by Anna Banks
“These are the best shrimp you’ve ever made, Rachel,” Toraf continues. “I can’t wait to cook shrimp on our island. I’ll get the seasoning for us, Rayna.”
“She’s not going to any island with you, Toraf!” Emma yells.
“Oh, but she is, Emma. Rayna wants to be my mate. Don’t you, princess?” he smiles.
Rayna shakes her head. “It’s no use, Emma. I really don’t have a choice.”
She resigns herself to the seat next to Emma, who peers down at her, incredulous. “You do have a choice. You can come live with me at my house. I’ll make sure he can’t get near you.”
Toraf’s expression indicates he didn’t consider that possibility before goading Emma. Galen laughs. “It’s not so funny anymore is it, tadpole?” he says, nudging him.
Toraf shakes his head. “She’s not staying with you, Emma.”
“We’ll see about that, tadpole,” she returns.
“Galen, do something,” Toraf says, not taking his eyes off Emma.
Galen grins. “Such as?”
“I don’t know, arrest her or something,” Toraf says, crossing his arms.
Emma locks eyes with Galen, stealing his breath. “Yeah, Galen. Come arrest me if you’re feeling up to it. But I’m telling you right now, the second you lay a hand on me, I’m busting this glass over your head and using it to split your lip like Toraf’s.” She picks up her heavy drinking glass and splashes the last drops of orange juice onto the table.
Everyone gasps except Galen—who laughs so hard he almost upturns his chair.
Emma’s nostrils flare. “You don’t think I’ll do it? There’s only one way to find out, isn’t there, Highness?”
The whole airy house echoes Galen’s deep-throated howls. Wiping the tears from his eyes, he elbows Toraf, who’s looking at him like he drank too much saltwater. “Do you know those foolish humans at her school voted her the sweetest out of all of them?”
Toraf’s expression softens as he looks up at Emma, chuckling. Galen’s guffaws prove contagious—Toraf is soon pounding the table to catch his breath. Even Rachel snickers from behind her oven mitt.
The bluster leaves Emma’s expression. Galen can tell she’s in danger of smiling. She places the glass on the table as if it’s still full and she doesn’t want to spill it. “Well, that was a couple of years ago.”
This time Galen’s chair does turn back, and he sprawls onto the floor. When Rayna starts giggling, Emma gives in, too. “I guess … I guess I do have sort of a temper,” she says, smiling sheepishly.
She walks around the table to stand over Galen. Peering down, she offers her hand. He grins up at her. “Show me your other hand.”
She laughs and shows him it’s empty. “No weapons.”
“Pretty resourceful,” he says, accepting her hand. “I’ll never look at a drinking glass the same way.” He does most of the work of pulling himself up but can’t resist the opportunity to touch her.
She shrugs. “Survival instinct, maybe?”
He nods. “Or you’re trying to cut my lips off so you won’t have to kiss me.” He’s pleased when she looks away, pink restaining her cheeks.
“Rayna tries that all time,” Toraf chimes in. “Sometimes when her aim is good, it works, but most of the time kissing her is my reward for the pain.”
“You’re trying to kiss Emma?” Rayna says, incredulous. “But you haven’t even sifted yet, Galen.”
“Sifted?” Emma asks.
Toraf laughs. “Princess, why don’t we go for a swim? You know that storm probably dredged up all sorts of things for your collection.” Galen nods a silent thank you to Toraf as he ushers his sister into the living room. For once, he’s thankful for Rayna’s hoard of human relics. He almost had to drag her to shore by her fin to get past all the old shipwrecks along this coast.
“We’ll split up, cover more ground,” Rayna’s saying as they leave.
Galen feels Emma looking at him, but he doesn’t acknowledge her. Instead, he watches the beach as Toraf and Rayna disappear in the waves, hand in hand. Galen shakes his head. No one should feel sorry for Toraf. He knows just exactly what he’s doing. Something Galen wishes he could say of himself.
Emma puts a hand on his arm—she won’t be ignored. “What is that? Sifted?”
Finally he turns, meets her gaze. “It’s like dating to humans. Only, it goes a lot faster. And it has more of a purpose than humans sometimes do when they date.”
“What purpose?”
