Maybe longer than a hundred years.
I reached out and brushed my fingers against his cheek. He relaxed immediately, frown fading. No one has ever taken so much comfort in my touch. No one has ever wanted to. Was it any wonder, then, that I would cleave to him, if only to see that acceptance in his eyes.
Not moving away for fear of bringing back the frown, I pointed upward, at the surface of the water, then turned and pointed behind myself, into the distance, in the direction of Saltmist. I returned my attention to Patrick.
He bit his lip for a moment before nodding once, firmly, and pointing in the direction of my home. I must have looked as surprised as I felt, because his expression softened into a smile, besotted and fond, as he nodded again and kept pointing toward Saltmist.
He had thrown himself to the sea for me. It seemed he was willing to follow that commitment all the way down into the depths.
I unwound my tail from around his legs and grasped both his hands in my own, tugging him free of the bottom. Carefully, I flicked my fins against the dragging resistance of the water and towed him a few feet farther from the shore. It was awkward, trying to pull someone along without buffeting him with my tail, but I was sure I would get the knack of it in time. And we would have time. We would have so much time! I could show him all the wonders and dangers of the sea, and I could protect him when those dangers drew too close, and he would be there with me, someone who looked at me with wonder instead of fear.
That might be a flimsy hook to hang a heart upon, but I’ve seen stronger fish that I caught on far less when the bait was right.
Patrick tugged his left hand free of mine, holding up one finger in a signal for me to wait a moment, and proceeded to dump what seemed like an entire stone yard’s worth of bricks and small rocks from his pockets, sending them to rest on the ocean floor. I raised my eyebrows. He shrugged sheepishly. He must have very much wanted to sink.
With the stones gone, he was lighter, although not measurably so, but as it was clear that he was doing his best to make this easier on me, I made a show of pulling him more smoothly, as if he had completely changed the measure of my efforts. I found that by positioning myself slightly behind him, so that his back was against my chest and our joined hands were braced one to the side and one behind his left shoulder, I could hit him less frequently with the motion of my tail. He leaned against me and let me drive us both forward, into the depths.
The transitions between the mortal and fae world on the land are usually clear-cut and obvious. One moment one world, the next moment, another. It’s tidy and dishonest, because there is always blurring around the edges. There’s never a point where two things meet that maintains the possibility to separate them entirely. They have to separate on their own, over time, and cut the mingled parts away, for that to ever become possible.
As we dove, the water darkened, light fading into memory. Fortunately, I had no need of sight to know where we were going; I had swum this path so many times before that I already knew the way. The water chilled, Patrick pressing himself against me and shivering, then warmed again, returning almost to its original temperature. That made the second chill all the more shocking, as the water around us abruptly felt like it had been replaced by a sheet of liquid ice. It burned my throat and eyes, so cold that it made breathing difficult. I pushed forward, and in a few more hard strokes of my tail we were through, breaking into a different ocean.
Breaking into the seas that were my true and only home.
The water here was filled with light. Not sunlight or moonlight; sealight, which was brighter and dimmer all at the same time, swimming with crystalline streaks like rainbows caught in the current. It was rosy and golden and sweeter than the water itself, which tasted cleaner than anything in the mortal sea. Patrick kicked his legs, pushing himself up and somewhat beside me, although still leaving his hands in mine. He wanted to see this with me, and I wanted to allow it, so I slowed, and together we swam toward Saltmist. Toward my home.
I tried to see it with his eyes as we approached. The palace rose from the sea floor like a shell balanced on its end, all elegant curves and spirals, too unbalanced to have stood without the water supporting it. There were no doors, but countless wide windows with graceful balconies in front of them, allowing my subjects to swim inside whenever they desired. The walls were adorned with silver and mother-of-pearl, studded with patches of kelp and growing sea flowers, which bloomed regardless of the season. All around it were rings of gloriously multicolored coral, vast from centuries of growth, playing host to countless fish and sea creatures, some of which had been gone from mortal seas since before Oberon’s departure, some of which had never swum there to begin with.
