Forgive My Fins

by Tera Lynn Childs

  Once we’re at the table and he’s figured out how to use seasticks, the mer equivalent of chopsticks, he asks, “What’s on the schedule?”

  I shrug, dipping my spicy tuna maki in thick ginger sauce before placing the delight in my mouth. My eyes close automatically, focusing on the sensation of spicy and tangy on my tongue. The mainland has its fair share of sushi restaurants, and some of them are pretty passable. But nothing compares to the royal sushi master’s concoctions. I feel my body hum with epicurean pleasure.

  “That good, huh?”

  My eyes flash open. In my bliss I’ve completely forgotten about Quince—about everything except pure sushi joy.

  I chew and swallow quickly. Knowing my cheeks must be bright red, I keep my head down and catch another piece in my seasticks.

  “Yes,” I say simply.

  I sense Quince shift next to me. “Then I have to try one.”

  Surprised, I look up at him. He looks serious.

  “Hey, anything that gives a girl that kind of pleasure,” he says with a wink, “has to be worth a try.”

  Now my cheeks are practically on fire. He watches me with a kind of unsettling intensity as I take the ginger-dipped piece I’d been about to eat and hold it out for him. For Quince.

  Never taking his eyes off me, he leans forward and opens his mouth. The spicy tuna disappears between his full lips and white teeth. My eyes dart up, anxious to read his reaction. An array of emotion plays across his eyes. Uncertainty. Contemplation. Intrigue. Finally, in one fluid motion, he swallows, then gives me a slightly forced smile.

  “Not the”—his smile wavers—“worst thing I’ve ever eaten.”

  “Oh,” I say, not sure why I feel relieved. “Good.”

  “But I think I’ll stick with the eggs and toast.”

  We finish the meal in silence. I watch Quince nervously out of the corner of my eye, waiting for him to realize that the “ketchup” he’s putting on his eggs is actually sea-cucumber jelly, but he eats up ocean fare like it’s his favorite burger and fries back home. Dosinia watches us carefully from across the table, trying to act completely uninterested, while everyone else in the royal household—from Daddy on down to Cid and Barry—watches me and Quince with undisguised fascination. I feel like a goldfish in a bowl, and I was fully prepared to face that reaction once I finally bonded. Only I’m stuck in my bowl with the wrong human.

  Unable to force another bite of eel and salmon roe into my mouth when dozens of eyes in the room are watching my every move, I kick away from the table.

  “Are you ready to go?” I demand, not waiting for Quince to respond before pulling him up and away from the last bites of sargassum grapes left on his plate. On land he may outmuscle me, like, three to one, but underwater I have the definite advantage of a massive strong tailfin and years of learning how to use it effectively.

  I have him out of the dining hall before he protests. “In a hurry, princess?”

  “Sorry.” I don’t mean it, but since I’m forcibly dragging him away from breakfast, I probably should. “I just couldn’t sit there while everyone watched every tiny thing we did. I don’t do well in the spotlight.”

  “Aren’t you used to it?” he asks. “I mean, you’re their princess. Haven’t they always watched you like that?”

  We pass into the front hall, and I finally release Quince to swim on his own. “Not like this,” I explain. “They’re all super eager because of the bonding.”

  Unconsciously I run my fingers through my hair. And, since it’s not air frizzed, they actually rake through easily.

  “Why does that make a difference?” he asks. “I mean, it’s not like it was your first kiss.”

  My entire body from the waist up freezes. I’m still kicking, still moving toward the door, but I am otherwise motionless.

  “Well, hell.”

  That freezes me altogether. I squeeze my eyes shut, as if that will make this whole situation disappear. As if I can pretend for a minute that I just came home for a nice visit, without a bonded Quince in tow. As if I can shut out the feelings of shock and (annoying) pride that are pouring out of him.

  “I had no idea, Lily. If I had known, I would have—”

  “Forget it,” I snap, kicking back into motion. I can’t take much more of this nice Quince. Rude, obnoxious Quince I can handle, but this is beyond my experience. “It’s over. Done. We can’t change what happened.” Then, under my breath, I mutter, “No matter how much we want to.”

