“Count me out,” Doe says, heading for the stairs in what almost seems like a desperate retreat. “I need another bath.”
She’s gone before I can reply.
Like she can’t wait to get away from me.
Whatever. I’m not the cause of her problems—I’m trying to help solve them.
“Guess it’s just the two of us then,” I say to Tellin with a smile. “More cookies for me.”
I wave him into a chair at the dining table while I arrange a nice stack of cookies on a plate. I pour us each a glass of milk and then take the trayful to the table. I’ve consumed two milk-soaked cookies before I feel ready to talk.
“So,” I begin, “why are you in Seaview?”
He swallows the last of his third cookie. “What if.”
“What if.” I sigh. This is what I’m afraid of.
“I can’t stop thinking about it, Lily,” he says, sliding from his chair across the table to the one next to me. “Since our conversation in Thalassinia I’m consumed with the idea of our what-if.”
I’ve been thinking about it too. Especially considering what’s going on with Doe. The thought has crossed my mind that, if the mer world weren’t a secret, precautions might have been in place and Doe’s parents might never have died. Things would be so different right now.
Sadly, the other risks and losses far outweigh that potential gain.
He gets up and starts pacing. I’ve never seen Tellin in terraped form, and I wonder briefly what his legs look like under his pants.
“I’m tired of hiding in the ocean.” He stops behind a chair and grabs the back with both hands. “I want to tell the world—the whole world—who and what I am.”
“You know that’s not possible,” I argue, even if I wish it were. “It’s not responsible. Think of how many merfolk would be put at risk.”
“That’s melodramatic,” he returns. “There will be a period of adjustment, to be sure, but I believe that terrapeds and merfolk can coexist peacefully.”
I shake my head slowly, sadly. “I don’t—”
“I think you believe it too.” He drops back into the chair and lays his hand over mine. “You wouldn’t be living on land if you didn’t.”
“I . . .” The idea is too big; my mind is swimming. “Even if I did,” I insist, “there’s nothing we could do about it. The heads of all the mer states would have to agree. We can’t force them to take that kind of risk.”
“I know it can’t happen overnight,” he says. “But you are the royal princess of Thalassinia, and I’m the crown prince and acting king of Acropora. With our joined forces, we can initiate the tides of change.”
Could we? I wonder. If Tellin and I were to put the resources of both our kingdoms to the effort of trying to bring the mer world to a consensus about revealing ourselves to the human world, could it happen?
Should it happen?
Even if it might be possible, we’ll never find out.
“I’ll admit it’s a brilliant dream,” I say. “But you’re forgetting one thing.”
He lifts his cinnamon brows, waiting.
“After my birthday next Tuesday, I will no longer be a royal princess. As an unbonded heir, at midnight I will sign away my title.”
Tears prickle my eyes at the thought. I’ve been a princess all my life, raised to be the future queen and to accept all the responsibilities my position entails. To behave with decorum and compassion and with the greater good in mind. The idea that, with one scrawl of my name, all that will be gone . . . well, it makes a mergirl sad.
Not that I would change my decision. I would never be a great queen, and Thalassinia deserves a great queen. I belong with Quince—I belong on land. Which makes Tellin’s what-if all the more appealing.
Living on land means living a lie. The possibility of discarding that lie, of admitting my true identity, of helping my kingdom openly from land, is an enticing prospect.
It’s also an unattainable dream.
“It doesn’t have to be this way, Lily.”
“Yes,” I say, my throat tight with tears. “It does. I’m renouncing my title and living on land as a practically human girl. It’s the choice I’ve made.”
“But what if you didn’t have to choose?” He lifts my chin until he can look me straight in the eye. “What if I offered a solution that would allow you to remain with your beloved and fulfill your duty to your kingdom?”
Love and duty. If only. My heart beats faster. “What solution?”
His pale blue eyes don’t blink. “Bond with me.”
“What?” I bark with a strangled laugh. “That’s ridic-ulous.”
“Is it?”
Of course it is. I love Quince, and Quince loves me. I’m not about to go bonding with another boy, just because he happens to be a mer prince with some big ideas—even if they are big ideas I happen to agree with.
“I don’t mean a true bonding,” he explains. “A bond in name only. So you could remain Thalassinia’s princess—her crown princess, and her future queen.”
“That’s . . . I don’t know,” I say, processing out loud. “I can’t bond with you. You’re like my brother.”
“Think about it, Lily.” He leans closer. “One brief kiss, and everything remains as it should be.”
He makes it sound so easy.
One little kiss.
Could I do it? Could I kiss Tellin to retain my title? It may seem simple, but I have a feeling it’s way more complicated than that. There’s bond magic and hurt feelings and jealousy and a whole ocean of other obstacles that make this a very bad idea.
Besides, what’s in it for Tellin?
“Why?” I ask. “Why would you want to do this? Sacrifice your future happiness with a mermate to bond with me, when you know I could never love you?”
