The Surface Breaks

by Louise O'Neill

  The other version is what everyone else told us. Stories about the Salkas’ behaviour when we were at war, the damage they had wreaked and how they had smiled for the duration, hungry for more blood to be shed.

  “The Salkas must be controlled,” Cosima says, twirling a blonde curl around her finger, still gazing into her mirror.

  “Lucky we have Zale, then,” I say. “He enjoys nothing more than controlling women.” My other sisters laugh, then stop instantly. We are not allowed laugh at the mer-men, no matter how high our birth.

  “Enough of this,” Talia says. “We’re late. The light is shifting in the water.” She herds Nia and Arianna from their beds, pulling Cosima away from her reflection. “We’re going to get in trouble.” She turns at the door to stare at Sophia and me. “Well? Are you coming?”

  “Just a minute,” I say. I need to gather my strength before this spectacle begins.

  “Muirgen, I forbid you from delaying any longer.”

  “I’m fifteen now, Talia. You can’t ‘forbid’ me from doing anything. You’re not my mother.”

  “I am very much aware of that,” she says quietly, and I wish I hadn’t said that. Not to Talia. “Very well, then. I forbid nothing; but I’m advising you that being late would be a grave mistake.”

  “I won’t be late.”

  “This is your birthday, Muirgen. You can’t be late for your own party.” I almost laugh. Whatever tonight is, it has very little to do with my birthday. “I’m serious,” she continues. “Father will—”

  “Father will be fine,” I say. “I will join you at court in five minutes.”

  With an exaggerated exhale, she leaves, the others close behind, waves of thick hair swishing in their wake.

  “Seven pearls,” I can hear Cosima complaining. “And a ball thrown to celebrate her bir…” Her voice fades away and the room becomes peaceful, for once.

  “I’m so glad I don’t have to sleep in the dormitory any more,” I had told my grandmother when I was moving to the tower. “I need to be alone, sometimes, to think my thoughts.”

  She touched her hand to my cheek. “You are so like your mother,” she said. Why? I wanted to ask her. And in what way? Tell me about her, Grandmother. Tell me about the day she was born and what she was like as a child and what her favourite games were and her favourite foods, what songs she liked to sing. Tell me, tell me, tell me. I have so many questions and I know none of them will ever be answered. Not down here, at least.

  “Cosima needs to stop this, I don’t get any preferential treatment. Not from Grandmother, anyway,” I say, when I am sure they are out of earshot.

  “You know why she behaves in such a way,” Sophia says quietly. “Try and understand.”

  “That doesn’t excuse her from being rude,” I argue. “Or Talia for being so bossy. Hurry up, Muirgen. You’ll be late, Muirgen. She’ll never get a mer-man if she keeps acting like that. And Nia is worse, always agreeing with everything Talia says. She should develop a backbone.”

  “Be kind,” Sophia says. She wraps her hair up into a bun, holding it in place with a piece of broken conch. “Talia is twenty-one and not yet betrothed. She knows she is the talk of the court; it is all she can think about.”

  “Maybe she’s better off,” I say, and we fall silent. There is nothing that can be done to save me now, and we both know it.

  “And as for Nia…” she continues. “Well. Nia has her own problems.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask. “Nia is betrothed to Marlin. Her future is secure.”

  “And do you believe that Nia wants to be bonded with Marlin?”

  “I—” (The palace kitchens. Last year. Nia sobbing, her skin blotchy – Father would not have been happy if he had seen her like that. Please, Grandmother, Nia had begged. Please don’t make me. I can’t. I’m not like that, do you understand me? I’m not— Grandmother silent. Then she saw me. Muirgen, she snapped. What are you doing? Stop eavesdropping.)

  “Sophia,” I say now. “What do you mean?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she says. Her eyes meet mine, blue on blue on blue again. I wish mine were another colour. Up there, the stories go, the women have eyes of brown and green and violet and hazel. Their skin is brown and black and pink and white. Up there, the women are allowed to be different.

