by Lilian Darcy
By the time she realized it was someone else, they’d almost collided. He was heading straight for her—not a big man, but wiry and as lithe and supple as an eel in the water. He snaked his arm around her, flipped over and lashed his tail back and forth so hard in order to gain speed that it whipped her own tail painfully, scratching like rose thorns.
She struggled to see his face, but it wasn’t until he’d pulled her behind the outcrop of coral that she was able to do so, and even then, it wasn’t until he signed to her that she recognized him.
“Sweet little princess, I knew it was you. And all grown up so beautifully.”
“Joran…” She felt sick.
“You remember. I wondered.”
“And I thought you were under siege in my father’s throne room.”
“Under siege?” His face twisted, and his signing was sharp and ugly. “Is that what Loucan is saying? I’ve claimed power, Thalassa. That’s a very different thing. And when you’ve given me a particular key, which I know you have in your possession, my claim will stand without challenge.”
“Do you think I’m going to hand over the key? Do you actually think I’m carrying it with me?”
“No, but you’ll tell me where it is.”
“I won’t!”
“Stubborn! All right then, sweet little princess…”
She didn’t bother to react, although she knew he wanted her to protest against the condescending phrase.
“…tell me what you’ll do when I start to hurt you.”
“His supporters are drifting away every day. I vote that we wait.”
“And I say that we have to act. If we don’t take hold of this new unity between Swimmers and Breathers, it will disappear.”
“If it’s that fragile, it will disappear anyway,” Loucan interjected. “I don’t believe it is that fragile.”
His head was pounding, and he’d grown increasingly frustrated by the hours of circular debate droning on in the council chamber. He was in favor of action, but not out of fear that unity would disappear. He knew that his own weariness reflected the mood of Pacifica’s whole population.
There had been a generation of conflict and unrest. Families were divided, and some clans had scattered to primitive undersea cave dwellings, far from the once-beautiful labyrinth of the palace. More people wanted peace than ever before, and wanted it sincerely. It wouldn’t take much to make Pacifica beautiful again. Only peace.
In his view, all that remained to decide was the moment and the method. Another pitched battle? No one wanted that. And yet if Joran was quietly overpowered and held for trial, or allowed to slink away, there would be no emotional moment of victory to cement the population’s mood. He had the uneasy and growing feeling that if he didn’t take the right action soon, he’d lose his chance.
He kept thinking of Lass, which helped nothing and no one. Lord, he’d get her out of his mind if he could!
He had brushed off her message last night. He’d regretted it immediately, yet still hadn’t gone to her as she wanted. Dozens of times a day, he parried suggestive jokes and questions about the state of their married life. Was she pregnant? Was he having a good time trying to get her that way? Was this, truly, the political marriage he claimed it was? Would he, for example, have married her quite so quickly if she’d looked like a blowfish or a sea turtle?
“It’s nothing to do with her looks,” he had by this time, and very irritably, told at least fifteen people.
But it had to do with her looks, of course, and with everything else about her as well. He honestly couldn’t have said anymore, whether she was beautiful, but she was beautiful to him. Her heart, her laugh, the successful life she’d made for herself on land, the strength she’d shown when he’d deliberately cooled off toward her on the boat.
She was fabulous, and he’d ignored her for two whole days, mainly out of guilt because she deserved so much more than the shallow marriage he’d given her.
“Let’s adjourn,” he told the council. “I need a break.”
But when he went in search of Lass five minutes later, she was nowhere to be found.
Neither was Joran. Loucan had a spy in the merman’s inner circle, who reported, “He’s left the palace suite. No announcement or fuss, he just slipped out. He’s got the place as strongly guarded as ever. Doesn’t want anyone to know he’s not there. What could be important enough to take him away?”
Swimming aimlessly toward the reefs, Loucan asked himself the same question. In the distance, he saw figures, and not all of them were mer. It must be Saegar and the twins, their spouses in scuba gear, and the patrol who had gone to meet with them.
