The Mermaid's Madness

by Hines, Jim C.

  “When our father learned what Lirea had done, his fury shook the oceans. But his rage only made Lirea’s yearning stronger.”

  “Forbidden love is much more exciting,” Snow agreed.

  Lannadae shuddered, sending tiny wavelets from her body. “The undine have frolicked with your kind upon occasion, but for one of the royal blood to love a human . . . she could have been banished from the tribe. Prince Gustan’s people would have done the same, thinking the undine little better than animals. For much of that summer Lirea would sneak away to be with her beloved, despite the dangers. Gustan’s palace sits in treacherous waters, where wind and waves threaten even an undine. Often she returned bruised and battered from the journey. They both knew there could be no real future between them, but still she went to him.

  “As spring passed into summer, Lirea turned to our grandmother Morveren for help. Morveren, who had spent her life gathering the secrets of the sea. Morveren offered Lirea the chance to assume human form, though the transformation was not without cost. But Lirea cared only for her prince.”

  “I’ve heard this story.” Talia’s posture was stiff. Danielle could see how much Lannadae’s song of despair had shaken her. “Sailors talk about a mermaid who became human to be with her prince.”

  “There’s a song, too,” Snow added. “Six verses, one for each night of the seduction, ending when the prince takes the girl down to—” She flushed and looked at Lannadae. “I’m sorry. I never realized that song was about your sister.”

  “I don’t like to tell this story,” Lannadae said, seemingly unoffended. She allowed the cord to fall loose, then twisted a second loop. She adjusted the second loop so a line cut through the first about halfway up. Two of the stones suggested eyes. Lannadae added a third loop, so that blue beads hung beneath the stones. Tears, Danielle realized.

  “What was the price?” asked Snow.

  “Humanity is only half of our nature,” said Lannadae. “With the rest stripped away, Lirea was incomplete. Her human body was imperfect, causing her great pain with each step she took. Morveren wasn’t strong enough to truly change Lirea’s nature, but she wove a second spell, one that would give Lirea everything she wanted.

  “Morveren’s magic would last for six days. By the seventh, Lirea had to secure Gustan’s hand in marriage, binding his life to her own. Their marriage would complete the spell. Lirea would remain human and would live with her prince for the rest of her days. If she failed . . . nobody can survive for long with half of her being torn away.”

  Danielle flinched, thinking of Beatrice. “What happened?”

  Lannadae tugged her hands, eradicating the shape of the face. “He took what he wanted this one last time, then sent her away. Lirea called to us from the shore, her ragged voice full of pain and grief. I found her ready to end her own life. She told us how he rebuffed her.

  “I begged her to wait, to let my sister and me help. We sought out Morveren, who prepared the knife you saw. Morveren said that only the life of Lirea’s prince could sustain her now. If he would not bind his life to hers, she would have to take it from him.” Her index finger hooked the center of the cord, elongating it into the shape of a blade.

  “She killed the man she loved?” asked Danielle.

  “Loved?” Talia snorted. “She killed the man who used her.”

  “We brought the knife to Lirea. She wept, vowing not to use it. On the seventh day, as her lungs constricted and her body felt as though it dissolved from within, we persuaded her to return to him to ask again. She did so, telling Gustan she would die without him. He scoffed, saying he had already taken another woman. In her grief, Lirea shoved the blade into his heart.”

  Outside the cave, the crash of the waves had grown louder. The reinforced wall of the rockslide absorbed most of the water’s power, but the pool still pushed Danielle’s legs with each ebb and flow.

  “His life for hers,” said Lannadae. “Lirea survived, though not as Morveren’s magic had intended. Her voice was broken, her body neither human nor undine. Some say it was Lirea’s unfulfilled yearning that trapped her between worlds, whispering to her beloved in the shadows.”

  Tears left salty tracks down Lannadae’s cheeks. She wiped her face, then gripped her cord with both hands, fighting to compose herself. “Thus ends the story of Lirea, daughter of Gwerdhen, of the line of Ilowkira.” She looked up. “Did I tell it well?”

