The Mermaid's Madness

by Hines, Jim C.

  “My surgeon will watch over her until we reach the palace,” Armand went on. “I would ask the two of you to stay close to Danielle. I’ve stationed men to watch the water, but we’ve seen how easily Lirea can board this ship. If she follows through on her threats against Lorindar, we won’t be safe until we’re back on land.”

  Talia blinked. “You’re asking us to protect her?”

  The prince managed a smile. “Somehow I suspect you’d do so with or without my request.”

  “If Lirea does return,” Snow said softly, “tell your men to try to get that knife.”

  Talia’s expression was feral. “If she returns, you can take it from her corpse.”

  The following morning, Danielle stood on the quarterdeck with Talia and Snow. At sunrise, the cliffs of Lorindar had been little more than a smudge of shadow rising from the water. Now she could distinguish the proud shape of Whiteshore Castle sitting atop the white cliffs. Clumps of green clung to the cliff face where grass and shrubs had managed to take root against the wind and rain.

  The palace was made of the same white stone. Glass windows sparkled in the towers, and Danielle could just make out the guardsmen patrolling the eastern wall.

  The Glass Slipper sailed past the wharf near Fisherman’s Canal, where the commercial and fishing ships were docked. Fisherman’s Canal was almost a town in itself, with its warehouses, roads, and boardwalks spreading along the rocky base of the cliffs and out into the water. The royal navy used the docks further north, past the road that switchbacked up into the city proper.

  The crew trimmed the sails as the helmsman guided the Glass Slipper past one of the man-made seawalls, long piles of rock that stretched out from the cliffs to absorb the sea’s rage in times of storm.

  Sailors swarmed over anchored naval ships, hauling supplies and crawling through the rigging as they prepared to set out.

  “What will they do?” Danielle asked. “The undine could be anywhere.”

  “Not anywhere,” said Snow. “In the coming weeks, they’ll have to settle someplace safe to birth their young. Their children are vulnerable to cold, so they’ll go to a place that’s shallow and warm.”

  Talia leaned over the railing and spat. “Shallow and warm? That leaves the entire coastline of Lyskar, Allesandria, and the Hiladi Empire. We should be able to search them all within about three years. Assuming their respective rulers don’t object to the Lorindar Royal Navy snooping about their lands.”

  “We’ll find them,” Danielle said. Talia scoffed, but didn’t bother to argue.

  The Glass Slipper slowed, momentum carrying her orward even after the last sail was furled. Behind her, she heard Armand formally relinquish command to one of the officers.

  “You and I will be first off,” he said as he joined her. “We’re not waiting for the tides. I want you back on land.” He turned back to Talia and Snow. “Would the two of you assist us in escorting my mother’s . . . body?”

  Talia hesitated. She looked at Danielle, as though she were checking to make sure she had heard correctly. “Of course, Your Highness.”

  Danielle took Armand’s hand and squeezed. She hoped he understood how much such a request would mean. Talia tried to hide her misery, but it was clear she still blamed herself for what had happened. Knowing Talia, she would continue to carry that blame until Beatrice recovered. Danielle didn’t think about what would happen if Beatrice never awakened.

  Anchor chains vibrated the deck as they clanked into the water, dragging the ship to a halt a short distance from shore. Hoffman had already moved the queen into one of the longboats. She lay on two padded boards set lengthwise in the boat. Danielle winced as she watched Hoffman strap Beatrice down, securing first her legs, then her waist.

  Lowering the longboat into the water was a complicated affair. The crew had emptied the boat of any excess weight, including oars. Others had reinforced the yards with extra lines. The yards were rotated inward, and ropes were run from them down to the longboat. Armand circled the boat, double-checking every knot himself before climbing inside. He rested his hands on his mother’s shoulders, then nodded to Danielle.

  This was the largest of the four boats on the Glass Slipper. Danielle climbed in with Talia’s assistance and sat on a bench beside the queen. Talia settled on the opposite side. Snow took up a position near the back.

  “Hold tight,” Armand whispered, before turning to shout, “Hoist away!”