That’s where Lass is, he thought. Of course! She would have heard that the patrol was going, and she wouldn’t have wanted to risk not seeing her siblings if they decided to wait longer on the boat. Was that what her message was about last night? And could Joran have heard about the patrol, as well?
Quickening his pace, he swam toward them, looking for her. The group was strung out, with Beth and Saegar swimming apart from the others, and Kai and Phoebe both staying close to their non-mer husbands. He couldn’t see Lass.
Carrag had recognized him now. He swam ahead of the group, and the two of them met up. “Was Thalassa with you?” Loucan asked at once.
“Yes, she’s…” Carrag twisted around. “Where is she?”
“You mean she was with you, the last time you thought to check. Unless she’s way back, she’s not with you now. Carrag, weren’t you looking out for her?” Loucan felt ready to explode, but reined in the reaction, and ignored the painful pumping of his heart. Lass’s safety was important. Castigating Carrag was not.
“No, don’t waste time in explanations,” he added quickly. “She was with you, for certain, until when?”
“We left the boat,” Carrag reported. “We came back over the reefs. She began falling behind our patrol. I looked back a few times, but she was close to Saegar and Beth.”
“Who are in another world right now, with eyes for no one but each other.”
“I…” Carrag twisted his fingers together, turning his signs into garbled nonsense. Controlling himself, he added, “I’ll come with you.”
“No. I’ll go alone.” Loucan gave Carrag more instructions, then began to power through the water, sick at how much time had already passed since Lass was last seen. The weight of the ocean seemed to suffocate him, and for some reason he thought of Tara and their little lost son.
If I’ve made another mistake like that… I can’t lose her. I can’t. Why have I been lying to myself about how important she is?
She was with Joran. Loucan knew she was, and he knew what Joran wanted from her. Okeana’s key. He doubted that Lass would give it to the renegade merman, and he was terrified that her courage might cost her her life.
“We should be safe here for long enough,” Joran told Lass.
“Who should be safe? Not me!”
“Don’t answer back like that. Your signs are as crude as a sailor’s. You’re a princess, Thalassa. If you hadn’t so naively married Loucan, you might have had the chance to marry me. You’d have won back your father’s throne. It will still be possible for you, once Loucan’s death has widowed you.”
“Share the throne with you? No, thanks.”
“Then you accept that it is rightfully mine?”
“No. Did I give that impression? Sorry, you must have misunderstood!”
“You’re making me angry, Thalassa.”
Lass knew that. She was doing it on purpose, trying to distract him and buy herself time. Until she’d worked out a means of escape? Until her siblings noticed she was missing and raised the alarm? Her plan didn’t go beyond that. Yet. But if she had time to think…
“And when I’m angry,” Joran signed, “I sometimes lose control.”
“Of what? What do you have control of in the first place?”
“I mean it. Stop wasting my time, and tell me where you’ve hidden the key
, or I will hurt you, my beautiful future bride.”
“Why is the key so important to you, Joran? Don’t you believe you can keep power without it?”
“Sometimes the mer can be almost as shallow and misguided as land-dwellers are. If I can bring us back the prosperity and technology we used to have, a generation ago, I’ll be Joran the Great, reigning over a golden age. That was my biggest mistake, advising your father to lock our treasured knowledge away. I never suspected he’d send his own children into exile with the keys. I thought he’d give them to me.”
“Gee, bad luck!”
He raised his arm, and she ducked aside in a rippling motion. The blow caught her tail, where the top of her thigh would have been, and ripped the scales away painfully. He had sharp fingernails that were of a macabre length for a man.
Lass shuddered, and hoped he hadn’t seen. She didn’t want him to know that beneath her bravado, she could so easily be afraid of him… He had her imprisoned with him beneath this rocky ledge, too shallow to be called a cave, and now, from some hidden crevice, he’d brought out a knife, made of the same metal as the precious key he wanted.
