As the afternoon dwindled to dusk, King Heinrich and King Earwyn each made a grand toast to the bride, the guests, the “ever after” sure to follow. Then a group of servants wheeled out a grand piano and the prince took his place on the bench. I didn’t join him until he insistently motioned me over.
Shy, reluctant despite my resolution to help, I stood behind the piano, but the prince would have none of it. He forced me to the front, though I avoided true center stage with a shaking hand on the piano, steadying myself and my nerves as I prepared to sing before what was in effect several royal courts at once.
The prince softly began the melody we’d practiced for hours, and when I heard him seamlessly start again, I realized I’d missed my cue.
“Ariel?”
Somehow I found him between the jumble of my nerves.
He nodded. “Eyes on me,” he mouthed reassuringly. “Believe. You’ll see.”
I offered him a weak smile as his fingers stepped into the opening once more. I swallowed hurriedly then rushed into my cue, finding focus in those kind ink black eyes as I gradually released my voice over the hushed, assembled crowd. So absolute was my concentration that I imagined I saw the purple of my merfolk magic reflected in the prince’s eyes as the melody glided into the air with a will of its own. A large smile stretched across the prince’s face, scrunching his eyes so the point of my focus was nearly lost. He nodded encouragingly and, thusly buoyed, I looked inward, then, sure this was to be one of my last nights on land, released my inhibitions with abandon. My voice grew louder, bolder, rising up, an ethereal echo from the very depths of the sea, as I left the prince and the human courts far behind me.
It was only then that I gathered the courage to turn enough to face the crowd. I didn’t look at the guests, but past them, past the verdant lawns and animated hedges, past the sandy shore and festooned ships to my home glittering in the setting sun. Perhaps it was only by desire that I saw two playful dolphins splashing in the distance, leaping high enough to outline their shapes in the blaze of yellow sitting just above the horizon. Perhaps it was only my heart that saw a magical kingdom, a squid-bedecked lair, schools of fish in colors to rival any rainbow arching through the sky after a thunderous rain. Perhaps, but then again, my mind’s eye saw them all so clearly. I just missed them so much.
I sang and sang, every note etched with a heart yearning for the wonders of my home, not once thinking on how I looked or sounded or who else should be on that stage instead of me.
Abruptly, my attention returned to the world around me, and I only understood why when I realized the prince had stopped playing, fading the music out while my voice still resonated over the silent crowd. I tried to shoot him a subtle look, but he returned it with a simple one, his hands resting on the keys, his trust in me to finish the song the way it should be.
I dared glance once at the audience then, suddenly unsure without the music’s support. Even in the dimming light there was no doubt all attention was entirely fixed on the stage, on me. Some even swiped at tears from the corners of their eyes.
Left to finish the melody alone, careful with the prince’s trust, my voice regained in strength, and like the sure arm of a fisherman casting his rod out to sea, I let the line dangle, slowly, gently, a lulling reassurance for the enthralled, enraptured guests. Their faces showed they were hooked, utterly entranced with the world revealed to them through song. Ever so carefully, I reeled the line back in, gradually bringing it toward me as my voice lowered, grew fainter, till it was nothing more than a hazy reminder of a world only their imaginations had seen.
My voiced faded out, the glassy surface shielding the underwater kingdom once more.
The song was done.
There was a soft exhale of bated breath.
A sudden silence.
I glanced nervously at the prince, unsure of what it meant. Had I done something wrong that no one was reacting? I was ready to walk off stage, to simply leave and never look back, but the prince stayed me with a face that beamed his thanks and pride at the marvel we’d unleashed with his music.
Honestly, I don’t know how he did it. How, despite the fact that his music was inferior to that of the sea, time and again, he was able to lure the most heartfelt melodies from the deepest parts of my soul. I don’t know if it was only the simplicity with which he played, his earnest trust in the magic of my voice, or the fact that he simply listened to what it had to say. I loved Callan and Cigny, in all my years I have not found better friends than that mischievous pair, but merfolk held sway over the creatures of the sea, so even they could not compare to the remarkable feeling of knowing someone listened because he wanted to.
Slowly, gradually, deafening applause rose up in its own breathtaking crescendo. I tried to turn away and duck off stage, but the prince caught me and wouldn’t let me leave. He stepped forward, grandly bowing to the cheering audience and gestured for me to follow suit.
I shook my head. “The composer,” I called to him, doubting he could hear above the roar of the crowd.
But somehow he did and he stepped back enough to bend and say a few words to a servant standing near the stage. He straightened and again urged me to bow. I curtsied for the newly wed king and queen, praying the servant would find the composer, and soon, so I could get off the stage. Heaven answered my prayers quickly, as a compact man who was unashamed of the tears freely falling from his eyes was soon bustled onto the stage.
“Miss Ariel,” he whispered, clasping my hands in his, but I knew it wasn’t the time for his thanks. The audience was waiting.