Below us spread the fields of my people, the farmland planted and heavy with the coming harvest, the homes built for those who had no desire or need to live within the palace. Some reached my chambers, an audience emerged from their home to point and wave as we swam by, and I knew that by the time we arrived, they would have assembled, ready to meet the land’s man who had stolen their lady’s heart.
One thing that seems to be common throughout all the realms of Faerie, whether land or sea or higher above, is that everyone loves a story. And a mermaid in love with a man of the land would always be a story good enough to catch attention. Ah, well. It couldn’t be helped, and if anyone bothered us about it, I’d simply remind them that I was in charge here. Possibly with the hard side of my hand.
I pulled Patrick closer to the palace, and then through one of the larger windows. We’d need to reach one of the chambers set aside for use by the Selkies, and soon; his time under the influence of the potion would be coming to an end, and I hadn’t brought him this far just to drown him, not when I could easily have done that at the pier. I pulled us through the room on the other side and toward one of the rising tunnels, only realizing my mistake as I swam into it, still pulling him in my wake.
I had chosen this tunnel because it was on the larger side, intended for the movement of goods through the palace, often used by those who were caring for children and needed the extra space. There were tunnels too narrow for even me to use, designed for use by the Cephali, whose bones were more a matter of convenience than necessity. We would both fit, if not comfortably so.
But I knew where we were going and what was going on. For Patrick, I had just pulled him into a dark, enclosed space, where the walls brushed against us as we swam upward, seemingly endlessly. I could feel him tensing against me, the first stages of panic setting in. I swam faster, unwilling to linger and risk him starting to thrash. He wasn’t drowning; he could breathe. But we were surrounded by water, and his body’s instincts could resume control at any time. We’re all animals in the end.
We swam for no more than a few minutes before breaking into the light, airy space of the Selkies’ receiving room. Some of the skinshifters were in residence, lounging on the low couches set against the wall, their skins tied around their waists or shoulders, their bodies otherwise bare. They turned toward the sound of our breaking the surface with expressions of evident surprise. Surprise which faded into shock when they recognized me, and then into dismay when they saw me haul the gasping Patrick above the surface, his sodden clothes hanging around him like a shroud.
The arrival pools are never very large, to keep the rooms they feed from flooding. I guided Patrick to the edge and let go before boosting myself out of the water and shifting back into a two-legged form. Out of respect for the Selkies and their respect for me, I garbed myself in a long blue-green dress at the same time, floor-length and concealing enough to prevent them from becoming uncomfortable with my closeness. One of them gasped as I stood. Another rose, shakily forcing a deeply awkward bow. I inclined my head, more curtly than I had intended to, and turned my attention back to Patrick.
He was still in the water, gripping the edge of the pool tightly with both hands, as if he were afraid it was go
ing to disappear and drop him back into the depths. He opened his mouth to speak, then stopped, choking, as it filled with water.
“You have no gills to drain; you need to spit it all out,” I said. Possibly more than spit; he would have both swallowed and inhaled a great deal of seawater during our swim, and his body wasn’t as suited to handling it as mine was, having been created to live on land and not in the depths of the sea.
Patrick spat the mouthful of water out as decorously as he could, and I resisted the urge to laugh at him. “I didn’t expect that,” he managed, although his words had a deep bubbling quality to them that was going to catch up with him in a moment—and be deeply unpleasant when it did.
Ah, well. I had tried to warn him.
“Which part?” I asked. “You pointed here. I thought you were asking to come and see my home.”
“I was. I am. I did. I mean—” He froze mid-sentence before whipping around and violently vomiting a remarkable quantity of water onto the floor, where it ran immediately back into the entrance pool.
And there it was.
“The potion’s efficacy has ended,” I said, and knelt to offer him my hands. “You’ll feel better if you get out of those wet clothes. Come, let me help you. It seems like we have much to discuss, you and I, or you’d never have followed me into the water.”
