The Frano Tollin’s study was sterile, and reminded me of the science room at my high school, except there were about a dozen or so—fourteen, I eventually counted— narrow beds. The medical type you would find in a hospital. I rubbed my hands together as I wandered around the room and explored. The air was bitterly cold.
One entire wall was lined with bookshelves, each crammed full with medical manuals and journals that stood straight, spine out, and another wall was paved with dozens of square pigeon holes that were filled with neat little stacks of yellowing paper.
I ran a finger across the sheet covering one of the narrow beds and a centimetre of dust came away to reveal a strip of pure-white cotton. I blew the dust away and watched the little particles dance and swirl in the dim light of the lamp before continuing on to the other side of the room, where a stainless-steel bench ran along the length of the wall.
As soon as I touched its surface, a horrible, dark feeling washed over me, making the hairs of the back of my neck prickle.
Scalpels, scissors and tiny metal hooks, among other medical instruments, formed a neat row, as if awaiting their next procedure. Out of a small cardboard box a rubber glove dangled, waiting to be plucked. When I touched it, it disintegrated in my hand. A leather-bound file rested at the end of the bench. I opened it, careful not to leave finger marks or disturb the dust so much that anybody would know I had been here.
It was filled with diagrams. The first was of a female body from head to toe, but as I turned each page the same image was slightly altered until, in the last diagram, the body resembled a mermaid. I gasped and flicked back through the pictures to make sure that my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me, but again I saw the metamorphosis of a human female into a mermaid.
So Poh was telling the truth. Perhaps Damir had been his grandfather’s assistant.
The images were meticulously hand drawn, and at the bottom corner of each page were messily scrawled notes.
I narrowed my eyes and tried to read them, but they were as unintelligible as Dr Knoll’s scripts. The only letters I could make out were ‘F.T.’ Frano Tollin.
After one last glance at the final mermaid picture, I snapped the file shut. Dust rose up to tickle my nostrils, and I sneezed.
Frano was insane-o, I thought to myself.
I raised the crystal so that it cast a pale golden light against the walls, and spied painting after painting of mermaids like the ones in my room, each framed with what appeared to be pure gold. The women all had beautiful, childlike faces and smiled down at me with sickly sweet smiles. They gave me the creeps. I shivered and decided I didn’t want to spend another second in their presence.
Heavy footsteps approached.
I dashed across the room, hoping to get out before they caught me, but froze when a tall, dark silhouette appeared in the doorway.
‘What are you doing in here?’
I tried to speak but no words came.
Marko shook his head and charged into the room, seizing the crystal lamp from my fingers and slamming it onto a nearby bench.
‘How dare you come into my grandfather’s office? No-one has been in here since the day he died.’ His eyes glowed in the most inhuman way.
Hot blood coursed through my veins, throbbing in my ears.
‘I was—I was looking for the library,’ I stammered.
His eyes held mine for a long moment before, surprisingly, the cold mask melted and he laughed, transforming his face into something so strikingly beautiful it was hard to look away.
‘You’re a terrible liar, Miranda.’ His face reverted back to its original seriousness.
‘I was just leaving.’
He sucked in a deep breath and sighed. The silence between us stretched for what felt like a full minute.
‘Will you walk with me later?’ he asked, eyeing the mermaid pictures on the wall as if for the first time. His nose wrinkled in disgust and for a split second a blaze of anger distorted his features, twisting his face and flushing his cheeks. But when his gaze returned to me, his expression softened. ‘I’d like to take you now, but Sylvia is chasing you for dance lessons.’ He cleared his throat. ‘She’s waiting for you in your room as we speak.’
‘I’d better go, then,’ I said, purposely sidestepping his offer as I walked towards the door. But he gripped my hand gently and pulled me back towards him, the touch of his fingers, warm against my cold skin, making me tremble for some reason.
‘Don’t ignore me,’ he said, his eyes vivid beneath a fringe of black lashes as he stared down into my face.
There was something both commanding and alluring about his stare. It frightened me that anybody, especially somebody in a position of power over me, could transfix me like this.