  Quince is silent for a minute, hopefully shocked by my outburst, but with my luck he’s just building up steam. As we reach the front entrance, he wraps a warm hand around my arm and tugs me to a stop.

  “Why did the bond make them watch you more intently?” he asks.

  Maybe it’s because there’s no trace of mockery in his question, or because dealing with this kinder, gentler Quince is throwing me off my game, or because the bond is not only amplifying every emotion between us but also every physical sensation and the feeling of his hand on my arm is really, really nice—Wait, where was I? Oh right. His question. For whatever reason, I give him a fully honest answer.

  “Because in this world, a bond is the equivalent of marriage.” I’m impressed that he doesn’t betray a single emotion—in either his face or through our magical connection. “And because I’m a princess and the heir to the throne. One day I will be queen. They think I’ve chosen you as our future king, and they’re trying to decide if I’m crazy or in love or just full-out stupid.”

  A little muscle along his jawline twitches, and there’s a protective intensity in his eyes that pulls me in. I want to swim into those Caribbean-colored pools and never swim back out. That scares me.

  Which is why I shrug out of his grip and turn away.

  As I pull open the door, I hear him say, “And you wanted Brody to be the one at your side.”

  Now why does my body shiver all over when I realize Quince sounds jealous? It could be fear…or thrill (which scares me even more).

  Thankfully I’m saved from responding.

  “Princess Waterlily!” Cid hurries through the hall toward us. “Wait! Your father asks that you join him in court today,” he gets out in gasping breaths.

  Carpola, I forgot about Daddy wanting to hang out. “Oh, well, I was just going to show Quince around,” I say. “He wanted to—”

  “Don’t sweat it,” Quince says. “I’ll amuse myself. Hang with your dad.”

  Although that might have sounded like a laid-back, cool kind of response, there is nothing laid-back about the steady tension swirling around him. I think it has nothing to do with me staying with Daddy and everything to do with that last statement about Brody. His masked jealousy pulls an echoing sympathy from me.

  “His highness arranged for an alternative, Master Quince,” Cid says. “The princess’s cousin has volunteered to give you a tour.”

  On cue, Doe appears in the hall and swims over to Quince, linking her arm around his and looking me right in the eye as she says, “It would be my pleasure.”

  “Sounds great,” Quince says, turning his attention to Dosinia with a charming smile. Son of a swordfish, what am I doing? Feeling sympathy for Quince’s jealousy as if I think it’s real? It’s the bond. The last thing Quince Fletcher will ever be is jealous over me.

  As they disappear out the front door, I ignore the sour feeling in my gut. After tonight, Quince will once again be nothing more than a pain in my tail fin. Dosinia can have him.

  The Thalassinian throne room is a sight to behold. It is a cavernous dome-shaped room with amber-tinted torches (actually bioluminescent algae within amber glass balls) that cast a warm glow everywhere. The ceiling is covered with intricate coral carvings of sea monsters, ancient gods, and mer people, accented with finely applied gold leaf and coal shading. Under the torch glow, the gold sparkles and the shadows darken, making the carvings seem even deeper.

  The floor beneath is a beautiful mosaic of pearly tiles that portray the f
ounding of Thalassinia. At the center, Poseidon hands his trident to Capheira so she can tattoo her descendants with the mark of the mer, giving them the ability to transfigure into human form. She, in turn, spreads her hands to her people, who appear around her in various stages of transfiguration—some in pure terraped form, others fully mer, and still others as terraped with scale-covered finkinis in place. One of the mermen, my great-great-many-times-over-grandfather, is shown with one hand reaching back to his people, the other pressed to the seafloor. That spot he’s touching is the exact spot on which the palace is built. The exact center of the throne room.

  It always gives me a little thrill to feel that connection to the ancient past and our mythological origins.

  “I’ve missed you, daughter,” Daddy says as he takes his place on the throne. He motions me forward to take the smaller chair to his right. “You have stayed away too long.”

  “I’m sorry, Daddy.” I swim up to him but don’t take the offered seat. Instead, I float at his feet, like I did when I was a little mergirl. “Life on land can get really busy. It’s like time is on super speed compared to Thalassinia’s mellow-slow pace.”