  “Very well,” said Danielle.

  “Afterward, Lirea was changed. For a long time she refused to sing or speak. When at last she began to recover her voice, she blamed Levanna and me for what had happened.” Lannadae no longer spoke in the formal rhythm she had used for her story. She sounded much younger now. “She moved so quickly.”

  Danielle closed her eyes, guessing what was to come next.

  “All three of us had warriors who guarded us against the dangers of the sea. Lirea said she smelled a shark nearby. As soon as the guards turned their attention elsewhere . . .” Lannadae began to tremble. “By the time they pulled Lirea away, Levanna was already dead. Lirea stabbed her with that knife, again and again until the blood clouded the water and turned them to shadows.”

  “With all of her trauma, your father still let her keep the knife?” Talia asked.

  “Would you swim unarmed in the deep ocean?” Lannadae asked. “Would you risk one of the future rulers of your tribe? An undine child receives her first knife as soon as her fingers are strong enough to hold the handle.”

  “I’m so sorry,” said Danielle. “You must have been terrified.”

  “What happened to Morveren?” Talia asked.

  “Our father banished her after Levanna’s death.” Lannadae dipped beneath the water again. While she appeared to breathe water and air equally well, the water seemed to bring her comfort. She rose a few moments later. “He had commanded Morveren to undo her spells, but Lirea wouldn’t let her approach. She threatened to kill herself before she would let Morveren touch her. Morveren used magic to lull Lirea to sleep, then took Lirea back to her home to try one last time to save her. Lirea threw off the spell. She attacked Morveren, then fled to our father, begging him to keep her safe.”

  Lannadae moaned again, but she stopped herself after a glare from Talia.

  “He sent Morveren away for her crimes,” Lannadae said. In a softer voice, she added, “I should have stayed with him.”

  “You were afraid,” Danielle said gently. “He wanted you safe.”

  Talia waded closer. “Do you know where Morveren went?”

  “It’s several days north of Lorindar, where the northern and southern currents come together and the taste of the water becomes bitter from the seaweed.”

  “Somehow I don’t think our charts track the taste of the ocean,” Snow said.

  “I can show you the way. I tried to go to her once, to ask for her help. The sea grew angry, and the waves battered me against the rocks.” Lannadae lowered her voice. “Lirea knows I’m here, doesn’t she? That’s why she attacked Beatrice. She’ll be hunting for me.”

  Had Lannadae been human, Danielle would have embraced her, but she wasn’t certain how the undine offered comfort. Lannadae was barely more than a child. Danielle knew the pain of losing a family, but to lose them like this . . . she could understand why Beatrice had taken pity on Lannadae. “We’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

  “How do you intend to do that?” Talia asked.

  “By finding Morveren,” Danielle said. “She might be able to help us stop Lirea.”

  “Assuming Lirea hasn’t tracked her down and killed her, too,” Talia muttered.

  Danielle glared at her. “We’ll leave tomorrow. I’ll ask Armand to prepare the Glass Slipper for—”

  “No,” said Snow. “Tell him we’re taking the Phillipa.”

  Danielle’s throat tightened. “Isn’t that the queen’s ship?”

  “It’s also the fastest thing in the harbor.” Snow smiled. “And I suspect Captain Hephyra will be a little m
ore tolerant of an undine on her ship than most captains.”

  Talia was already wading toward the stairs. She paused. “Are you two coming, or do you expect me to pack for all of us?”

  CHAPTER 4

  DANIELLE HAD WORKED HARD over the past year to break the habits of her former life. For months after she moved into the palace, she had cringed at every stain or smear of mud, instinctively bracing herself against her stepmother’s wrath. Eventually, Armand had pulled her aside to explain that her anxiety was catching, and the palace staff were working throughout the night attempting to meet what they saw as their new princess’ demands for perfection.

  Danielle had learned to stifle her reactions after that day. Of course, there were parts of the palace no servant knew about. Danielle still cleaned the secret chambers beneath the palace from time to time. If she waited for Snow or Talia to do it, the job would require a shovel. She also dusted the passage that led from those chambers up to her room.