Though the touch of his hand was making my insides tremble with butterflies, I yanked away from his grasp and took a step back. The only other guy who had ever made me feel like this in the past, just by touching me, was Aiden. It shocked me that a person like Marko had the ability to do the same. It wasn’t right. I wasn’t right in the head to be responding this way.
A puzzled frown appeared on his forehead.
‘You don’t like me, do you?’ he asked. ‘And yet, you liked it when I held your hand.’
I stood there, burning with humiliation.
He smiled. A spark of interest illuminated his eyes.
‘I find that so intriguing.’
‘I didn’t like it,’ I said, when I finally found my voice. ‘I hated it.’
Marko smiled.
‘Shall we try it again, then, just to be sure?’
I was glad for the dimness of the room because I probably looked like a human tomato.
‘No!’
‘Here, take my hand. I’ll escort you back to your room.’
I tossed my hair over my shoulders and folded my arms across my chest. ‘I’ll escort myself back, thank you.’
Marko shook his head and stared at me with a sort of wide-eyed wonder.
‘What is that scent you’re wearing?’
‘I’m not wearing anything,’ I said, regretting my choice of words instantly.
He half-smiled. ‘Well, whatever it is, I like it.’
An awkward, statically charged silence followed.
‘Sylvia’s waiting for me.’ I turned to leave but Marko called my name and I paused, mid-step, my breathing laboured.
‘I understand it will take a while getting used to our forced union, Miranda,’ he said in a quiet, thoughtful voice. ‘But the people of Marin won’t wait forever. Somehow, over time, we have to at least become friendly towards one another.’
I ignored him and stormed out the door, slamming right into Robbie’s hard chest. My face was still flushed from my encounter with Marko and I found it difficult to meet Robbie’s eyes.
‘Is everything okay?’ he asked, frowning, flicking his gaze back and forth between Marko and me. Robbie was behaving somewhat protectively towards me; it gave me hope that he was starting to care. And maybe, if I convinced him to care enough, he’d take me home.
‘I’m fine,’ I said, shooting Marko a glare, before heading back to my room.
When I entered, Sylvia was standing by the wardrobe, sifting through various outfits. I watched as she selected something that resembled a leotard. It was pale, flesh-coloured and paper thin.
‘We’ve been waiting,’ she said, glaring at me while I hovered around the open doorway. The offensive leotard dangled from one of her razor-sharp, blood-red nails. ‘Get dressed in this.’
I ignored her, and instead balked at the two dancers lounging about on my bed; one male, one female. The male had beautiful, dark almond-shaped eyes and a delicate face. He was almost feminine, though when my eyes slipped down his torso I couldn’t help but notice his pronounced groin in the skin-coloured tights he was wearing. When my eyes shot back up to his face, I found him smiling, arrogantly. The female was blonde, icy and gorgeous. She wore a pale-blue leotard that left nothing to the imagination.
I didn’t know where to look, so I concentrated on anything above the neck. The thought of wearing a leotard like theirs made me want to die.
The woman eyed me with slight defensiveness, as if she didn’t wish to share her dancing secrets with me.
‘Miranda, may I present to you Philippe and Stephanie,’ said Sylvia cordially, and the two dancers slid off the bed and glided towards me like swans on a lake.
Half way across the floor, Philippe caught Stephanie’s hand and twirled her so that her long golden hair spun like a fan of silk. He finished by tipping and catching her, low to the ground. It was from this pose that they both glared up at me with arrogant, proud smiles.
‘Hello, Miranda,’ they said in unison, like freaky dancing robots.
I merely nodded.
They swept into a standing position, with Philippe entwining his arm around Stephanie’s waist to bring her closer. Stephanie held my gaze, her eyes narrow as she wrapped her arms around her partner protectively, sending me a silent message that this was her man and she didn’t want me to come anywhere near him. As if I would.
‘Philippe is allowed in the castle for the duration of training only,’ Sylvia said pointedly. I glanced at Philippe, but he’d adopted a poker face so I couldn’t quite read what he thought of this.