  He thrums his fingers on the gilded arm of his throne. “I remember well the perpetual urgency of the terraped world. Perhaps it is because their lives are shorter than ours. They feel the need to pack much more into their time.”

  “Maybe.” I muse, but I don’t necessarily agree. Humans could live at a slower pace if they chose. With our extended life span, they would probably just move at their rapid pace for longer. It’s a symptom of the world they’ve built.

  “What do you have on your schedule today?” I ask. Although it’s Sunday on the mainland, in Thalassinia it’s the equivalent of a Monday. Our calendar is based on the lunar cycle, and Friday night’s full moon—and the two days on either side—would have been our weekend. Daddy’s Mondays are usually pretty busy.

  “I have to hear a dispute about lobster grazing rights this morning,” he explains. “But otherwise my calendar is clear. Perhaps we can go shopping in the afternoon.”

  “Oh. Should I go amuse myself and then come back after the hearing?” I ask. I’m not that thrilled at the idea of listening to two lobster farmers squabble about who gets to graze their herd on Horseshoe Crab Hill.

  “No.” Daddy’s serious tone makes me look up. “I’d like you to participate. One day you will preside over these proceedings. You need the experience.”

  Panic washes through me. I’m not ready for this. I mean, I’ve known my entire life that it is my destiny to take the throne, to rule over Thalassinia as generations of my family have done before. But I’m not ready today.

  “Please.” Daddy motions me to the chair on his right. “Take the queen’s throne.”

  My heart stalls and the panic ebbs away, replaced by total emptiness.

  “I—” I stare at Daddy and then the smaller version of his throne. The one made for the monarch’s mate. The one made for my mom.

  I can’t sit there.

  Not again.

  One day, when I was about eight, Daddy let me play in the throne room while he met with his council in the palace conference hall. After exploring every inch of the carved ceiling and the mosaic floor, I gathered my Oceanista dolls—the mergirl equivalent of Barbie—and settled into the queen’s throne to play fashion show. When Daddy returned and found me there, he got a sad look on his face, and his eyes sparkled royal blue to match his fins. I still hadn’t forgotten that look in his eyes when I found out, years later, that it should have been my mother’s throne.

  I’ve never touched it since.

  He watches me expectantly, waiting for me to take the seat by his side. I think we both know why I’m glued to my spot.

  “I c-can’t,” I finally say.

  Daddy’s face softens. “She would have wanted you to.” He smiles like he’s replaying a happy memory. “She would have been so proud to see you take the throne.”

  If we were on land, I would probably be angry. Furious that he gets to have memories of her that make him smile. A secret smile that I can never share. On land, my temper isn’t soothed by the calming power of water. I’m much more…volatile. Underwater, my anger comes out as sorrow.

  “What was she like?” I ask.

  “She was…” His smile grows, and I see him drift back fully into memories. “Infectious. Always smiling, always laughing. You couldn’t be around her and not be caught up in her joy.”

  I wish I had inherited that from her. Or maybe that’s something you can’t inherit—you have to learn it by watching. I never even got to see my mom smile.

  “She was a remarkable woman.”

  “Would you do it all over again?” I ask. “Knowing how it would end, would you still choose her?”

  Daddy takes my hands from his knees and pulls me up onto his lap. I feel like I’m that eight-year-old mergirl again, playing Oceanistas on the throne. He hugs his big arms around me and tucks me in close against his chest.

  “Without hesitation,” he says softly. “And I know your mother would say the same.”

  Even though I can’t feel the tears, I know I’m crying. “Do you miss her?” I ask. “Do you still feel the bond, even though she’s gone?”

  “Yes, I miss her,” he says, giving my shoulders a squeeze. “I gave her a piece of my heart and she took that with her.” He holds me back, making me look into his eyes. “But not because of the bond. Your mother and I never bonded.”

  I jerk back. “What? Why not?”