  Up to her privy, to be precise.

  Today, she barely noticed the occasional cobweb stretched across the dark shaft. When she reached the top rung, she pressed her ear gently against a wooden panel hidden in the wall. Danielle dreaded the day she scaled these bronze rungs, only to interrupt one of the chambermaids relieving herself.

  There were no sounds from the other side save the howl of the wind from outside the palace.

  “Sounds like a storm coming,” Snow commented from the darkness below.

  A quick tug of a metal lever opened the panel. Danielle stepped into the privy and listened again before exiting into her bedchamber.

  The window had blown open, and rainwater puddled the black and white tile floor. From the size of the puddles, the window couldn’t have been open for long. Danielle started toward the window to close the shutters, but Talia caught her arm from behind.

  “You know better.” Talia dropped to her knees, checking beneath the bed before moving to the window. She peeked outside, then reached out to pull the shutters closed. She latched the windowpanes back into place, muffling the sound of the wind. “Leaving the windows open is like sending out a royal invitation to any assassin who cares to eliminate the prince or princess of Lorindar.”

  “The last time someone tried to kill me, she used the door,” Danielle said. “Besides, I shut those windows myself. The wind must have blown them open.”

  The rain sounded like pebbles bouncing off the shutters. She could hear the water rushing through the copper gutters outside.

  “That storm isn’t natural.” Snow moved past Talia and pressed her fingers against the glass.

  “What do you mean?” asked Talia. “I can’t remember the last time a week passed without a thunderstorm. You need gills to live in this country.”

  “This is different,” said Snow. “It’s angry.”

  Danielle stared at the puddles, fighting the urge to fetch a mop or rags. “Is it some sort of magical attack?”

  “I don’t think so. Even if I’m wrong, the palace should be protected.” Snow wiped her hand on her skirt. “If the storms continue, we could have an interesting time on the Phillipa.”

  Danielle grimaced. “I’ll need an extra strong batch of that tea before we leave.” She walked toward the wardrobe, hoping to grab some dry clothes. “Where is Armand?”

  Snow touched her choker for a moment. “On the north wall.”

  So much for getting dry. Or dinner, for that matter. She hadn’t had much of an appetite earlier in the day, but after hiking back up the seagate path, not to mention the climb from below the palace, her stomach was making its displeasure known to all within earshot.

  Danielle tried not to think about how easily Snow had located her husband. Snow had planted small mirrors throughout the palace. Wall-mounted sconces were mirror-backed, giving her eyes in nearly every room and hallway. Other mirrors had been hidden in the mouths of gargoyles along the rooftops or fitted into mosaics in the ceilings.

  Snow always assured her she would never violate anyone’s privacy without good cause.“Besides,” she had added the first time Danielle asked, “I can’t see anything interesting through that silly canopy on your bed anyway.”

  Danielle had requested thicker curtains that same day.

  “Armand is with the king and some others,” Snow said. “The rain makes it hard to see.”

  Danielle grabbed a cloak and pulled it tight around her body. Like so much of her wardrobe, the cloak had a few too many frills for her taste. Gold thread and lace only covered half of the material, making it one of the less extravagant outfits.

  The lamplighters had just begun to make their way through the hallways, touching flame to the oil lamps mounted in the walls. The flames flickered in the drafty air, and several lamps threatened to die completely.

  By the time Danielle and her companions reached the north wall, the sky had begun to fade to black. Both Armand and the king stood in the rain, along with several guards and a man wearing the burgundy vest and gold seabird pin marking him as admiral of Lorindar’s navy. Behind them stood a second sailor. His face was swollen and bruised, and he shifted about as though he didn’t know what to do with himself.

  Ambassador Trittibar of Fairytown was here as well, human-sized as he usually was when in Lorindar. Wisps of white hair plastered his face where they had escaped from the long braid draped over his shoulder. As always, he dressed in such a way as to make Danielle suspect the fairy folk perceived color very differently from humans. A green shirt clashed with his purple jacket, and Danielle couldn’t even imagine where he had found trousers in that particular shade of rusty orange.