I sighed with unease and toed the floor abstractly.
‘What if I refuse to learn?’ I said, glancing up at Sylvia.
‘Sharks,’ she said, without blinking once. Her lips curved into a grin. ‘As I mentioned once before, they are always hungry.’
I shook my head and tried to act calm and in control. ‘Marko would not send me to the sharks. Neither would you. I’m too important…to Marin.’
Sylvia threw her head back and laughed. ‘Have you ever heard the saying, there’s plenty of fish in the sea?’
She stepped forward, invading my personal space with her artfully made-up face, her glossy hair and her potent perfume. Her eyes became slits. ‘You are dispensable, Miranda. If Marko or I decide we don’t like you, then,’ she snapped her fingers near my ear, making me jump, ‘you are shark food. Remember that. So you’d better start pleasing us.’
Philippe cleared his throat, which seemed to break Sylvia’s concentration. When she backed off, he flashed me a quick, sympathetic smile.
The breath I’d been holding eased out slowly. I’d made a friend.
‘We’re late for rehearsals. Go to the bathroom and put this on. Now,’ Sylvia ordered, snapping her long, sharp fingernails at me. Her tone was so menacing that I took the offending leotard and left the room just to put some distance between us.
With trembling hands, I pulled the leotard on, trying to block out the terrifying image of sharks shredding my flesh into ribbons. I’d always assumed that if Marko got sick of me I’d be sent home. But I was dead wrong. Sylvia had just proved that.
Surely Robbie, with the semi-friendship we had happening between us, wouldn’t let them hurt me. Aiden had escaped the death sentence thanks to Marko’s overruling of Sylvia’s decision. Robbie had to have had something to do with it.
After taking several deep breaths to calm myself, I stood before the full-length mirror with my eyes screwed shut, unsure if I was ready to see myself in such a hideous scrap of material.
I opened one eye at a time, and exhaled. It wasn’t as bad as I’d thought. I looked okay.
I let my hands drop away from my breasts. The creamy colour of the leotard accentuated my femininity. My breasts were highlighted but contained, thankfully. And my legs, though pale, appeared long and slim, because of the high cut of the material. Though you could still see my muffin top, for the first time in my life, I was reasonably okay with what I saw in the mirror.
Sylvia’s voice echoed along the corridor, complaining about the waiting musicians. I hurriedly scooped up my clothes and shoes and rushed out of the bathroom, crashing into Robbie for the second time that day.
A tall, blonde female guard, whom I’d seen around several times, had her arm looped through his. Tonight she was off-duty, and wore a white mini dress that clung in all the right places. Her eyes roved up and down my body, her tiny nose wrinkling up at what she saw.
Robbie’s eyes were practically dripping with pity as he looked me over. Great, I thought. The two of them together had managed to send what little self-esteem doing this dance. Not ever.I had scraped together while in the bathroom into a nosedive.
I tried to pass them, but my bundle of clothes and shoes fell at their feet. My underwear landed on the hilt of one of Robbie’s daggers, of all places.
More humiliation.
I bent to snatch my undies away, and screwed them up into a ball. Robbie knelt beside me and began gathering the rest of my clothes, but I lunged down and snatched them from his grasp. When our eyes met he whispered an almost inaudible ‘sorry’ before rising to his feet.
‘We’re running late, Rob,’ the girl said, offering me a pointed glare before dragging Robbie away from me and down the hall.
Sylvia, Stephanie and Philippe glided around the bend in the corridor, frowns forming when they spotted me, as though they too were disappointed with how I looked.
‘Hurry up,’ said Sylvia, tapping the heel of her steel-tipped pumps against the floor.
I ran back and tossed my bundled clothes at my bed, hating the indignity I felt at having to take Sylvia’s orders, before following her and the dancers down the main corridor.
Once outside the castle, Robbie and the girl disappeared down the grand steps to the city below. He must have been having one of those rare days off he talked about the night I vomited all over him.