Taking his hand, I pulled him forward, then gently pushed him in front of me where he stood momentarily dumbstruck before the appreciative guests applauding with unceasing vigor. Finally, he took a small, humble bow, and when the noise grew, he took another and another. The prince put a hand on his shoulder, and they bowed once together. I snuck from the stage before the prince had a chance to call me back. I needn’t stay any longer to receive praises for a melody I hadn’t written.
I watched from the shadows as the composer stepped down from the stage, his hands clasped over his heart, tears springing anew from his eyes. That was worth it for me.
I could already hear him telling the story to his grandchildren, about the night he’d composed a song for a queen and had it debuted by a prince. About the night a magical voice sang his music, then brought him forward to take his bow. About the night that for a few wonderful minutes, he had been fully seen.
The next morning, I tiptoed out of my room with the dawn and went straight for the hedges that were supposed to be intertwined blue and yellow eels. Without heed for the mud, I climbed right into the planter and glared at the green, green hedges.
From my vantage point, I looked all around and when I was sure no one was about, I gave my voice leave to sing a quiet song, not for anyone else, not for any gain, but because I could. Because last night I had seen what my voice could do for others even when it stood alone. Because last night I had forgotten about all others and only thought of the source of my magic, my voice and the way only I could make it sound. Because last night I had believed in all it could do and unleashed it to do even more. Believe. You’ll see.
As my voice strengthened, the petals burst out from their buds, the unmatched cerulean blue of the sky, the radiant yellow of ripened lemons. I couldn’t stop my widening smile. Thanks to the prince, I’d finally figured out how to bring out the color in my designs.
Later that morning, before I could slip back into my old life as intended, forcibly dragging Sienna along if necessary, the reason for the prince’s choice of a book about sailboats became clear. Following the princess’s wedding, a week of parties and festivities had been planned for all the royal guests. I had originally thought to avoid them, even though I knew it would hurt Princess Cordelia if I left without seeing her off. However, not knowing about any of this, and probably not caring a wit for it if he did, the prince intercepted me while bearing another man i
n tow.
The man looked to be rather unremarkable—I really was one to judge—and seemed to be a few years older than the prince. However, his individual features belied the truth of him, as his intelligent hazel eyes couldn’t hide just how much he perceived. For a brief moment I even wondered if he could tell I was a mermaid, if he could see the tail that should have supported my body instead of legs.
He was polite and gracious when the prince introduced him as Prince Rainn, ally from the neighboring kingdom of Farthington and close personal friend, despite being four years his senior. There was a faint familiarity about him, and it took me a while to piece together that he looked very much like the man I’d seen with the prince in Tatiana’s scrying pearl. I was to later learn that the two princes regularly exchanged volumes of correspondence debating all sorts of theories and inventions. Prince Rainn had also been the one to help the prince finalize the method for creating the unique Castarrean glass. It was actually only a few short months after the wedding that Prince Rainn lost his father, and Prince Arlando traveled north to congratulate him when he accepted Farthington’s crown.
“Prince Rainn insisted he meet the gardener behind our ‘lifelike’ hedges,” the prince told me, then with a flourish of his hand introduced me as, “the favored faery artist.”
I curtsied to Prince Rainn, keeping my gaze humbly downcast. “I’m glad His Highness enjoys them.”
“Enjoys them?” Prince Rainn laughed off my oversimplification. “I find them quite extraordinary. You’re an absolute wizard at your craft.”
He carefully watched my reaction to his compliment, but the phrasing meant little to me. I smiled politely, not sure what else to say. The prince continued to study me closely through his keen hazel eyes, though the rest of his face seemed to say that our interaction was over.
“Can we not invite her on board?” he suddenly asked the prince.
Prince Arlando was momentarily taken aback at the request, more from unexpectedness than anything else.
“Surely there are more suitable companions among the wedding guests,” I respectfully declined.
The prince shook his head. “That book was not only for pleasure,” he rejoined. “Besides, I’m certain you’re not afraid of swimming if you must, whereas most of the other ladies are not. Many of them wouldn’t fit in the boat because of their very big skirts, anyway.”
There was a myriad of other excuses ready at the tip of my tongue, but there was something in the prince’s manner that suggested he’d purposely sought me out without first bothering to look for a more suitable lady who would readily swim or willingly change her dress. Which prince’s idea this was, however, was beyond me.
Sienna was to accompany us in the boat as well, which caused her no end of joy, and was probably the only silver lining of this intrusion into my plans. Surely, I could just knock her into the sea with me and effectively end this whole saga right there. Though I doubted either of the princes would allow that to happen without nobly diving in after us. How quickly would we get our tails back after going in? Could I outswim them, and pretend not to care about what would happen if they suspected we’d drowned, or simply disappeared?
When we arrived at the royal docks, Sienna was already sitting on the prince’s boat, feet dangling over the side to cool in the water. The prince’s sailboat was one of a dozen or two others, each boasting the standard of its noble master, all set to head out to sea for some highly anticipated racing.
“Be aware,” the prince warned as he offered a hand to help me into the hull, “I expect to win this first race most decidedly.”
