“Spawning has been known to come quickly in times of danger,” Nilliar said. “The pressure to breed is strong. The urge was building even during the migration. You can’t fight it anymore, Lirea.”
“No . . .” Lirea could hear the knife’s anger, a match for her own. “Then we attack now. The sharks—”
“Could slaughter half our number, and the blood would draw more sharks to serve their princess.” Nilliar wiped her nose. “Even if Lannadae is with them, the risk is too great.”
Lirea was no longer listening to her fellow undine. Another whisper floated on the wind. This new voice was seductive. Familiar. Lirea began to tremble. “Where are we?”
“North of the humans’ island kingdom,” said Nilliar.
The clouds blocked the stars from view, but there were other ways of navigating. Lirea dove, seeking out the deeper currents to confirm her fears.
A shark taunted her in the distance. You can’t stop us.
She swam back to the surface. “I know where they’re going.”
Lannadae has slipped through your grasp again, and she’ll never let you be queen, called another shark. She’s going to kill you.
“Where?” asked Nilliar.
“We have to stop them. The sharks don’t matter. We can’t let them reach—”
“Lirea, no.” The other undine drew back, leaving Nilliar alone to face Lirea. “Please, my queen. Your people need you.”
Lirea would have been within her rights to kill Nilliar for such defiance. If Lirea so wished, she could drive a spear through Nilliar’s heart for such insolence, and Nilliar knew it. “Lannadae is taking them to Morveren.”
Nilliar sank lower. “I’ve hunted sharks before, my queen. If you order us to attack, we will obey, and we will die. You will die, and Lannadae will have won.”
Kill you dead! the sharks taunted. Dead as a really dead thing!
Nobody had ever claimed sharks were creative. But their voices were little more than whispers next to the rage of her knife. You let her escape before because you were too slow and weak. Lannadae is there! She’ll free Morveren!
“Nilliar—” Lirea watched the ship go. She bowed her head. Nilliar was right. “Send a singer to find Captain Varisto. Order him to destroy the human ship.”
The knife screamed its fury, filling her eyes with tears of pain.
“Where will we find him?” Nilliar asked.
“Swim north.” Lirea lay back, listening to the wind. “Swim until the sea turns red. He will be there.”
To Nilliar’s credit, she asked no further questions. She knew the place Lirea described, as did the rest of the undine. Nilliar gestured, and one of the warriors stripped off his harness and weapons. He dove beneath the surface, seeking the deeper currents that would speed his journey.
“By the time he reaches Varisto’s ship, it might be too late to intercept the humans,” Nilliar said.
The sharks cried out again, adding their voices to that of Nilliar and the knife. Dead!
“Oh, shut up.”
Only Nilliar and the sharks obeyed.
Despite Talia’s fears, the day passed without incident. She hadn’t decided which was more likely, the undine attacking the Phillipa or one of the crew taking out his fears on Lannadae. But either the undine weren’t worried about a single small vessel, or else Danielle’s sharks had done their jobs. One of the younger crewmen, barely more than a boy, had been charged with dumping the occasional handful of offal into the water. At those times, Talia could see the dark forms of the sharks as they came to the surface to feed.
As for the crew, whatever their feelings toward Lannadae, not one of them disobeyed their captain. Talia saw one or two men stop to stare at the mermaid, only to be dragged away by his fellows, usually with harsh words of warning.
Most of the crew wore lifelines against the storm, long ropes that secured them to the ship. Talia had reluctantly allowed Captain Hephyra to loop one of the lines around her waist. The sheets were furled, all save the foresail and main topsail. Any more sail in such weather would risk cracking the mast. Hephyra herself took the helm, holding the wheel steady against the wind.
She showed no sign of strain, but when she had stepped away earlier in the day, it had taken two men to keep the wheel under control.
Talia increased her scrutiny once night fell, pacing the edge of the ship and searching the water for any trace of motion. As she passed the boats, Lannadae peeked out and beckoned with one hand. The dinghy was nested within the larger cutter, both boats resting on chocks and secured with double-lines.