He held it against her side, and said in a chatty voice, “Now that we’re getting down to business, how long do you think before someone—Loucan, let’s say, if he cares enough to look for you—will find you in this spot? Wouldn’t it be much more sensible to tell me what I want to know, so we can get out of here together?”
“No. I won’t tell you anything.”
Overcoming her rising panic, Lass forced her mind to work.
The ocean was very still here, and incredibly clear. If she could do something to cloud the water, it might serve as a signal. The section of reef Joran had chosen was badly damaged from the fighting, and some of the rock looked fractured and loose. If she could move it…
It wasn’t the most brilliant plan, but at least it required action. She didn’t wait any longer. Disguising her movements as a bid for escape, she lashed her tail wildly back and forth, and barged as hard as she could against the most fragile looking rock face. Joran grabbed her immediately and since she was so fatigued, he won the struggle almost at once.
Meanwhile, however, the rocks fell onto a ledge thickly covered with coral debris almost as fine as dust, and a cloud of it slowly began to rise and spread. Joran nudged the point of his knife into Lass’s throat. “Don’t try that again. Take me to Loucan’s headquarters and show me where you’ve hidden the key, or believe me, you will suffer.”
“Yes, all right,” she signed, making her hands deliberately shaky. “Give me a chance to rest for a few minutes first. I’m tired. I’ve already swum for miles today. I can see there’s no hope of trying to fight you. You’re so much stronger and smarter than I am.”
Would he buy her capitulation? Only if his ego was big enough. Apparently it was.
“Of course I’m stronger, sweet little princess,” he signed. “Strong enough to show some mercy to my future bride. I will expect you to remember that.”
“Oh, I will, Joran…”
Lass slumped against the rock as if completely exhausted, and they waited. Joran’s knife was still pricking her throat. He would use it, she was sure. And yet he’d talked casually about making her his bride. The contrast between this insane lack of logic and Loucan’s reasoned talk with her on the boat about putting personal issues aside for Pacifica’s sake suddenly made her see things in a new way.
I shouldn’t be angry with Loucan. His priorities make sense, and I’m only being petty. Oh, if I could only tell him that, right now!
With images of Loucan filling her mind, she covertly watched the fine debris spreading and spreading in the water, not daring to accept that it was her only hope.
When Loucan saw the clouded water, he cursed it. How would he find Lass if he couldn’t see? What had stirred up the debris like that? A fight? Occasionally, if two hotheaded young mermen from opposing factions met up, there could be violence. But he couldn’t see anyone, and he couldn’t see or taste blood.
Blood in the water, moving like a cloud.
Lass had talked about that, when she’d told him about secretly witnessing her mother’s death.
Lass.
Had she created that cloud?
He swam fast and silently, hugging the shadows of the rocks. When he saw her, seconds later, his stomach gave a sickening twist. Joran was beside her. They were hidden beneath an overhanging rock, and neither of them had yet noticed his approach. She looked so limp. What had Joran done to her?
No, what have I done?” Loucan’s thoughts were barely coherent. I’ve treated her like a chess piece, not like a person. Did I really think that warning her in advance to expect such treatment was good enough? I should have made time for her. If Joran has hurt her…
No. She was alive. Moving. There was no blood, but Joran had a knife.
Take him by surprise, Loucan coached himself. Don’t think this out for too long. Go with your gut.
His sudden movement made the water seem to boil. Seeing Loucan a fraction of a second before he was tackled, Joran turned like an eel, his knife flashing in his hand.
“Swim, Lass.” Loucan yelled the words, creating only a meaningless, muffled sound in the water. “Get away.”
She understood, but she shook her head. She’d grabbed Joran’s tail, but he was lashing it wildly, and she lost her grip. The powerful fin caught her across the face, drawing blood like a cat’s claws, and she jerked sideways and sank to the ledge below. At the same time, Loucan went for the knife, but in the struggle both men lost it and it sank quickly out of sight. He didn’t think it had gone far. Lass might have found it if she’d looked, but she was focusing her energy elsewhere.