We, however, veered to the left, to the gardens, where on the perfectly manicured lawn a group of musicians stood waiting patiently. I smiled with genuine pleasure, and for a moment blocked out the past hours, the past days and the past weeks.
There was a mini orchestra with violins, flutes, a cello, a beautiful golden harp and two bongo drums. They began to play. Weirdly enough, it wasn’t classical music, like I’d expected, but instead a low, sexy beat that flooded my face with heat and fired up my pulse.
I groaned with disgust at myself when an image of Marko showed up in my brain.
What is wrong with me? I wondered.
I shook him from my head and raced to the balcony, to catch my breath and to take a second look at Marin. Although I could still hear the hum of life down below, there was much less street noise than there had been the first time. Fewer lights, too, although the concentric rings remained fully lit.
Heels clicked and clacked against the pavement, coming to a stop behind me. ‘It’s always a little bit quieter during the working week,’ Sylvia said from over my shoulder, as if she had read my mind.
She was speaking in softer, much friendlier tones than earlier, and it made me wonder if she had some kind of personality disorder or hormonal issues. I turned around and caught her smiling at me, without malice, as though she hadn’t threatened me with mauling sharks.
‘Everyone in Marin has their duties. Just like in the outside world,’ she said, making a point. ‘We are a fully independent civilisation. See there?’ she pointed to a wide, tiled open space. It was a courtyard, beginning at the base of the steps, fringed with brightly lit water fountains. ‘That is where you will be performing, before the entire city, in just under two weeks.’
‘Thanks for reminding me,’ I said with a groan. I tried to appease myself by reasoning that I’d be home eventually, one day, and this would all seem like a wacky dream that my sister and I—if she ever forgave me—could laugh about afterwards.
‘Follow me.’
I accompanied Sylvia back across the pavement to the lawn where the musicians and dancers had gathered.
‘Philippe, Stephanie, please perform the dance so that Miranda may see what she has to learn,’ Sylvia ordered, and turned to face the musicians, who abandoned their current melody and quietened.
There was silence while the dancers assumed t
heir positions.
The drum beat began—low and earthy—like a pulse beneath the ground.
Philippe and Stephanie retreated to opposite sides of the lawn. They bowed to an imaginary audience, slinking along the fringes of the makeshift dance floor and floating across the ground, to dance solo. They were each so stunning to watch that it was hard to choose which one to give my full attention to.
Then, suddenly, Stephanie whipped onto centre stage, and Philippe disappeared into the shadows. Other instruments joined in, adding more lust to the music. I watched on, with heated cheeks and short breath as Stephanie danced provocatively. Her hips swayed and her strong, lean, dancer legs moved so lightly and so swiftly that she appeared to be floating across the grass. But when my eyes crept up to her face, I saw a painful longing etched into her flawless features. It made me want to look away, as though I’d intruded upon her innermost private thoughts. The whole thing was starting to get seriously creepy.
The swaying stopped and Stephanie placed her hands over her stomach and crumpled to the floor, dramatically throwing her body about across the grass.
I am so not going to be doing that, I told myself.
The music turned chaotic and dangerous now. She was angry, I understood, because of her lack of a child. She thrust her arms above her head and reached out to the heavens, making a silent plea, a prayer, before bringing her hands to her belly again and cradling them there.
The music softened and Philippe took to the floor. He moved in the same light steps as his partner, as if dancing on air.
And I watched, fascinated, holding my breath as his dark eyes bore into Stephanie’s kneeling form and he reached down and stroked her golden hair. She raised her head slowly. Upon seeing him, the light returned to her eyes and joy filled her face, but she looked away shyly.
Circling about her with grace, Philippe managed to coax her into a dance and the music deepened again to take on a low, erotic tone. The two danced together closely, as if their bodies were one and the same. They spun about the dance floor, eyes locked, spinning faster and faster, until they reached a crescendo with the music. Then, abruptly, everything came to a sudden halt. The couple shared a lingering kiss before glancing up towards the heavens. Philippe bent down to lay his face against Stephanie’s stomach, and when he raised himself to his feet again, the two dancers crossed the grass, hand in hand, before bowing.
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