“What’s wrong?” A canvas tarp covered the back of the boats, though the bottom of the dinghy was ankle-deep with water from the rain.
“I can’t sleep,” said Lannadae.
Talia allowed herself a slight smile. “Neither can I.”
“It’s too dry, and sound travels so strangely above water. So many voices. And no way to seek deeper waters to escape the wind.” Lannadae sank lower in the boat. “You must think me a coward.”
“You’re young,” said Talia.
“Have you been friends with Cinderella and Snow White a long time?”
“Danielle for about a year,” Talia said. “Snow . . . we’ve known each other longer.” She glanced at the cabin, wondering what they were doing. Danielle was probably huddled in her cot with a bucket. There was only so much Snow’s teas could do. Snow, on the other hand, had been known to sleep through anything. The lurching of the ship might be enough to ruin even her sleep. Still, Talia wouldn’t have put it past Snow to simply tie herself to the bed and dream merrily through the night. Assuming she didn’t find someone else to do the tying.
Lannadae rested her chin on the edge of the boat. “Snow told me the women in your city decorate their shoes with glass beads, to make them look like Cinderella’s slippers.”
“Some do.” Talia smiled despite herself, remembering the first time Danielle had learned of that trend. Seeing Danielle’s outrage, Snow had naturally hurried out to buy a pair for herself. “A few of the more well-to-do families even tried to capture rats and doves as pets, but that fashion passed more quickly.”
“I’m working on a new story of how Cinderella summoned the sharks to protect us.” The cord Lannadae had used for her story back at the cave was now looped around her wrist like a bracelet. She started to tug it free. “Would you like to hear?”
“No.” It came out more sharply than Talia intended, and Lannadae shrank back. “Perhaps another time.”
Lannadae pulled herself up onto the frontmost bench in the boat. “Do you have any sisters, Talia?”
Talia’s fists tightened. “I did. One sister and three brothers.”
“Where are they today?”
“Dead.” She rubbed her neck, trying to work out some of the tension in her muscles. “Look, I know you’re frightened. I’m just not very good at comforting people.”
“Why are you so mad at Snow White?”
And there was the tension again. “I’m not mad.”
“You press your lips together every time I mention her. I thought that was one of the things humans did when they were angry.” She smiled. “Yes, like that.”
“Go to sleep.”
“I can’t, remember?” said Lannadae. “The wind is too—”
“The wind is starting to die down.”
Lannadae pulled herself higher, looking out at the sheets of rain pounding the ship. “But—”
“Go to sleep.”
Talia hadn’t lied. The storms were finally slowing. Talia threw off her lifeline the instant Hephyra did, figuring if it was safe enough for the dryad, it was safe enough for her. Soon the wind eased enough for Talia to fully explore the ship. She could see much more from atop the masts.
Morning found her on the footrope that hung below the foremast top yard. One hand held the yard for balance as she moved through a simple combat form, testing the lines. The better she knew the Phillipa, the faster she could get where
she needed to be if the undine attacked again.
Hephyra had replaced the lines since Talia’s last time on the queen’s ship. The new ropes were slightly thinner than she was used to. The masts appeared thicker as well, though that was to be expected. Like trees, the masts added a new ring of growth with each year.
She spun on one foot, switching hands as her opposite foot swept the legs from an imagined opponent.
“You move as though you were born to this ship.” Captain Hephyra stood on the topyard, arms folded as she watched Talia finish her form. “You’re distracting the crew, though.”
“I’m distracting them? What kind of captain wears a skirt, anyway?”
Hephyra grinned. Her skirt flapped like the blue and white banner atop the mast. Only the heavy tassels at the hem kept her thighs covered. “My invitation still stands, you know.”
“No, thank you.” Talia pulled herself up onto the yard. “I told you two years ago—”
“Yes, yes. You serve Beatrice. As do I.” Hephyra rubbed the gold tattoo on her wrist. “And if Beatrice doesn’t survive? What then, Talia? My crew could use a woman of your skills.”
“To do what? You can’t go back to Fairytown.”