  Danielle held her breath as the ropes pulled taut. Wood creaked and pulleys squealed, and the yardarms bowed as the longboat swung into the air. Danielle fought to ignore the lurching in her stomach. She should have asked Snow for more tea at breakfast.

  “Couldn’t we just bring the Glass Slipper into the docks?” she asked.

  “Not until the tide comes in,” said Snow. The breeze caught her hair, tossing strands of black in front of her face. “They’ve dredged the docks to allow the larger ships to come in, but you don’t want to risk it at low tide. Not without a shallower draft than this ship has.” She smiled and added, “I’m afraid your bottom is just too—”

  “Don’t make me throw you overboard,” Talia said.

  The yards turned slowly, moving the longboat past the edge of the ship until it hung suspended over the water. Danielle took one of the queen’s hands in hers. Beatrice’s skin was cold, like that of a child who had been swimming too long in the chilly water. Danielle removed her cloak and spread it over the queen.

  The crew set the longboat down so gently there was barely a splash. The presence of queen, prince, and princess no doubt contributed to their care. Four more sailors climbed down a rope ladder to join them in the boat. They removed the ropes, then stood to receive the oars passed down from the ship.

  As soon as the men began to row, Armand turned to Danielle. “My father taught me to see the kingdom as a whole. My mother had a different upbringing. She cares for Lorindar, but she sees individuals first, regardless of their nation. She’s a good deal like you, actually.”

  He glanced at Talia and Snow. “She also kept many secrets over the years. I’ve seen her ruin dukes and settle wars when all the military might of Lorindar wouldn’t have accomplished the same thing.”

  “She’s a good queen,” said Danielle.

  “Yes.” Armand looked down, gently brushing his mother’s hair from her face. “Taking in one of Posannes’ daughters does sound like something she might do, if he asked her. Both as queen of Lorindar and as a friend to Posannes and his family. They’ve known each other for many years.”

  “Beatrice never would have taken us to see the undine if she thought something like this could happen,” Danielle said.

  “No,” Armand agreed. “She was good at recognizing danger. Some believed it was a gift from God.”

  “She might have relied too strongly on that gift,” Snow said, speaking for the first time since leaving the ship. “Even the strongest seer is often blind to his or her own fate. That blindness could have given her a false sense of safety.”

  Armand stared at her, then nodded.

  At the dock, King Theodore stood waiting with a small crowd of guards and bystanders. The cliffs made him appear small, almost fragile to Danielle’s eye. The mist from the waves had darkened his jacket and pasted his gray-brown hair to his head.

  “I doubt he’s slept at all since receiving word,” Armand said.

  “Have you?” Danielle took his hand. Not that she was any better rested. When she finally drifted off last night, dreams of screaming undine had jolted her awake. “I waited for you to come to bed.”

  Armand didn’t answer, but he squeezed her hand more tightly. “Do you think your friends will be able to help my mother?”

  Danielle glanced at Snow and Talia, both of whom sat in silence. Snow had already tried to use her magic to locate Lirea and the undine, just as she had tried to counter the magic that had torn the queen’s spirit from her body. Both times she had failed. Danielle had no doubt that Snow would dis
appear the instant they reached the palace, barricading herself away with her magic mirror. “They love her. We all do.”

  “Promise me you’ll be careful,” he said. “Lirea has already threatened to kill you. I don’t—” He looked away. “Just promise me.”

  As they longboat neared the docks, the king jumped into the waist-deep water and waded toward them. The sailors stowed their oars. One tossed a rope to the men on the docks.

  King Theodore caught the front of the boat, guiding it alongside the dock. His gaze never left the queen.

  “I promise,” Danielle whispered.

  Padded benches lined the inside of the carriage. The queen lay on the longest, opposite the door. She was stretched out as if asleep, her head resting on the king’s lap. The king’s breath caught with each jolt as the carriage made its way up the road toward home.

  There were few words during the trip, and those were spoken in whispers. Theodore had ordered the coastal towns to be on the lookout for the undine. He had sent word to Hilad and Lyskar as well, though he hadn’t yet heard back.

  Armand took Danielle’s hand, and then they traveled a while in silence. They were coming up on the city wall when Armand said, “I tried to stop Lirea. I was . . . I couldn’t reach her. I’m sorry, Father.”