“Sifting is our way of choosing a life mate. When a male turns eighteen, he usually starts sifting to find himself a companion. For a female whose company he will enjoy and who will be suitable for producing offspring.”
“Oh,” she says, thoughtful. “And … you haven’t sifted yet?”
He shakes his head, painfully aware of her hand still on his arm. She must realize it at the same time, because she snatches it away. “Why not?” she says, clearing her throat. “Are you not old enough to sift?”
“I’m old enough,” he says softly.
“How old are you, exactly?”
“Twenty.” He doesn’t mean to lean closer to her—or does he?
“Is that normal? That you haven’t sifted yet?”
He shakes his head. “It’s pretty much standard for males to be mated by the time they turn nineteen. But my responsibilities as ambassador would take me away from my mate too much. It wouldn’t be fair to her.”
“Oh, right. Keeping a watch on the humans,” she says quickly. “You’re right. That wouldn’t be fair, would it?”
He expects another debate. For her to point out, as she did last night, that if there were more ambassadors, he wouldn’t have to shoulder the responsibility alone—and she would be right. But she doesn’t debate. In fact, she drops the subject altogether.
Backing away from him, she seems intent on widening the space he’d closed between them. She fixes her expression into nonchalance. “Well, are you ready to help me turn into a fish?” she says, as if they’d been talking about this the whole time.
He blinks. “That’s it?”
“What?”
“No more questions about sifting? No lectures about appointing more ambassadors?”
“It’s not my business,” she says with an indifferent shrug. “Why should I care whether or not you mate? And it’s not like I’ll be sifting—or sifted. After you teach me to sprout a fin, we’ll be going our separate ways. Besides, you wouldn’t care if I dated any humans, right?” With that, she leaves him there staring after her, mouth hanging open. At the door, she calls over her shoulder, “I’ll meet you on the beach in fifteen minutes. I just have to call my mom and check in and change back into my swimsuit.” She flips her hair to the side before disappearing up the stairs.
He turns to Rachel, who’s hand-drying a pan to death, eyebrows reaching for her hairline. He shrugs to her in askance, mouth still ajar. She sighs. “Sweet pea, what did you expect?”
“Something other than that.”
“Well, you shouldn’t have. We human girls are a bit feistier than your Syrena females—Rayna being the exception of course.”
“But Emma’s not human.”
Rachel shakes her head at him as if he’s a child. “She’s been human all her life. It’s all she knows. The good news is, she can’t date anyone right now.”
“Why’s that?” Because to him, it sounded like maybe Emma thought she could.
“Because she’s supposed to be dating you. And if I were you, I’d mark my territory as soon as I got back to school—if you know what I mean.”
He scowls. He hadn’t planned on staying in school after Emma learned the truth—the whole purpose for going was to eventually get Emma to the beach. He didn’t anticipate having to teach her how to become Syrena. And he didn’t anticipate that up until yesterday she actually thought she was human. In fact, there’s a list the length of his fin of things he didn’t anticipate.
Like how thick the school books are. Rachel had ta
ught him to read and write over their years together, but he doesn’t have a need for math or gym. Human geography is virtually useless to him. What does he care where the humans draw their invisible land boundaries? Still, science could be interesting. And if Emma likes history, it wouldn’t hurt to look into that either.
Galen isn’t above admitting that learning more about humans could be advantageous to him—but not in the way Emma hopes. The idea of revealing his kind to them, of negotiating terms of peace, is laughable. Humans can’t even be peaceable with their own kind. And he’s seen how much they care about the masses living below sea level—devastating entire communities of life with a single careless accident. Or ruthlessly hunting some species into nonexistence. Even in the days of Triton and Poseidon, when humans and Syrena coexisted in friendship, some humans still showed a disregard for their dependence on the oceans surrounding them—which led the two generals to pass the Law of Gifts. Their foresight proved to be invaluable over the centuries as the humans developed technology enabling them to cross the oceans in their big ships and, eventually, to invade the depths with their death machines.
But Emma’s just as naive as Rachel. They both maintain that the more you know about humans, the more you’ll like them. It’s at least partly why Rachel’s encouraging him to go back to school, even if she hides it behind the other good reason he should attend—to keep some adolescent human male from getting himself killed. Just the thought of Emma walking the halls without him makes him ball his fists.