Hephyra ran one hand down the mast, caressing the wood. The gesture was sensual enough to make Talia flush. “I can’t return to the grove of my sisters, no. But there are other ways to return. I know the smell of your magic and your curse, Talia. I know you have scores to settle with the fairies, as do I. Tell me, when was the last time one of the silver fleet fell prey to pirates?”
“Not in a hundred years.”
Hephyra winked. “Consider your future, Talia.”
“My future lies with Beatrice,” Talia said firmly.
“For now, perhaps.” Hephyra began to climb down the mast. She didn’t bother with the ropes. Her bond with her tree allowed her to cling to the wood like an insect, moving with even greater ease than Talia herself. “Snow will never return your feelings, you know.”
Talia grabbed the ropes to keep from falling. “What?”
“Never think you can conceal your longing from a dryad, dear Talia.” Green eyes caressed Talia’s skin. “There could be other benefits to joining my crew. My kind is far less . . . particular than you humans. You don’t have to remain chained to them.”
“They’re my friends.” Talia’s throat was dry. Damn dryad magic, anyway.
“Perhaps. But I’m friendlier.” With that, Hephyra laughed and jumped down to the deck, leaving Talia muttering words unbecoming for any lady, let alone a princess.
By the middle of the second day, Danielle had imbibed more tea than she normally drank in a week. The Phillipa was fast, but her smaller size made her more vulnerable to the motion of the waves. Last night had been one of the most miserable of her life, and that was saying a great deal. Thankfully, Jakob had helped inure her to sleepless nights.
She had little luck with breakfast but had so far managed to keep down a small lunch of porridge topped with cinnamon. So long as she remained above deck where she could see the horizon, the rolling of the ship wasn’t so bad. She rested one hand on the hilt of her sword as she watched the sea. As always, the touch of the wood and glass handle soothed her tension. With her other hand, she tried to comb the tangles from her hair. She had cut it shorter after Jakob’s birth, but the wind and rain had snarled the shoulder-length locks.
“We’re down to less than half a barrel of fish guts,” Snow said brightly, coming up behind her. She had acquired a worn leather tricorn hat, no doubt charmed from one of the crew.
Danielle groaned. “What happened?”
“One of the barrels washed overboard sometime last night.” Snow yelped as a bundle of black fur hopped past, something purple and slimy clutched in its teeth. “And it doesn’t help that Stub keeps getting into what’s left.”
The three-legged cat leaped onto one of the deck guns. The sun had warmed the metal, and Danielle could hear him purring as he chewed his prize. She walked over to scratch the scraggly fur behind his ear, which made the stump of his rear leg twitch madly. “How long until we reach Morveren?”
“Lannadae wasn’t sure,” Snow said. “We lost some time in the storm, but now that we’re under full sail, we might make it by the end of the day. Assuming the winds don’t change, we could have you back home to your prince before the week is out.” Her face brightened. “That reminds me, I have a present for you. I meant to have it ready before we left, but things were so rushed. I finished it after lunch.”
She pushed up her sleeve and tugged off a bracelet. Three thick strands of copper were braided together, and in the center they held a small, circular mirror. Snow grabbed Danielle’s arm and pushed the bracelet over her wrist.
“Go on,” said Snow.
Danielle looked at the mirror. All she saw was the greenish pallor of her face, and the windblown mess that was her hair.
“Give it a kiss.”
Danielle shrugged and touched her lips to the glass. A familiar giggle made her smile. The mirror blurred, and then she was staring down at her son. She could hear Nicolette’s voice, trying to persuade him to eat a biscuit. Jakob seemed much more interested in putting the gummed biscuit into his hair.
“Jakob?”
He jumped and looked around. “Mama?”
“He shouldn’t be able to hear you.” Snow yanked Danielle’s arm, wrenching her shoulder as she studied the mirror. “I enchanted the glass to work through the mirrors in the palace. This is the sconce to the left of the doorway in the nursery. The magic of those mirrors should go only one way.”