“For the greater good,” he says, his spine straightening. He looks every inch the prince, the king, even. My young friend is long gone. “You understand the demands of royal duty. The mer world needs progressive leaders who can take us into the future. Who can help our world become far more than we have been in the past.” His eyes soften. “You know I love your father as my own, but he is mired in the old ways. Thalassinia needs you and your experience on land and your commitment to the ocean environment. It is your duty to lead them.”
This is all so overwhelming—the idea that I might be able to retain my title, I might still be able to accept my responsibility as Thalassinia’s queen, all while remaining true to Quince.
But would I be true to Quince? I’m sure he would understand the need for the single kiss—or at least he’d pretend to understand—but the bond is never that cut-and-dried. As he and I learned a few weeks ago, the bond plays with your emotions and your thoughts, magnifying whatever feelings already exist. Bonding with Tellin wouldn’t be as simple as kiss-and-move-on. We would be connected for life, for a century or more.
I can’t take the risk that this sham bond might eventually come between me and Quince.
Looking into Tellin’s expectant gaze, I shake my head. “I’m sorry.” If he had ever been in love, he would understand. “I just . . . can’t.”
“You mean you won’t.”
“Yes. Both.” I give him a sad smile. “We each deserve better than that kind of empty connection. And Thalassinia deserves better than me.”
The muscles in his neck tense, and he looks so wound up that I want to rest my hand against his cheek to tell him everything will be okay. But who am I to know whether every-thing will be okay? I’m just struggling to get through the day-to-day.
“I’m not giving up,” he finally says. “I have until next Tuesday at midnight to convince you of the merits of my proposal. You will realize that fulfilling your duty is the right choice, the honorable choice for the future of our kingdoms. Don’t expect me to disappear.”
“You won’t change my mind.”
“Maybe not,” he says. “But I have to try.”
I nod. We’re both being steadf
ast in what we have to do. For half a second I wonder which of us is going to succeed in the end.
Then, with a nod, he stands.
“Tell Dosinia I said good night,” he says, and he turns and heads for the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
It seems wrong to let him just walk away. He was one of my closest friends for many years, and he is in a strange town for the first time.
“Do you have somewhere to stay?” I ask.
He stops in the doorway. “No.”
My heart melts a little. He took a big risk coming here, with no plan except talking to me. And I just shot him down. I can’t send him out, alone, into the Seaview night. Not when there are sheets to spare and a sofa bed in the living room.
“I’m sure Aunt Rachel will insist you stay with us.” I don’t know if I make the offer because he is my childhood friend or because, maybe, one tiny little part of me wants to give him every opportunity to succeed in convincing me to agree to his plan. Like Doe hoping I can help her get over her hate. It’s hard to toss aside a lifetime of duty. “The couch converts into a very comfortable bed.”
“I would be”—Tellin turns back to face me, a sober expression on his face—“very grateful.”
“Come on,” I say, trying to break the tension, “I’ll show you where the linens are.”
As Tellin follows me to the hall closet, I can’t stop thinking about his what-if. And wondering whether the two of us, united, could turn it into reality.
“What do you mean, he’s staying with you?” Quince asks through the phone.
I wiggle my tail fin to send small waves of salty suds up over my torso. “He doesn’t have anywhere else to go,” I explain. “He is one of my oldest friends. I can’t just throw him out into the street.”
Quince mumbles something that sounds like “I can.”
I haven’t told Quince about Tellin’s proposal. I can just imagine the results. Quince would probably grab Tellin and throw him headfirst out the front door. At this point, it’s better that he not know. It’s not like it’s going to become an issue.
“You’re just mad because he ate all the cookies,” I tease. “Aunt Rachel and I will make a double batch tomorrow.”
Knock, knock, knock, knock, kno—
“What?” I shout at the door. Instead of an answer, I see the door handle turn. “Dosinia!”
Who else would just barge in on my bath? Certainly not Tellin or Aunt Rachel.
Sure enough, her blond head leans in.
“Your aunt said you could show me how to communicate without a message bubble or messenger gull.”
I sigh back against the porcelain.
“Just a second, okay?”
Rather than the glib response I’ve come to expect from her, she quietly says, “Okay.”
I hear the door click shut.
“Gotta go?” Quince asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “Doe needs to use the phone.”
Neither of us wants to hang up. After a few seconds of listening to each other’s breathing, Quince says, “She’ll come around.”
“I hope so.” Closing my eyes, I focus on my transformation, returning to my land legs. “I’m not sure what to do if she doesn’t.”
“She will,” he insists.
“How can you know that?”
“Because I have faith in you,” he says, and I can hear the grin in his voice, “And I have faith in love.”
“Me too,” I say, echoing his smile.
“I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Yes please.”
We exchange I-love-yous and good-nights before hanging up. I pull the plug from the bath, splash the soap film off my chest, and climb out as the water swirls down the drain.
“Doe,” I call out as I wrap a towel around my dripping body. “I’m read—”
“Great.” The door pops open, and she steps into the bathroom. “I need to communicate with Brody.”
With a sigh at her near-invasion of privacy, I hand her the receiver and explain how to dial the phone. She stares at the buttons, confused. Pushing it back at me, she says, “You do it.”