“You’re right,” he says with finality. “I need to stay in school.” He peels off his shirt and tosses it over a chair. “Tell Emma I’m waiting for her.”
13
WHEN MY feet touch bottom, Galen releases me. I tiptoe toward shore, jumping with the waves like a toddler. Reaching the beach, I deposit myself in the sand just far enough in for the tide to tickle my feet. “Aren’t you coming in?” I call to him.
“I need you to throw me my shorts,” he says, pointing behind me.
“Oh. Oh. You’re naked?” I squeak, bordering on dolphin pitch. Of course, I should have realized that fins don’t come with a cubby for carry-on luggage, and most Syrena wouldn’t have a need to stash something like swimming shorts. It doesn’t matter much when he’s in fish form, but seeing Galen—no, thinking about Galen—naked in human form would be detrimental to my plan to use him. Could be my undoing.
“Guess that means you can’t see into the water yet,” he says. When I shake my head, he says, “I took them off before you came out this morning. I’d prefer not to ruin them if I don’t have to.”
Clearing my throat, I hoist myself up and trudge through the sand, finding them a few feet away. I toss them to him and take my seat again, in case my vision suddenly gives me an unhealthy view of the briny deep. Thankfully, he keeps everything submerged as he makes his way to the floating trunks and pulls them on. Tying them as he walks ashore, he kicks water on me before sitting beside me.
“Why can’t I change, Galen?” I draw my knees to my chest.
He leans back on his elbows and stares out to sea, as if deciding on how to answer. We’ve been out here all day, and I haven’t felt so much as an itch in my legs, let alone the twisting sensation he’d promised. “I don’t know,” he says. “Maybe you’re too self-conscious about it. Maybe if you could relax, it would just happen.”
“Is that how it happens for you? Like, accidentally?”
“No, it’s never an accident. What I mean is, if you’d stop watching for it and just try to have a good time, maybe it will come to you how to change.”
“I’m having a good time,” I say without looking at him.
“I am, too.”
“At least tomorrow is Friday. We’ll have the whole weekend to practice. Plus, we can practice after school tomorrow—oh, I guess you wouldn’t need to come to school anymore,” I say. “You already accomplished your purpose for going, right?” I ignore the tiny pang in my gut.
“Actually, I was going to keep at it for a while. Your mom probably wouldn’t be too happy if you’re dating someone who quit school.”
I laugh. “Nope, don’t think so. But I do think she likes you.”
“Why do you say that?” he says, cocking his head at me.
“When I called her, she told me to tell you good morning. And then she told me you were ‘a keeper.’” She also said he was hot, which is a ten and a half on the creep-o-meter.
“She won’t think that when I start failing out of all my classes. I’ve missed too much school to give a convincing performance in that aspect.”
“Maybe you and I could do an exchange,” I say, cringing at how many different ways that could sound.
“You mean besides swapping spit?”
I’m hyperaware of the tickle in my stomach, but I say, “Gross! Did Rachel teach you that?”
He nods, still grinning. “I laughed for days.”
“Anyway, since you’re helping me try to change, I could help you with your schoolwork. You know, tutor you. We’re in all the same classes together, and I could really use the volunteer hours for my college applications.”
His smile disappears as if I had slapped him. “Galen, is something wrong?”
He unclenches his jaw. “No.”
“It was just a suggestion. I don’t have to tutor you. I mean, we’ll already be spending all day together in school and then practicing at night. You’ll probably get sick of me.” I toss in a soft laugh to keep it chit-chatty, but my innards feel as though they’re cartwheeling.
“Not likely.”
Our eyes lock. Searching his expression, my breath catches as the setting sun makes his hair shine almost purple. But it’s the way each dying ray draws out silver flecks in his eyes that makes me look away—and accidentally glance at his mouth.
He leans in. I raise my chin, meeting his gaze. The sunset probably deepens the heat on my cheeks to a strawberry red, but he might not notice since he can’t seem to decide if he wants to look at my eyes or my mouth. I can smell the salt on his skin, feel the warmth of his breath. He’s so close, the wind wafts the same strand of my hair onto both our cheeks.