She grinned and added, “I left a mirror like this for Armand as well, so the two of you could talk. I told him it was a good-luck necklace. You’ll have to kiss the mirror a little differently to make that spell work, though.”
Danielle twisted free of Snow’s grip and studied her son. “Oh, no. He’s gotten his hands on Armand’s shoe again.”
Jakob’s latest infatuation was with one of Armand’s shoes, a fancy thing of polished leather and velvet trim. Always the left shoe, for some reason. Jakob would gnaw it all day if he could. Unfortunately, the dye in the velvet always left Jakob with a purple-stained mouth and chin for several days afterward.
“What is it with your family and shoes?” Talia asked, coming over to join them. “First Armand runs around half the kingdom carrying that slipper, and now your son decides to devour the things.”
“I still want to know how he heard you.” Snow leaned over Danielle’s wrist. “Jakob? It’s Snow. Wave if you can hear me.”
Jakob was too preoccupied trying to wedge biscuit into his right nostril.
“Thank you for this, Snow.” Danielle touched the edge of the glass, and longing filled her chest. That should be her with Jakob, laughing and trying to get him to eat his biscuit. How many times would duty take her from her son? “Can we use it to check on Beatrice too?”
Snow’s smile slipped. “Not with Father Isaac’s wards protecting her.”
Danielle scratched her nose. The skin was already sensitive to the touch. Talia’s brown skin gave her some protection against the sun, but Danielle would have to find a hat for herself soon. “Has there been any sign of the undine?”
“Nothing yet.” Talia leaned over the railing. “But they could be right behind us, and we’d never know until they decided to show themselves.”
“That makes me feel better.” Danielle watched as Jakob’s image faded from the mirror. “What do we do if they’re just waiting for the sharks to leave?”
Snow patted the railing. “Then we find out how tough the Phillipa really is.”
The weather held for the rest of the day, allowing the Phillipa to continue under full sail. Danielle eventually found a moment alone to experiment with Snow’s mirror. Snow hadn’t been joking about the kind of kiss required to reach Armand. Danielle hoped she wouldn’t have to contact Armand while anyone else was around.
He had been in the bow o
f his ship when Danielle reached him, and the sound of her voice made him jump so hard he bumped into the rail.
“It’s good to hear your voice,” he said, once he had recovered from his shock.
“And yours,” said Danielle, holding the mirror close. “Have you found anything?”
“No sign of Lirea or her undine yet.” His voice tightened as he summarized the past day’s hunt. The storms had eased enough for him to take four ships out in search of Lirea. Two men had been found murdered on a fishing boat. Another ship had been wrecked from below while still in the harbor.
“You can still see the top of the masts sticking out of the water,” Armand said. “They cracked her hull and left her to sink. It probably started taking on water yesterday evening. Most of the crew survived. This was meant as a warning, to make sure every man in the bay knew what could happen to him.”
He moved closer. Danielle could see the gold chain stretching out from the mirror, circling Armand’s neck. His eyes were shadowed. He was angry, but trying not to let it show.
“How is Beatrice?” Danielle asked.
“Unchanged. Father Isaac and Tymalous have done all they can.”
The cabin door opened, and Snow peeked inside. “Lannadae is asking for you.”
“You have to go,” said Armand. “I wish I knew what it was Lirea really wanted, aside from her sister. Why would they ask for gold? The undine are migratory. Gold is heavy and clumsy to move.”
“Maybe Morveren will be able to tell us.”
“I hope so.” Armand managed a small smile. “Be careful, Danielle. And please thank your friend for the gift.”
“I will.” Danielle kissed the mirror, and when she drew back, Armand’s image was gone. She held it a moment longer, then left the cabin. Snow waited outside with Lannadae, who had finally ventured out from her makeshift cave of wood and canvas.
“We need your help,” Lannadae said, hurrying toward the bow of the ship. Danielle walked with them, trying not to stare.
Lannadae used her arms to keep her body upright, pushing herself along with her twin tails. The motion reminded Danielle of thick snakes. Lannadae gripped the rail and pulled herself higher, studying the water.
The Mermaid's Madness Page 10