  The pain in his voice knotted Danielle’s chest. Like Talia, riding behind in a second carriage, Armand still blamed himself. “The undine are too strong. Lirea could have killed you. Beatrice wanted you safe.”

  “As do I,” said Theodore.

  Armand shook his head, but he said nothing further. When they reached the palace, they found Father Isaac waiting just inside the gate. With him stood the king’s healer, a silver-haired old man named Tymalous. Tymalous didn’t even wait for the carriage to stop before climbing inside to check Beatrice’s bandages. He muttered to himself, then pronounced her safe to move. With the king’s help, they carried the queen to a small cart.

  “Bring her to the chapel,” said Father Isaac.

  Danielle started to follow, but an angry wail demanded her attention. “Jakob!”

  Nicolette, Jakob’s wet nurse, hurried across the courtyard. Danielle’s son kicked and squirmed in her arms. Nicolette’s eyes were shadowed, and the shoulders of her dress were stained with tears and snot.

  As always, the sight of Nicolette was bittersweet. The same magic that sped Jakob’s growth in the womb had left Danielle’s body unprepared for motherhood, and she had never been able to nurse her own son. Nicolette was a marvelous nurse and a loving mother to her own children as well as the prince, but seeing her with Jakob always made Danielle feel as though she had somehow failed her son.

  Danielle pushed such thoughts aside as she lifted Jakob from Nicolette’s arms and rocked him, whispering and bouncing him in her arms. She smoothed his sweaty blond hair back with one hand and kissed his forehead. His cheeks were speckled red from the force of his crying. His voice was painfully hoarse, rasping and pitiful. She held her son tight, and for a moment nothing else mattered. “I have you,” she whispered. “You’re all right. Mama’s back.”

  Armand reached out to wipe tears from Jakob’s chubby cheeks. “Has he been this charming the entire time we were gone?”

  “He started crying yesterday afternoon,” Nicolette said, her voice raspy. “Hasn’t calmed since. Hardly slept two winks the whole night.”

  “Yesterday afternoon?” Danielle repeated. That was when Lirea had attacked the ship.

  “He’s been fed, changed, rocked, and nothing soothes him.” Knowing Nicolette’s devotion to little Jakob, she had probably stayed with him all night. “I even sang him that song he likes, the one about the octopus’ shoes. Sang until I could hardly croak another note, but he wasn’t having it.”

  Jakob nuzzled his face into Danielle’s shoulder, and a hiccup interrupted his cries.

  “Is it true what they’re saying?” Nicolette had turned to watch the cart carrying Beatrice to the chapel. “Did the merfolk try to assassinate the queen?”

  Other voices drew Danielle’s attention from her son. While she had fussed with Jakob, others had approached, forming a loose ring around Danielle and Armand. Peter, the apprentice falconer, cleared his throat and said, “I’ve a brother who sails on the Virtuous, Princess. If the merfolk have declared war, will they—”

  The gardener, Laurence, slapped Peter with a dirt-crusted hand. “The undine have been friends to Lorindar for a century. Isn’t that right, Your Highness?”

  “They say this was a rogue mermaid, an assassin hired by Allesandria to avenge some imagined slight,” said Rebecca, one of the women who worked in the laundry. “They mean to—”

  “A lone mermaid did attack our ship,” Danielle said. Rumors would spread regardless of her words. At least this way the rumors would have some basis in truth. She glanced at Armand, uncertain how much more to say. “She escaped, and we don’t know why she attacked. The undine . . . they appear to follow her.”

  “Will the queen live?” asked Peter.

  They never would have pressed Armand this way. Even now, they carefully avoided his gaze, trying to close in around Danielle while dodging the prince. An impressive trick, given that Armand stood with his arm around Danielle’s shoulders.

  But until a year ago, Danielle had been a servant, not a royal. Though she wore her crown when the chamberlain forced her to, she still thought of the palace staff as friends and equals, far more than the nobles at court.

  “That’s enough,” Nicolette snapped, shooing the crowd back. “Jakob’s just beginning to settle down. Anyone riles him up again will answer to me.”

