Beautiful to Me

by E. L. Tenenbaum

  I finally found what I was after toward the end of the outcropping, safely tucked away from meddling human hands in one of the last tide pools, though I heard their chatter easily enough. I passed a hand over the closed shells, seeking answers about the pearl each carried in its mantle. Many were near completion, but I found one particularly large clam whose pearl was just beginning to form.

  I pressed my hand against the upper shell and focused until I could the feel the warmth of magic tingling through my fingers.

  “Something befitting a dear friend, a bride, and queen to be, please,” I requested.

  Then I sang a low tune, keeping my hand on the clam. About half an hour later, I coaxed the mouth open to retrieve an oversized, perfectly round and blemish free white pearl with very slight purple and green overtones. I had wanted the green to match the royal colors, but I hadn’t meant for the purple to get in there as well. I supposed it was simply part of the cost of using merfolk magic as a human on land.

  I held the delicate pearl in my palm, admiring its natural shine and luster in the afternoon sun. Holding it there, I realized I couldn’t simply present the princess with a pearl, however large and beautiful, because then it would simply become one more item to put on display. The pearl needed something more, it needed a setting not just to allow the princess to wear it, but also so the pearl itself could show off just what a wonderful treasure it was.

  I didn’t have resources or connections enough on land to place the pearl in a proper setting. I doubted Marel, or Sienna, or any of the other servants I’d had minimal acquaintance with could help in this area either. Something like this needed the attentions of someone with the means and appreciation for it. Someone who knew about the wonders of the world, someone who knew how to create beautiful things, someone who knew how to appreciate a jewel beneath the barnyard grime. Someone like the prince.

  I wrapped the pearl and carefully tucked it into my pocket then headed back to the palace to seek out Prince Arlando.

  I found him just as he was leaving his chambers.

  “Your Highness—” I began.

  “Ariel,” he said before I could continue.

  “I’d like to ask you something,” we said simultaneously, then stopped short just as suddenly.

  An awkward pause followed and I shifted uncomfortably on my feet. The prince also seemed at a momentary loss for words, but he quickly recovered his good graces.

  “Ariel,” he said, “how may I assist you?”

  I looked about the hallway we were standing in. I didn’t really want anyone to see what I had, didn’t want anyone but the princess, and now the prince, to know about my gift. It would draw too much unwelcome attention.

  “Is there a more private place we can talk, Highness?”

  The prince raised his eyebrows, intrigued. “My study,” he said simply and turned to lead the way.

  I’d never had need to visit the prince in his study before, but I was immediately charmed by the simplicity of the small room tucked into the curves of a palace turret. There was a large mahogany desk placed sideways in the room so the prince could either turn his seat to see the palace gardens—including the plots I usually worked in—and the sea beyond, or keep his attention fixed on the bookcases lining the one wall without windows. A large map of the Southern Kingdoms was pinned to the wall beside the door. The room was neat and well lit, the papers on the desk carefully stacked, held down by small spheres of Castarrean glass, the books arranged by size and color. In various spots of the bookshelves was an assortment of items taken from the sea, and I instinctively moved closer to examine them.

  I went first to a large queen conch shell, the gentle sand and pink coloring of its curved design carrying me back to my enchanted underwater kingdom. I lifted a hand and caressed it softly, thinking of the shelled creatures of my home. I felt a presence approach and turned enough to confirm the prince had come to stand beside me.

  “You can hear the waves if you hold it to your ear,” he whispered.

  I obliged him, carefully raising the beautiful shell to my ear and nodding to confirm that I heard the rhythmic diving of the waves against the shore. But I didn’t need a shell to hear the waves of a sea that were always in my heart. I didn’t need this piece of the sea to remind me of the sound of my home. I didn’t need this human to remind me that I was and always would be a child of the sea.

  Of course, I couldn’t tell the prince that, so I simply placed the shell back on the shelf and offered him a grateful smile.