Loucan didn’t have time to work out what she was doing. Although Joran was smaller and less powerful, he was agile in the water, and very fast, and he used his tail as a weapon. Feeling the sting of it against his body, Loucan realized that Joran had pierced his tail fins with deadly metal barbs, the way people on land wore piercings as jewelry.
Joran had always worked that way, substituting cunning and trickery for what he lacked in overt strength. He might win this, if he drew enough of Loucan’s blood….
No. No. And leave Lass in his hands? No. Joran would do anything for the key. Lass’s life would be worth nothing.
And so would my life, if I lost her.
Loucan fought harder, willing himself to overcome the fatigue brought on by nights of sleeplessness. He felt Joran tiring, but those barbs were still doing their damage. He surged back against the rocks, readying himself for a decisive lunge, felt Lass pulling him sideways, then lost vision as the water churned and blurred with debris once more.
He glimpsed Joran, and readied himself to continue the fight. Couldn’t understand, at first, why the other merman was thrashing his body like that, yet not coming any closer. Then he realized that Joran was trapped. The full thickness of his tail was wedged among the rock fall that Lass had triggered, unnoticed by either man in the frenzy of their fight.
Loucan felt Lass signing frantically beside him. There was blood in the water, but she ignored it.
“…didn’t dare hope…go now, before he breaks free…want to use the key and make what’s in my father’s cave free to everyone in Pacifica…can’t be used as a weapon like this…what I’ve decided to do.”
“No,” Loucan told her. “I’m not leaving him. It can’t end like this. Our people need something decisive. Punishment.”
“Exile.” Joran was speaking and signing at the same time. “I choose exile.”
“It’s not your choice, Joran,” Loucan said.
“Yes, it is. It is.”
He had found the fallen knife among the debris, and they saw him stretch his arm out and just manage to clutch it. Immediately, he began slicing at his tail, going deep into the membrane with one long, fast, powerful cut from where the scales first formed to where they merged into his barbed fins.
Loucan felt Las
s grip his arm. “He’ll kill himself, cutting that deep. Won’t he?” she signed in agitation.
“No, but he’ll never grow his tail again. He’s cutting away the cells that make the transformation. Like Saegar, he’ll have to live on land.”
“Yes. I told you I was choosing exile,” Joran repeated. He freed himself as he spoke, and his tail sagged, lifeless and still trapped, against the rocks. His legs were white and thin, and he moved them like a frog, in a jerky motion, as he began to swim upward and away.
“If I’d focused, years ago, on getting rid of you, Loucan…” he signed. “But I underestimated you. I never thought you’d unite the mer the way you have. I thought that anyone who’d lived as long on land as you would be too weak…. My mistake. Interesting that this is the way I’ll have to pay for it, living there, too.”
“You could go after him, Loucan,” Lass said. “He’s powerless now.”
She ran her fingers along Loucan’s strong arm, certain that he must regret the way Joran had taken his destiny into his own hands. For Loucan’s sake, she had begun to crave a more decisive victory, too. In her peripheral vision, she saw Carrag and the rest of the patrol approaching, and then Ben and Kai. Ben was taking pictures with his high-tech underwater camera, of Joran’s thin, ungainly body swimming frantically toward the ocean’s surface and away over the battle-scarred reefs.
“Yes, he’s powerless,” Loucan agreed. “And everyone can see it. Which is why I’m not going to go after him. Let him choose a life of exile among the land-dwellers he despises. I’ve got something more important to do, Lass. With you.”
He turned to her, and answered the concern in her touch by holding her in his arms. Drifting with him toward the surface of the water, Lass was barely aware of the crowds of mer people beginning to gather at a respectful distance around them.
“What is more important to you than Pacifica, Loucan?” she asked him urgently. “This is a decisive moment. Whatever you have to say to me can wait.”
She traced her fingers across his lips, sealing the promise of her new patience.