“I couldn’t let you leave me as an enemy,” he said, taking my hands and allowing me to pull him from the sea. His clothes remained stubbornly sodden, clinging to his skin. I glanced at the Selkies who were still gathered, staring at us in dismay. There are no rules against bringing land fae into the palaces of the sea, and even if there were, they wouldn’t apply to me; those who make the rules have little need to follow them. Still, few land fae can survive the journey, and so this was a virtually unprecedented occurrence. I turned to the nearest of them.
“You,” I said. “I don’t know your name.”
“H-Henry,” he said.
Selkies are often more cavalier about the tradition that calls for no name to be reused. They can afford to be; their lives are so short as to make their choices virtually irrelevant to the rest of us. He was the third Selkie of his name I’d met, and I had to swallow the urge to sniff at the impropriety of it all, instead saying mildly, “Go and find Helmi. Tell her I need one of the Naiads. She should be able to bring them here.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and flung himself into the entry pool that Patrick had so recently befouled without so much as a twitch. Either he had no sense of cleanliness, or I was frightening them worse than I realized.
And now we couldn’t leave, as I had asked him to bring me Helmi, and she would expect to find me where he said I would be. Ah, well. I kept hold of Patrick’s hands, pulling him with me toward one of the couches. The Selkies watched us uncertainly, clearly unsure of whether they should stay or go.
Selkies are an essential part of any functional Undersea demesne. The land courts accept them, allowing them to serve as courtiers and observe the tenor of the political situation. They make for poor spies, being too honest by nature and too clumsy on the land to successfully infiltrate most situations, but it’s useful to have members of our households welcome wherever they choose to go. That doesn’t mean they’re comfortable here, fathoms below the sea, cut off from light and air, any more than they would be truly comfortable in the middle of a desert, feeling dry winds against their faces and shifting sands beneath their feet.
They’re liminal creatures, the Selkies are, part of both worlds and fully belonging to neither, and my heart would break for them if they were not so useful as they are.
I sat, pulling Patrick down with me, and looked to the remaining Selkies, who continued to watch us in wide-eyed silence. I couldn’t remember ever seeing any of them before, although they were clearly familiar enough with me to know who I was. Or maybe they were simply smart enough to assume that when a Merrow hauled a Daoine Sidhe through a hole in the floor, she was someone not to be interfered with. Either way, I was tired of their staring.
“We would like a moment’s privacy, if you don’t mind,” I said. They didn’t move. I raised an eyebrow. “Now.”
They scattered, not for the pool, but for the doors that would take them deeper into the air-filled complex of rooms kept for their use. In a matter of moments, we were alone, and I was leagues away, my thoughts on the interior of the palace, trying to decide which rooms would need to be drained and converted for Patrick’s use. I couldn’t ask the Selkies to leave, would have to keep the amount of space they were accustomed to available for them, or the whole rookery might desert me, moving down the coast to the next amenable demesne. I would never forgive myself if I dealt the defenses of Saltmist such a terrible, if accidental, blow, so I would have to find or open another space—yes, that might be the best answer. Opening new rooms would mean I wasn’t taking anything away from anyone.
Beside me, Patrick took a deep breath, only coughing a little, and said, “I didn’t expect you to have air-filled rooms at the bottom of the sea.”
I snapped my attention back to him and smiled. “Many of my subjects can breathe air, even if it’s not our default environment, and the Selkies require it if they’re to live. We use them to send messages to the land courts, and they come here to rest and hunt in the bosom of the sea. The air is a favor to them and has been since Amphitrite’s day. Before she left us, she bid us be kind to the Selkies.”
“Really? Are they her descendants?”
I frowned. “I don’t believe so, no. So far as I’m aware, her only children are the Merrow. I’ve never heard a Firstborn named for the Selkies, but Amphitrite was worried for them, and she asked us to be kind, and while I don’t feel obeying our Firstborn is required with her so long gone and us left to our own devices, I see no cost in kindness.”
Patrick nodded slowly. “As you were kind to me when you had no cause to be.” He started to look away.