  “What do you think Mama would say if she was here today?” I ask and Sophia glances behind her nervously. We all do this, I’ve noticed; as if we are afraid our father will be there, waiting for us to make a mistake.

  “I think she would kiss you and wish you a happy birthday,” she says. “And then she would tell you she loves you.”

  But she didn’t love me enough to stay.

  Sometimes I wonder if I should be angry with my mother for that, like Cosima is. But I’m not. I miss her. And I want to know the truth about what happened to her.

  The court room is shimmering; gem stones embedded in the coral walls. Blood-red streamers hanging from the ceiling, woven from every sea-flower within the vicinity of the palace, swaying in the fluttering water. Enormous cockle-shells have been prised open and dug into a circle on the sand, mer-people nestled in their hearts, wishing me a happy birthday as I pass.

  Midway up the back wall, a balcony has been carved out of the palest sandstone and studded with over-sized pearls. The Sea King is there, my father, hands bearing down on the balustrade, my sisters in a single-file line behind him. His hair is cropped close, as is customary for mer-men, a thin gold crown circling his head. The trident is resting against the balcony wall; he has no need of a weapon at an event like this, yet he keeps it close to him anyway. His jaw is working back and forward, a furious click of bone, snap, snap. My father hates this ball, and yet he continues to insist that it be thrown, the festivities more elaborate with each passing year. He shall prove to the mer-folk, once and for all, how little he cares about my mother’s desertion and we will believe him, if we know what’s good for us.

  “Muirgen. Sophia.” My grandmother loops around us, a crown of battered metal plaited through her long, greying hair. “Where have you been? You know the Sea King does not like to be kept waiting.” She pushes us before her, swimming until we reach the Sea King. Sophia joins my sisters at the back of the balcony, Grandmother settling at her side. I approach my father – I must present myself to him before remaining at his side for this part of the festivities.

  “Is there any particular reason that you are late?” my father asks as I hover before him. His left eye is twitching, never a good sign. “I do not appreciate this tardiness, Muirgen.”

  “I’m sorry, Father,” I say. “I wanted to ensure that I looked my best before leaving my bedroom.”

  “Well, let me see if the delay was worthwhile, then.” His gaze licks up from my tail to my crown. I keep my face very still. He does not like it when we flinch.

  “You are pleasing to me, Muirgen,” he says finally. “Most pleasing indeed.” He tosses a compliment back at my grandmother. “You have done well this evening, Thalassa.”

  “Thank you, Sea King,” my grandmother replies, relaxing. “But the praise should surely rest with you. For it is you who has created her. It is you who gave her life, is it not?”

  “This is true,” he says. “Hopefully she will take after me in other respects too, for her own sake.”

  He takes me by the shoulders then, turning me around to face the crowd. I blink in the bright light, wondering at the vast numbers of people, most of whom are unknown to me. And yet they all know my name, of course.

  “Greetings, mer-men, mermaids, all of my loyal subjects. It is a pleasure to receive you at court today, on this, the celebration of my youngest daughter’s birthday.”

  The mer-folk swim out of the cockle-shells, gazing up at us with envy and fascination. We, the chosen ones. “Today is a wonderful day. Not only do we celebrate the cleansing of our kingdom, the decontamination of the palace…” He gives the same speech every year, and yet his indignation never seems to d
issipate. “But to add to our joy, Princess Muirgen turns fifteen today. An important age, as you all know. An age that brings extra privileges, yes, but also extra responsibilities. I have no doubt that Muirgen is up to the task of both. She is my most beloved child.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Cosima scowling, then remembers her manners, her face smoothing into a blankness that I recognize too well. I shall pay for my father’s comments later. “And the most attractive,” the Sea King adds. “She resembles me, does she not?”

  The mer-folk cheer, even though everyone knows that I look like my mother. I watch them clapping for my beauty, as if it was something I had earned.