  “I found this shell with Cordelia in the early morning after a full moon,” the prince told me. “Of course, we argued over who had really been the first to see it, but as the oldest, I prevailed.”

  He smiled at the memory and moved on to a row of sand dollars propped up like plates on display, their symmetrical patterns very much resembling the petals of a flower.

  “These I found one afternoon on the shore in middle of chasing down Castellano,” he explained. “See how much the sun bleached them?”

  He moved on, his soft accent creating a soothing tune as he spoke about each item in his collection, how and where he found them, with whom, and when. We came upon a grouping of near-perfect shells in various colors and sizes.

  “I’ve collected these over the years,” the prince told me. “Angel wings, auger, coquina.” He paused and looked lovingly over the things he’d gathered, each piece reflecting a moment of a life lived so close to the sea. “There are so very many wonders just beneath the water,” he told me sincerely, a glimmer of that very wonder in his eyes. “There are fish of so many colors and sizes, bright reds and purples, striped whites and oranges,” his excitement grew as he spoke, his voice animated, his arms gesturing to give shape where words couldn’t, “and coral so vivid in color, in shades to rival ladies’ finest court dresses. I’ve seen them, Ariel, I’ve dived beneath the surface and seen for myself.”

  I nodded solemnly, keeping as interested an expression on my face as I could muster. It would be highly unseemly for me to mock the prince’s limited knowledge of the sea, of his unwitting attempts to teach a mermaid about the treasures found in her own home. There was enough in the human world that I knew little to nothing about, so it was understandable that his knowledge of the sea was far from perfect. However, I readily admired the sentiment infused in his collection, readily appreciated how every piece held a story and memory of an unexpected discovery. It wasn’t very different from merfolk’s fascination with sunken ships and all the curious human things that could be had after they’d been lost to the depths of the ocean. I could also well relate to his obvious love of my home.

  The prince pulled himself back from the wash of his memories. “What did you want to ask me?” he inquired.

  I suddenly became very shy, not wanting to reveal the pearl I’d coaxed from the clam in front of his collection. It was easily worth more than everything the prince had shown me, many times over at that, moreover now it almost seemed gaudy in its lack of personal story and sentiment. But I couldn’t leave the prince waiting, and I really had little use for the pearl myself. So, slowly, I pulled it out and unwrapped it, balancing the sphere in both hands and holding it up for the prince to see. His eyes grew to very round circles in his head.

  “How—? Where did you find this?” he asked in awe, his hand outstretched, but quite unwilling to touch the luminescent pearl.

  “In a clam, Your Highness,” I answered simply.

  The prince’s mouth closed enough to give a disdainful scoff. “Be serious,” he admonished.

  “I am,” I insisted.

  The prince studied me a moment. His expression evident that he didn’t quite believe me. “To unearth pearls is difficult enough,” he said. “One with this size and perfection is near impossible!”

  “But pearls do not come from the earth,” I replied, misunderstanding the unfamiliar expression, “pearls are formed by clams and other such creatures after a foreign substance slips between the mantle and
the shell.”

  I didn’t add in the part Bestaymor usually did when she spoke of how pearls were formed. How clams purposefully swallowed large pieces of debris and suffered through the uncomfortable process simply because they wished to make something beautiful for a princess.

  Clams, she claimed, eagerly awaited the day they would be chosen and pried open, their pearls used to adorn the hair, ears, necks, arms, wrists of princesses and whomever else they chose to favor with their meager offering. They greatly grieved whenever a human found them first and stole from them the gift they’d labored to grow for merfolk. That was why clams were so happy at high tide, she revealed, because then they were usually too deep underwater for meddlesome humans to find. To her, that epitomized the happiness of every sea creature who could serve merfolk, especially the royal family. She also believed that the deeper underwater we all were, the happier we all would be.

  At least that’s what Bestaymor would have her granddaughters believe, though Sienna clearly disagreed.