“I shall inform the winds of the prince’s desires,” I told him.
Prince Rainn chuckled. “This lady must man the rudder then,” he said gesturing toward Sienna, “as it seems Miss Ariel will be otherwise engaged.”
Prince Arlando laughed appreciatively and Sienna was gratefully seated at the tiller. Reading a book about sailboats didn’t well mean I could steer one. From the way she settled in though, it seemed Sienna already had some experience. I wasn’t sure if this meant the prince had specially taught her, or if she’d followed him around so much that he’d finally shown her just to make her useful on board.
I sat closer to the stern, somewhere I hoped was out of the way of the men whose jackets were already off and whose sleeves were already rolled up, but not too far to either side that my extra weight would unbalance and capsize the boat. Appealing as that latter part was as it would deliver both myself and Sienna back home without any need to make a scene.
I dangled my hand over the side as we pushed away from the dock. We had to get far enough away to give all boats space to race, but not too far that the spectators from shore couldn’t identify individual boats. It took a little time to get everyone in the correct position, and as we were among the first, I filled the time with absent splashing and whistling to the water, enjoying the feel of it on my fingers. Even with seeing the sea every day, even with the few times I’d stood in the rain or kicked up the surf along the shore, all were meager consolations to actually being surrounded by water once more, to the reassurance of the liquid shift of sea rather than the solid mass of land beneath me. I’d been on land long enough to know that I could live an adequate life outside the water, but each time I was with the sea again I gave an involuntarily exhale, as if the world had finally righted itself, as if I was finally back where I belonged.
A familiar hum tingled through the water, jolting me to attention. I forgot about the race, about the princes, about Sienna, and leaned closer to the surface, certain something was calling to me. I didn’t even notice the race had started and only knew the boat had surged forward from the sharp slice in the water below us.
The boats were supposed to make somewhat of a horseshoe, setting out from the starting point, moving along the coast in a straight line before turning away from shore and circling back around to the docks, the route clearly mapped with colorful buoys bobbing merrily in the water. Ours quickly hit a steady course, and it seemed the prince’s desire to win would actually be fulfilled.
By the time our boat turned from shore to circle back, we’d gained a significant lead. Then, all of a sudden, a very familiar pink bellied dolphin shot out of the water and leaped across the stern. Whether it was Cigny’s sudden appearance or my delighted shriek of laughter that startled the princes and disrupted their focus is beyond me. Not that I cared much to figure it out either. Cigny was very quickly followed by Callan, who raced behind her and then beside her as they playfully swam around the boat. I couldn’t help myself, I nearly jumped over the side as I gleefully called out to them, my heart bursting at finally seeing, finally being so close to, my friends again.
The princes determinedly turned away, but not before another boat stole into the lead. Sienna gestured frantically and angrily slapped her hand against the side of the hull, pointing fiercely at the boat ahead and the two now very close behind us.
The dolphins were now bobbing close to the boat, Callan bumping his nose against my outstretched hand.
“Must we leave?” I asked the passengers of the boat at large, trying to suppress the plea in my words, to give voice to the delight and not the longing tugging at my heart.
It was strong enough then, that, were they to say no, I may have very well flipped over the side and decidedly left Sienna behind.
Before it could come to that, Prince Arlando glanced to Prince Rainn. “We must push forward to take back the lead,” he noted, his voice measured.
Prince Rainn nodded in understanding, then, very carefully, reached a hand out over the water. I immediately whispered Cigny over to him. Tentatively, he lowered his hand just enough to brush the nose of the seemingly endlessly smiling dolphin.
Prince Rainn finally returned Prince Arlando’s look with an open smile. “And miss this?” he asked simply.
Prince Arlando considered his words, then the dolphins at out fingertips. I nudged Callan over to his side for good measure
, reassuring him even as I remembered how the two had once described humans to me. At least no one was waving wildly and shrieking.
The prince absently reached a steady hand toward him, and stilled when it touched his back, just before his dorsal fin. Callan nickered softly. Prince Arlando cleared his throat.
“It is not entirely usual,” he allowed.
I was ecstatic we wouldn’t be rushing off, but even I knew that we couldn’t stay out there much longer. It was one thing for the prince to miss first place, but he couldn’t place last altogether or pull out of the race entirely. I sent the dolphins to leaping again, and after a few more playful sprays, leaned over the side and told them it was time to go. I asked them to return soon and promised I’d be waiting for them. They agreed with one last spectacular double leap, then darted away with their dorsal fins neatly slicing through the water, a straight cut away to the horizon.
As we sailed back to the dock, our brief pause costing us three places in line and the urgency that had originally placed us in the lead, I offered Prince Arlando a small, contrite smile.
“I’m sorry, Highness,” I apologized. “You would’ve decidedly won first place.”
The prince shrugged my words away. “It was worth it,” he said, his nonchalance belied by the faint tint of wonder lingering in his voice
Prince Rainn agreed. “It was extraordinary,” he added, his eyes still dancing merrily, his whole face alight from the serendipitous gift from the sea.
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