  “Sing,” they shout. “Sing, Princess!” The words bubbling up to meet us, demanding to be heard.

  “The people have spoken,” my father says. “You shall sing, Muirgen.”

  “I am tired, Father,” I say. My voice is one of the few things that is mine, and mine alone. I do not want to share it with this baying crowd. “I was hoping I could rest this evening.”

  “I said, sing, Muirgen,” he repeats, his tone shark-threat. “I too want to hear your voice. You will not deny me, your father, will you?”

  The Sea King cannot be denied. I learned that lesson a long time ago.

  “Of course not, Father,” I say. “Whatever you want.”

  I breathe in, and I can feel the notes trembling at the base of my throat, forming without any real effort. I open my mouth and the melody spills out, slithering through the water, turning everything it touches translucent.

  The mer-folk look up at me, spellbound, the melody lacing us together as one. It has wound its way into their bodies, shivering through them. This is my gift, but unlike the much-admired symmetry of my face, this gift actually brings me joy. For the last few years, I have noticed that it is only when I am singing that I ever feel complete, as if my body and my soul have finally found one another. There you are, they whisper, curling up in each other’s arms, I’ve missed you.

  “What a treat for you all, what an honour,” my father cuts in before the end, the song scurrying out of my reach, as if frightened away. “Such clarity. Such purity. I’m sure we can all agree that my daughter’s purity of voice has no parallel.”

  “Thank you, Father.” I repeat the lines that I have been taught to say since birth. “Thank you for bestowing this gift upon me. I am fortunate to have been born as your salt-kin.”

  “You are most welcome,” he says, kissing my forehead. “A father’s love for his daughter knows no bounds. And that is all any child needs, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “Yes, Father … what?”

  “All a child needs is the love of her father.”

  “Very good. But let us not waste any more time chit-chatting,” he says. His eyes move from one sister to the other and each of us tense when we realize what is coming next. It never gets easier, somehow, no matter how often it happens. “Talia, you go at the end,” he says, grimacing as if he can barely stand to look at her. “Then Arianna, then Sophia.” Arianna looks momentarily perturbed, despite her claims to be above such “vanity”. “Nia,” my father says, “you are looking quite pretty today. Marlin is a lucky man.” My sister stares at the balcony floor. “And now,” he says, when it is only Cosima and I remaining. “Which of my daughters deserves prime position today? Whom shall win the honour of standing closest to me, your beloved father?” His gaze lingers on Cosima for a second, just long enough to give her hope. I wish he wouldn’t do this. “Cosima, you can go in second place,” he says. “And Muirgen, that face, that face! You are the winner, as it should be. Stand next to me, my love.”

  I take my position behind him, lining up with my sisters. “Sorry,” I whisper when I accidentally brush against Cosima, but she doesn’t acknowledge me, just tosses her hair back as if she doesn’t have a care in the world. The opaque amber doors to the court are pushed open, and the chorus mermaids swim through, their voices blending together to create a wall of sound. The other mer-folk cheer at their arrival, taking to the water to dance, twirling with exquisite fragility.

  “Oh, how lovely they all look,” Cosima says. “The maids in particular. See, Father? See how their pearls shine as they dance?” He affords her a rare smile and she lights up. “I feel sorry for the men,” she says to him. “How sad that they must live without such decoration.”

  My father laughs at the thought. The men do not need to be beautiful. I watch them as they dance. They are not weighed down by pearls; their movements are a fraction faster than the mermaids, their limbs loose. Free.

  The party continues and my family remains on the balcony, maintaining a dignified distance as we watch the revellers below. “It is late, Sea King,” my grandmother says when the light disappears, the water slicking black. “With your permission, I might put your daughters to rest. They are looking weary.”

  “Yes, Thalassa,” my father says. “Some of the girls may go. It is essential they get adequate beauty sleep – particularly you, Talia.” My sister just nods. “But Nia and Muirgen, you will stay behind. I am sure your betrotheds would like to speak with you.”