So when he eases away, it’s me who feels slapped. He uproots the hand he buried in the sand beside me. “It’s getting dark. I should take you home,” he says. “We can do this again—I mean, we can practice again—tomorrow after school.”
I pull my hair to one side, shielding my disappointment from him. “Sure.” So much for using him.
“Actually, you can’t go to school tomorrow, minnow.” We both look up at Toraf and Rayna walking toward us on the beach. Plodding through the sand jostles the armful of human junk Rayna carries, but the satisfied smile spread across her face hints she wishes she could carry more.
“Why can’t he?” I say.
“Because he needs to check in with his family. Everyone is wondering where the Royal twins are, since they happened to miss Grom’s kingship ceremony. At least I had the good sense to hold a private mating ceremony—in view of Rayna’s absence and all.”
Galen scowls. “He’s right. We need to go home for a few days. Our father isn’t as protective as your mother, but he likes to see us once in a while. Especially Rayna. She’s spoiled.”
Rayna nods. “It’s true. I am. Besides, I need to get our mating-seal overturned.”
“Aw, princess, I thought we had a good time today. You know I’ll make sure you’re still spoiled. Why would you want to unseal us?” Toraf says. She lets him take some of her load but turns up her nose at his attempt to kiss her cheek.
Galen ignores their marriage meltdown. Looking at me, he says, “It won’t take long, I promise. When I get back, maybe we could visit Dr. Milligan. He might be able to help us.”
“In Florida?” The idea of sunny white beaches makes me nauseous. In my dreams, they’re always stained red with Chloe’s blood.
Galen nods. “He could run a few tests. You know, see if we’re missing something.”
A feeling of failure waylays me. “So, you think I should have changed already. What am I doing wrong?”
“It’s nothing you’re doing,” he says. “Water triggers our natural instinct to change. It takes more effort not to change than it does to change. Maybe Dr. Milligan can help us figure out how to make your instinct stronger.”
I nod. “Maybe. But I’m pretty sure Mom won’t consent to a field trip across the country with my hot boyfriend. Especially not back to Florida.” I clamp my mouth shut so fast my teeth should be chipped.
He grins. “You think I’m hot?”
“My mom thinks you are.” Except, Mom’s not the one blushing right now.
“Hmm,” he says, giving me a you’re-busted look. “As hot as I am, I don’t think she’d buy into my charm on this one. We’ll have to call in a professional.” Then that fish prince actually winks at me.
“You mean Rachel,” I say, toeing the sand. “I guess it’s worth a shot. Don’t expect much, though. I’ve already missed too much school.”
“We could fly down on the weekend. Be back before school on Monday.”
I nod. “She might go for that. If Rachel plays her cards right.” Yeah, she might go for that. She might also pierce her tongue, dye her hair cherry red and spike it peacock-style. Ain’t happening. I shrug. “I’ll just keep practicing while you’re gone. Maybe we don’t have to go—”
“No!” Galen and Toraf shout, startling me.
“Why not? I won’t go too deep—”
“Out of the question,” Galen says, standing. “You will not get in the water while I’m gone.”
I stomp a hole in the sand. “I already told you that you’re not ordering me around, didn’t I? Now you’ve pretty much guaranteed that I’m getting in the water, Your Highness.”
Galen runs a hand through his hair and utters a string of cuss words, courtesy of Rachel, no doubt. He paces in the sand a few seconds, pinching the bridge of his nose. Suddenly he stops. Relaxes. Smiles even. He walks over to his friend, slaps him on the back. “Toraf, I need a favor.”
14
GALEN KNOWS where to find his brother. Intruding on Grom’s solitude in the remnant of the human mines is the last thing he wants to do, but he’s pressed for time. Emma’s specialty is not obedience. Toraf’s specialty is not supervision—he’ll cave to her will at the first sign of a tantrum. He already pointed out to Galen that technically she’ll be their queen one day, so he wants to stay on good terms with her. And it took a Royal order to get Toraf to stay behind, unable to plead his case to Grom when Rayna demands the dissolution of their seal. As he approaches the edge of the old minefield, Galen resolves to speak on Toraf’s behalf. Rayna will be furious—and so will Emma, for that matter—but he owes his friend that much.