Nothing but staring at my father all stuck with tubes. “The medics say they don’t know if he’ll ever wake up.”
“I’m sorry,” Clay says.
“Are you? I don’t know if I am or not.” The crack of that drawer rings out in my memory. The crack I caused.
“Look, I’m not going to pretend to know what you’re going through, but dad stuff, it can be complicated. That’s not on you.”
“Let’s talk about something else,” I say. “Please.”
“I, um, I read the letter you sent me.”
Damn. I asked for it, I guess. “I meant every word.”
Our eyes meet. “I believe you,” he says.
It’s not “I forgive you,” but I never expected that. I sigh. I can’t stand this—the weight of all these emotions. So, I say, “Oh, by the way, you don’t have to worry about Caspian anymore.”
“Huh?”
“You know, when he’s around Lia. You don’t have to worry about the two of them.”
“That’s sweet. But you can’t like the idea of some lovesick Merman pining after your girlfriend. What boyfriend would?” Clay doesn’t say anything, but his expression as he runs a hand through his dark hair tells me I can’t be far off. “So, you don’t have to worry about it anymore.” I smirk—an expression Clay knows well. “I plan to keep Caspian way too busy pining after me.”
He chuckles, and the rumble of it warms something in my chest. “Glad to hear it,” he says.
That’s about as much of a common current as I can possibly expect us to find with each other. Better end this before I find a way to screw it up. “Have a safe trip home.”
“Thanks. Be seeing ya around, I guess.”
With that he swims off toward Lia on his tail of autumn leaves. I suppose he will.
Okay, time to drown all these emotions in a piece of cake. I’ve come out to the balcony to escape all the people inside and am just about to enjoy my sugar boost in private when the amber doors creak open behind me, and the one person I most wanted to avoid swims outside.
She’s carrying a piece of cake.
“I guess we had the same idea,” Lia says.
I take a large bite, so I won’t have to talk to her.
“How is it?” she asks as she comes over to wade against the white coral railing.
I shrug and swallow. “Could be better.”
“Good to know. I’ll tell my sister to have a tasting in the kitchens before she picks one for her wedding.”
Cake at a wedding? Must be some weird human thing they picked up Above. “Your sister should wear emeralds at the wedding. To match her tail. She keeps showing up in aquamarine, and I understand the royal significance, but it doesn’t suit her coloring.”