I was not going to have a replay of the pier, not here in my own halls, not when that nonsense should be well finished and far behind us. I grabbed his chin and wrenched his face back around toward me, taking note of his shocked expression before jerking guiltily away. He knew what I was. He knew I came from a culture more violent than his own. That didn’t make it right for me to treat with him as if he had been raised in these halls, all knowing of our ways. He was of the land. I had to be more gentle, or I would risk bruising him.
“I have always had cause to be kind where you were concerned,” I snapped, and he flinched, apparently startled by the harshness of my tone as he had been by the harshness of my hand. This, I made no effort to adjust. I could soften myself for his sake. I couldn’t become someone entirely new. “You didn’t see me as the Duke’s daughter, or as a Duchess in waiting. You didn’t see me as a Merrow warrior, trained and honed to a killer’s edge. You saw me as a woman who wanted something more than fancy mouthfuls for her supper, and you showed me kindness first, if you recall. You fed me and saw to it that I was more comfortable in an unfamiliar, unforgiving place. Now you’re the one in the unfamiliar place, and of course that will move me to as much kindness as my nature has to show, because it is a balance. This is my home, as those halls were yours. I hope . . . I very much wish that this should be a home to you, in time.”
For the first time, Patrick looked alarmed. Not extremely so; his was the face of a man who had just heard that his tea might be spoilt, or his trousers might be stained, and not the face of a man who thought his life in danger. “Are you intending to keep me here?” he asked.
“Only for as long as you desire to stay.” The question was reasonable enough, given the circumstances, and still it stung. I shrank a bit away from him, certain the hurt must be showing in my face, and asked, “Do you truly think I would keep you against your will?”
“N—no! I’m sorry. I don’t know what I think right now.” He looked slowly around the room, eyes
terribly wide. “I always wondered where you went when you had to leave me. I hoped it was beautiful. This is more than I could have dreamt it would be.”
I looked around the room, trying to see it with new eyes. I couldn’t. It was still one of the lesser rooms in the knowe, however hard I tried, a little shabby, a little ordinary, very much in need of a deep cleaning, although I would never have said that where Helmi could hear. I may be Duchess and my word may be law, but that doesn’t make me foolish enough to risk antagonizing my staff. They control too much of my nightly comfort, and I have never swept a floor or clarified water in my life.
I returned my attention to Patrick, who was still looking at his surroundings with dazed wonder. Catching my movement out of the corner of his eye, he turned back to me, and smiled. “I . . . I’m sorry. This has been a rather longer and more exciting evening than I had thought to experience. You have my sincere apologies if my attention seems elsewhere.”
“Did you ask me to meet you tonight solely so you could break my heart?”
He glanced down and away but met my eyes bravely before he answered: “Yes. I thought I had played too long and carelessly with your heart, although I swear, it was not out of any ill intent. The temperature in the Mists is shifting. The kingdom grows larger, and the expectations Eira placed on all her children grow harder to shoulder. Silences to the North grows in strength and standing. I have little doubt there would be war already, were Gilad not so skilled at brokering peace. It seemed . . . unkind . . . to keep you tied as tightly to the land as I have striven to do when we could never stay together always. And once I realized our story had an ending, it felt cruel to the two of us to draw it out simply because I did not desire that end.”
“If you had been born to the sea, I would slap you across your pretty face right now,” I said, allowing my voice to chill. “No one—no man—makes my decisions for me, Patrick Twycross. No man says that my ties to the land are too tight, or that they have the right to spare me a cruelty I have dearly sought. I don’t care what Eira wanted. A pox on that broken-down old mare, who never saw a good thing that she didn’t wish to see destroyed! She may have been your First, but she’s dead and gone and you’ve never known her, by her own choice. Amphitrite was smart enough to know that her children and their children were not toys she could play with and discard. I refuse to let my own life be disrupted by a woman too foolish to understand the same simple idea about her own descendants.”
A Killing Frost Page 39