  That afternoon, I hadn’t deviated much from her version of the formation of pearls, as I had persuaded a clam to grow a pearl for a princess, even if she was a human one. For its part, the clam didn’t really react one way or another when I took its pearl for her.

  The prince smiled at my description of how a pearl forms. “It’s that simple?” he asked, amused.

  “It’s that simple, Your Highness,” I confirmed.

  “Something so regular can be turned into something so rare and beautiful simply through a slight change in its conditions,” he pressed.

  I hesitated. Were we still talking about pearls? “Yes.”

  The prince’s smile grew even larger. “Would you believe I always thought they had some touch of magic? Something a mermaid left for us to find to believe she lived?”

  He offered me a sheepish smile, once more excusing his romantic notions of magicals in the sea, even though he couldn’t know how close he was to the truth. Actually, the truth stood right before him, was living under his very roof, not that he’d ever know it.

  The prince studied me and my proffered treasure, accepting he would get no more details out of me about my find. “Why bring this to me?” he kindly prompted.

  “I want to give this to the princess for her wedding,” I explained.

  The prince’s gaze turned thoughtful and he nodded. “I think the princess will appreciate it very much.”

  “I’m hoping His Highness could help me put it in the right kind of setting,” I went on.

  “Will that give me some credit for the gift as well?” he teased.

  “Does His Highness plan on crafting the setting himself?” I responded just as quickly. “A talent he learned from a book, perhaps?”

  The prince laughed. “It is possible,” he said. He held his hand out for the pearl. “May I?”

  I handed him the pearl and watched as he took it to the window and carefully examined it, turning it over in his hands. He clutched it between two fingers, afraid to lighten his grip lest the pearl fall and chip any of its perfection. The prince nodded to himself, wrapped the pearl back up, and placed it on his desk.

  “I may have an idea,” he told me. “I hope you trust me with it?”

  I nodded in reply. “I’d prefer if no one knew I was the one to find it,” I requested.

  “Very well,” he agreed. “Now it is my turn to ask your help with my gift for the princess.”

  I nodded again, though inside I was uneasy. What could the prince possibly need my help with? I sincerely hoped his gift had nothing to do with anything I hadn’t done before. As it turned out, it was, but not in the way I expected.

  “One of our more talented court composers is collaborating with me to write a song to present during the wedding feast,” the prince explained. “I would like for you to sing it, please.”

  I didn’t react at first. I should have known he would come up with something like that, though why he insisted I do anything that would draw so much attention to a lowly gardener, even a favored faery one, was beyond me.

  “Wouldn’t His Highness like to present to the princess himself?” I suggested. “Some may think I had a part in the gift.”

  The prince shook his head. “Let’s not pretend there’s anyone in court with a voice as beautiful as yours,” he said firmly. “Now you agreed to help and that’s it. As soon as the piece is complete, we’ll start to practice.”

  “But my duties—” I began, casting about for any way out.

  I was concerned about staying at the palace any longer and was eager to get back to sea, where I’d be safe from any human ties. I’d thought to give the princess her gift, then return to my real home before the wedding, cutting off all ties to land before they could grow any tighter. That was the safest option at that point.

  The prince smiled. “Fortunately, I may have something to say about that.”

  I simply nodded again. I’d agree now, then slip out before the prince presented his gift. He could always find someone else to sing his song. There was no need to worry about the sharp stab of guilt caused by such a thought; I’d never see him again, anyway.

  Before I left, the prince called me back and offered me a book from one of his shelves.

  “Try this one,” he suggested. “I’m eager to know what you think.”

  I only looked at the title after I left his study. It was a book about sailboats, so I couldn’t help but wonder if this wouldn’t turn into another one of the prince’s impulsive lessons like horseback riding, which he was still religiously following up with at least three times a week. Of course, because he’d given it to me, I read it anyway.