I start to take the phone but stop myself. If Doe is going to learn how to appreciate humans, she’s going to have to learn how to be human. “No,” I insist. “You dial it or you don’t talk to him.”
She throws me an evil look but carefully pushes the talk button. As I recite Brody’s number from memory—at least three years of crushing left me with something useful—she dials, only messing up and having to start over once. When she’s finished, I indicate that she needs to hold the receiver to her ear.
“It’s buzzing,” she says, sounding concerned.
“Ringing,” I correct. “That means you did it right.”
Her attention shifts as the ringing stops. I can hear someone say something on the other end.
Doe asks, “May I speak with Brody, please?” There’s a pause and then, “It’s Dosinia.”
Holding her hand over the mouthpiece, she says to me, “His mother is fetching him.”
I smile.
Until she adds, “You can leave now.”
My first thought is to strangle her. Her attention is back on the phone; she’d never see it coming. But that would leave Brody heartbroken by an unsevered bond. I couldn’t do that to him.
Besides, I don’t have the energy to do it right.
In the end, I just clench my teeth, take a deep breath, and leave the room. Doe slams the door behind me. Maybe, if I ask really nicely, Aunt Rachel will get me my own line. Or, even better, a cell phone. Though I can only imagine the cell phone company laughing when I bring in my soaking phone for replacement.
Maybe I should just stick with the land line.
Suppressing the temptation to listen in on her conversation—if she doesn’t know how to dial a phone, she can’t possibly understand about extensions—I head to my room and hold the door open for Prithi to join me. Traitor that she is, she’s stationed outside the bathroom instead of following me.
“I’m the one who feeds you, you know.”
She gives me a wistful look, like she wishes she could be in two places at once, and then turns and presses her nose to the crack under the bathroom door.
“Fine.” I swing the door shut behind me.
After retrieving my rainbow pajamas from beneath my pillow and trading them for my towel wrap, I sit down at my desk and pull out markers and a blank sheet of paper. Using an exercise we learned in freshman English, I fold the paper in half lengthwise and prepare to make a pros-and-cons list. I use a purple marker to draw a line down the middle. Then I title each column and begin filling them in.
Accept Tellin’s Proposal Reject Tellin’s Proposal
Duty Love
Daddy Aunt Rachel
My kingdom Myself
Legacy Future
Living up to my potential Discover new potential
Responsibility Dedication
The people of Thalassinia Quince
Leading my people underwater Protecting my people from above
I’m not sure what I’d hoped to accomplish by making this list. Maybe I thought one side of the decision would far outweigh the other and I wouldn’t have to fret about it anymore.
The truth is there are valid reasons for me to make either choice. The only difference is . . . it’s a choice I’ve already made. I’m giving up my title and living on land, living with my human half and forging a future with the boy I love.
Without another thought, I crumple the list and toss it into the trash. That’s the end of that mental debate.
Then why do I still feel so adrift?
Chapter 11
By lunch the next day, Doe and Brody are back in each other’s laps. By Wednesday afternoon I’m ready to throw them both back into the ocean. If only the waters of south Florida were chilly enough to cool them off.
When I stomp through the kitchen door after school and find them sharing one of the dining chairs, I stomp right o
n through to the living room before flinging my backpack to the ground.
I know this is what I wanted to happen, but does it all have to be so in-my-face?
“Something wrong?” Tellin asks.
I glance—okay, glare—at the armchair where he’s been spending practically all his time since he got here on Monday. He’s mentioned his proposal a couple of times, but he hasn’t been pushing the issue.
“No,” I snap. “I mean, yes. Not really. I just—” I shake my head. “I don’t need to see my baby cousin making all lovey-dovey with my ex-crush.”
I flop on the couch, jerk open the zipper on my bag, and pull out my SAT prep guide. Flipping it open to the next sample test, I slam it on the coffee table and slide down onto the floor to begin.
“You’ve been spending a lot of your time with that book,” Tellin observes. “May I ask why?”
“Because,” I explain, trying to scan the rules for the first section, even though I should have them memorized by now, “the test is on Saturday and if I don’t do really, really well, then I won’t get into college because my grades have been pretty pitiful because until three weeks ago I thought I didn’t need to worry about a future on land because I was going to become a mer queen and spend my years ruling over Thalassinia instead of studying literature and American Government.”
A long silence fills the room after my mini rant. Finally Tellin laughs and says, “Now tell me your true feelings.”
I slump. “I know it’s not the most important thing in the world,” I admit. Things like war and famine and ocean warming come to mind. “But if I want to protect the oceans in an official, scientific capacity, then I need higher education. I can’t become a marine biologist without at least a college degree.”
“You can help the oceans in another way,” he says quietly.
I guess I should be thankful he’s been quiet as long as he has. Maybe he’s been patiently waiting for the right moment.
Now is not that moment.
“Tell me why.” I lay my pencil down in the open seam of the study guide. “Why do you think this is such a great idea?”
“I told you why.”
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