  A white falcon named Karina perched on his shoulder. Splotches of red mottled the bird’s chest. Trittibar scratched the falcon’s neck, and she responded by raising her crest like a tiny crown.

  “Karina confirms it, Your Majesty,” Trittibar was saying. “The storms are strongest along the shore but die quickly the farther you travel from the palace.”

  “Demons fly in those clouds,” said the admiral. Hays, Danielle remembered. She had seen him about the palace on occasion. Hays licked his lips, eyes searching the skies. “I’ve spent forty years of my life on these waters, and I’ve never seen a storm arise so suddenly. The Reginald was barely out of the harbor when the winds hit. Cracked her mainmast before she could take in her sheets.”

  “We were less than an hour out of Lorindar when we saw the storm building,” said the sailor. “We stopped to lash supports to the mainmast. That’s when the undine attacked.”

  “You were on the Branwyn,” Danielle guessed.

  “James Harland. I’ve been a waister on the Branwyn for two years.”

  Armand raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t ask how Danielle had known. He beckoned her closer, putting an arm around her shoulders when she joined him. The gesture seemed to be as much for his comfort as hers.

  “ ‘Waister?’ ” Danielle whispered.

  Armand bent his head close. “He worked the deck at the foremast.”

  “Were there other survivors?” Danielle asked.

  “I don’t think so, Your Highness,” said James. “I was working to bring in the bowsprit when the wind tossed me overboard. The merfolk dragged me away almost before I hit the surface. They left me on the outer seawall. They promised safe passage if we paid proper tribute to their queen.”

  “Lirea asked for gold,” Armand said. “The undine have never used money before. They barter with other tribes for what they need.”

  “The undine aren’t known for this kind of magic.” The king waved a hand toward the clouds. “Could Lirea have allied herself with the fairy folk? The gold could be payment for their aid.”

  “Anything is possible, Your Majesty,” said Trittibar, but he sounded dubious. “But I believe I would recognize the magic of my people. It would be a serious violation of Malindar’s Treaty, and few of our kind would risk the wrath of our lord and lady. No, this is something else.”

  “You believe it’s
coincidence that this storm assaults the palace the day we bring my mother home?” Armand asked. He spun away, moving so fast the water sprayed from his arms.

  A page hurried onto the wall, his jacket held over his head against the rain. The king waved for him to approach.

  “We’ve received a note from Lord Montgomery. He sends his sympathies to you and the prince and asks how you intend to protect Eastpointe from the undine. He requests twelve warships be diverted to escort trade ships to and from his docks.” The page bowed and took a step back.

  King Theodore simply shook his head. “Word spreads quickly. By this time tomorrow, I imagine half the lords will be demanding similar protection.” He dismissed the page, then rested his arms on the crenellations of the outer wall. “Who do you think Montgomery’s spies are, to alert him of the undine threat so quickly?”

  “Does it matter?” Armand asked. “He’s within his rights to ask the crown for help.”

  “He is,” Theodore acknowledged. “Just as I’m within my rights to call on Montgomery’s resources in a time of war. If he’s not careful, I’ll send him and his ships out to sea to hunt Lirea.”

  “Until this storm eases, what help does he expect us to give?” Hays asked. “The weather would cost us a quarter of our ships before we even left the docks. We’ve already had one cargo ship run aground.”

  “Order the hurricane bells rung,” Theodore said. “Any incoming ships should be diverted away from Whiteshore. Send them to Griffon’s Vale.”

  Admiral Hays bowed his head. “I’ll have hurricane warnings rung on the hour.”

  Armand shook his head. “We know they’ve attacked near Whiteshore. Let me take our ships out to search for Lirea. Warships sailing together will be better able to defend themselves, and they should lure the undine away from our civilians. If we could take prisoners, we might be able to find where Lirea is hiding.”

  Danielle’s throat tightened. He meant to draw the undine away by making himself a more obvious target. She looked at James, his eyes still haunted by the undine attack on his ship.