  “As you wish, Sea King,” my grandmother says, beckoning my sisters to follow her. Cosima turns back, and I know whose face she hopes to catch a glimpse of. Oh, Cosima.

  My father picks up his trident, banging it once on the balcony floor for Zale and a second time for Marlin. The two mer-men are huddled in a cockle-shell with their friends but at my father’s command, their bodies rise out of the shell as if an invisible lasso is fastened around their waists, dragging them against their will. Zale struggles initially, but then he acts like he doesn’t care, that he desired an audience with the Sea King anyway. I watch as he gets closer to me, this man who will be my husband, and my stomach clenches, threatening to spit its contents out through my teeth.

  “Sea King,” Zale says as he is pulled on to the balcony. Every time I see him I am struck once more by how old he is; his hair is thinning, with patches of grey fuzz, and he has deep-cut lines on his forehead. He is nothing like the handsome prince foretold in my grandmother’s nymph-tales of true love. My sisters and I, so small, nestled in our beds, waiting for her to finish the story with and they all lived happily ever after. I used to wonder then why my mother didn’t get a happy ending. Maybe they were reserved for girls who did as they were told.

  Zale bows his head in deference to my father and Marlin does the same just a beat later.

  “Many thanks for a wonderful evening, Sea King; your generosity is unparallelled.” Zale’s voice is so obsequious, I would think he was being insincere if I didn’t know better.

  “Today must be celebrated,” my father replies. “For fourteen years, I have ruled this kingdom by myself.”

  “Indeed, and you have done such a difficult job with great wisdom and strength,” Zale says. “Good riddance to bad rubbish, sir.” I bristle at my mother being referred to like this, but I contain myself. Anger is not alluring in maids, my father says. “If I may be so bold as to ask,” Zale continues, “to what do we owe the honour of an audience with the royal family?”

  “It is late,” my father says. “And my daughters are tired. I thought you would want to bid them farewell.”

  Marlin blushes. “Goodnight, Nia,” he says, reaching out a hand to touch hers, shuddering as if he has been electrified when he makes contact. My sister is motionless, her tail barely beating, eyes downcast. I do not understand such a muted reaction. Marlin is a little insipid, yes, but he is kind. Gentle. He will be good to her. I envy her that.

  “You may go, Marlin,” Father dismisses him, and Nia gives an imperceptible sigh of relief. Marlin bows his head to the Sea King again, and swims away, his skeletal torso a sliver of flesh slicing through the water. My father releases Nia with a wave of his hand and I silently beg her to stay, to protect me. But she goes, because my father has told her to do so, and I am left alone with them.

  “Sea King
,” Zale says, digging his spear into the ground. Zale is never without that spear, although there is no need for it. The kingdom is at peace, and has been for many years now. Much to Zale’s dismay.

  The war between the Salkas and the mer-folk had dragged on for ten years, the old folk say, and there didn’t seem to be a respite in sight. And then my mother – not queen then, just an ordinary mermaid at court – went to my father and begged him to call a ceasefire. In exchange, she promised to marry him on her sixteenth birthday. That was something the Sea King had long yearned for, apparently, but any maid under the age of twenty needs to have their father’s permission if they are to be betrothed. Or their father’s decision, as in my case. You’re so lucky, they tell me when they hear I am to be bonded with Zale. I am so very lucky.

  As if on cue, Zale begins to talk, and it is his favourite subject. War. “We need to talk about the Sea Witch and the Salkas,” he spits, as if the word “salkas” is burning a hole through his tongue. “They are becoming—”

  “Zale,” my father says softly and my spine straightens. I know that tone, and what it means, too well. “Have you forgotten that we have company?”

  There is a pause as Zale’s eyes go to my face. “Of course not,” he says, smiling as if he wants to eat me whole, and then chew on my bones for comfort. We will be bonded in a year, I remind myself, me and this old man, and my throat closes up. “How could I possibly forget, when such loveliness stands before me?” he says.