  “The situation was complicated,” he explains. “At first, I didn’t tell her the truth. As the king I had to be extremely cautious in my choice of mate, especially if she was a terraped. I wasn’t about to force her into a life so foreign to hers. Then, by the time I knew she was my true mate and told her the truth, your grandmother had fallen terminally ill. Rachel was in the Peace Corps at the time, so the care of your grandmother fell to your mother.”

  The thought of Mom putting off her life to care for her dying mother brings fresh tears to my eyes. She was such a selfless person. I could never live up to that.

  “In the meantime, you were born.”

  “Daddy!”

  “Well, just because we didn’t officially bond didn’t mean we weren’t committed and attracted to each other. We were young and in love,” he explains. “No need to be scandalized.”

  Oh, but I am scandalized. That makes me accidentally kissing Quince more like a two on the scale of scandal.

  “Anyway,” he continues, “shortly after your birth, your grandmother passed.” He stares out into the throne room, a blank look in his eyes. “We had everything planned. After the funeral, your mother would bring you to the beach. She and I would forge the bond, and then…well, we never got to that.”

  This part of the story I already know. On the way from Grandma’s funeral, Mom got hit by a drunk driver. Some idiot who walked away without a scratch, while my mom went sailing through the windshield and into the path of an oncoming car. I was safely belted into a carrier in the backseat. Mom was the only one even injured in the five-car wreck.

  “In some ways,” Daddy says, coming back into the present, “I’m glad we never bonded. It is a small concession that my grief has never been compounded by an unfulfilled bond.”

  Across the room, one of the two massive gold doors swings open, and Mangrove, Daddy’s royal secretary, peers in.

  “Your highness,” he says, reverently lowering his eyes—Daddy is so not the type to demand this kind of behavior, but Mangrove is kind of protocol obsessed. “The complainants are here.”

  “Give us a moment, Mangrove.”

  “Of course, your highness.”

  When Mangrove closes the door behind him, Daddy shakes his head. “That man is determined to act like a second-class citizen.”

  “Well, you can be very intimidating,” I reply. “And you do carry a really big trident.”

  We both laugh a little, and it breaks
the heaviness in the room. Then Daddy says, “Please. Take the throne, Lily.”

  Swimming off Daddy’s lap, I float in front of Mom’s throne. No one has sat on its spongy cushion in years. Somehow, as I remember everything Daddy said about Mom’s selfless nature, it seems worse to see her throne abandoned than to feel like I’m usurping her rightful place. As I twist around and sink slowly into her seat, I think, This is for you, Mommy.

  Daddy squeezes my hand before shouting, “Mangrove! Send them in!”

  I square my shoulders and ready myself for my first session as ruler-in-training. If this is my future, I might as well start now.

  13

  The thing you might not realize about lobster farmers—especially if you’re a human and you don’t even know there is such a thing—is that they smell like lobsters. If you’ve only seen lobsters either cooked and ready to eat or in one of those little tanks at a seafood restaurant, with their claws rubber-banded, then you have no idea how bad the stench of lobster can be. They make a cattle stockyard seem like a rose garden.

  So, after I spend most of the day listening to two quarreling farmers argue about fair grazing rights and whether one had rebranded some of the other’s herd, everything in the throne room smells like lobster—including Daddy, Mangrove, and me.

  Thankfully, Margarite called in the housekeeping staff, who unleashed a small school of surgeonfish—distant relatives of those fish that eat scum out of aquariums—and they managed to neutralize the smell in just a few minutes. I’m pretty sure my hair still has a little eau de lobster, but it’s not like I’m going to let the surgeonfish suck on my head.

  By the time the throne room is cleared, it’s approaching evening. Approaching time for the separation—and Quince and Dosinia aren’t back yet.

  When night falls and the light filtering down from the distant surface is replaced with the bioluminescent glow of the palace lighting system, I start to worry. Not about going home in the dark; we’ll have a royal escort of palace guards to keep us safe. But we have to be in school tomorrow, we still have a three-hour swim to get home—even though Quince’s swimming ability has improved, he can’t keep up with me—and we still have to get through the separation ceremony, which includes a mandatory couples counseling session. It’s a formality, but still it takes time. And remember when I said that mer life is pretty mellow paced? Well that goes for ceremonies, too.