  “Thank you,” Danielle smiled as she watched Nicolette chase the crowd back. “We’ll be all right. You should go and rest. Stop by the kitchen and tell Simon to give you whatever you’d like, on my orders.”

  “Thank you, Highness,” Nicolette said.

  Danielle hummed to her son as she and Armand walked toward the northwest tower, where the royal family resided. After only a few steps, Jakob began to struggle. By the time they were halfway across the courtyard, he was screaming loudly enough to draw stares from atop the walls. His pudgy fingers reached for Armand.

  “Looks like it’s my turn.” Armand’s expression was a blend of fondness and exasperation. The prospect of fatherhood had terrified him in the beginning. He still tended to treat Jakob as though he were made of glass, but there was no mistaking the love in his smile. “I’m sure I was never so fussy, but when I tell that to my mother, she merely laughs.” He reached out, but Jakob kicked so hard Danielle nearly lost her grip.

  “He’s pointing past you,” she said. “Toward the chapel.” Toward Beatrice.

  Danielle tightened her hold on her son. Queen Beatrice had been known to sense things. One of her premonitions had alerted them to Armand’s kidnapping the year before. Perhaps Jakob had inherited that gift.

  Or perhaps he had received something darker. Despite Snow’s assurances, Danielle still worried. She had been surrounded by so much magic while carrying Jakob. It was possible Snow had missed something.

  “Maybe he spotted his grandfather,” Armand offered. “You know how they spoil him. Is it any wonder he wants to follow?”

  Danielle tried again to take Jakob to the tower, but he jabbed his tiny fingers at the chapel, kicking with all his might. With a sigh, she turned toward the chapel.

  Armand chuckled. “My father may sit on the throne, but little Jakob is well on his way to ruling Whiteshore Castle.”

  Jakob raised his head, studying his father for a long moment, then turned and blew a snot bubble onto Danielle’s shoulder.

  A wooden cross inlaid with polished silver topped the steeple of the small church. A single step at the front led through a stone archway. The air inside was cool and still. Past leather-padded benches, Danielle spotted Father Isaac arranging dried palm fronds around the base of the altar. The king sat in the front bench, his head bowed in prayer. Queen Beatrice lay on the altar with her hands f
olded over her chest.

  Danielle’s throat tightened at the sight. She knew the queen still lived, but seeing her laid out as if for a funeral . . .

  Jakob twisted in her arms, staring first at the altar, then turning his attention to the stained glass windows along the tops of the walls.

  Father Isaac strode across the chapel until he reached Armand. Without breaking stride, he wrapped his arms around the prince and kissed his cheek. Isaac was the prince’s age and had known Armand since childhood. He had officiated at the wedding between Danielle and Armand, both the public ceremony in the great hall and the smaller, more intimate ceremony here in the chapel. “I’m so sorry, Armand.”

  He turned to Danielle and embraced her as well, being careful not to block Jakob’s view of the window. His faded black robe smelled of incense, and the brown curls of his beard tickled her cheek. “As I told the king, the wounds are serious, but not fatal. Whoever treated her did well. Even your father’s healer pronounced her care ‘adequate.’ ”

  Danielle forced a smile. Coming from Tymalous, that was high praise indeed.

  “I’m told her wounds go deeper than the body,” said Armand.

  “I know.” Isaac backed away, straightening the rose-red collar of his robe. The collar was wrinkled, the edges dark with sweat. A jeweled crucifix hung from a leather thong around his neck, seeming out of place against his oft-patched robe. Small rubies capped each of the tiny nails holding the silver figure to the cross.

  “Spirit has been torn from flesh,” Isaac said as he led them to the altar. He picked up another palm frond, his hands moving with well-practiced assurance as he folded the frond into a cross. He gently tucked the cross into the queen’s hands. “This will protect her until I have time to erect a stronger ward. She should be safe here.”

  “A ward?” Danielle asked.

  “Not all churches frown upon the magical arts.” A smile flitted across Isaac’s face. “Given the nature of this kingdom, it would be a foolish ruler who didn’t bring a magical adviser into his circle.”