  A week later, the prince sent for me in his study, whereupon he gestured to a box lined in deep blue velvet prominently sitting in middle of his desk. With his encouragement, I opened it to reveal one of the most beautiful necklaces I’d ever seen, below the sea or above it. The prince may have sometimes felt chagrined at his romantic nature, but I believe it was that very sense that led to the creation I lovingly cradled in my hands and privately presented to the princess that very night.

  The necklace was strung with a delicate silver chain from which the dangling pearl was outlined by a clam-shaped pendant made from the famed Castarrean Glass. The necklace was simple and tasteful enough to allow the full and natural beauty of the pearl to shine forth without impediment from the rest of the piece, the glass encouraging it to gleam even brighter by its very design. It glimmered, even in the candlelight, and it shone even after it was nestled back in its box.

  Much as I disliked the notion, especially because I hadn’t left decency behind with my tail, I knew a necklace like that demanded I give equal attention to what the prince had asked of me. I would have to delay my return to the sea, if only out of gratitude to him.

  And so it was that I prepared myself to do what I had never done before, as mermaid or human. I would sing the prince’s song and I would sing it center stage before a large audience, all of whom would listen and know and see that the magical voice they heard belonged to unremarkable me.

  The day of the wedding came too soon, and much of the morning was lost to memory in the flurry of preparations before the ceremony. Every servant was bedecked in a smart new suit of the deep sea green and glittering gold of the Maridonian royal colors. I was no exception, and that day I wore a lovely green dress made from layers of weightless silk, the varied length of the skirts dancing about my bare feet when I walked. I supposed I should have worn shoes, but the wedding was to take place outside and I thought no one would notice anyway. Besides, I knew of at least one other mermaid in attendance who would also be without shoes. Let anyone who noticed think we were merely an eccentric pair from some forgotten side of the royal family.

  Princess Cordelia looked magnificent in a light cream and green dress, wearing her gold earrings, one of which she’d once lost in a fountain before it was retrieved by an ugly purple frog mere months ago. Her dark hair was piled high upon her he
ad, with a few soft tendrils allowed to hang freely about her face. A gold tiara fronted her hair—she’d be crowned queen once she got to Vidallia—the tips curving upward to resemble the swell of the sea. Around her neck, to my eternal pleasure, was the pearl necklace, sure sign as any that the princess appreciated the gesture as much as she appreciated the gift.

  King Heinrich wore a smile to rival the height of the tallest waves, his infectious joy enough to upturn the face of anyone in his vicinity, even those servants made nervous by the preparations and unspoken demands for perfection. He’d wanted to wear purple, a reminder of the life he’d briefly lived that had made him worthy of his life now, but thankfully Princess Cordelia prevailed upon him to match her cream and green. Perhaps it was only the sentiments of the moment, but I thought them a particularly handsome couple.

  Sienna was in her element that day, her bright blue eyes never once leaving Prince Arlando, the conviction that they would be next to wed written across every expression of her beautiful face. It made me sick, yet also somewhat hopeful to see. Sick because of her misguided certainty, hopeful that the love in the air would be enough to win her the prince’s heart and allow my return to the sea and natural body. Of course, the love she needed to save herself had to stem from something much deeper than an ephemeral feeling in the air, but that detail was her concern, not mine. My only job was to make the prince notice her, convince her to return to the sea, and avoid war either way.

  The ceremony was held on the large outdoor terrace. The wide doors of the adjoining room flung open to offer a spot for those few seeking shade from the sun. The day was perfect, the sun high and warm in a wonderfully azure sky exactly reflected in the tranquil sea below, so looking out to the horizon made it difficult to distinguish between water and sky. The rest of the celebration was moved to where there was room enough for tables on the extensive palace lawns, and the sweet sea breeze rippling the grass like waves made it impossible to imagine the feast being held anywhere else. I will admit this also allowed better admiration of the palace gardens and the series of hedges Marel, myself, and a host of royal gardeners had worked quite hard to prepare for the special day, even though I still couldn’t get the confounded flowers within them to blossom.