Elodie of the Sea

by Shari L. Tapscott

  Too late, I realize my mistake. I freeze, expecting the worst. But there is no sharp pain, not like before with the well water.

  “I sprinkled salt in it when no one was looking,” Pippa whispers, her voice so low I can barely hear her even though she’s right next to me.

  Slowly, I turn to face her. “Why would you do that?”

  She only shrugs and turns back to the tumblers.

  I push the worry away and try to keep my mind occupied with the entertainment. After the tumblers, there’s a magician. He amazes the crowd with sleight of hand and tricks with smoke, but there’s no real magic there. Not really.

  A songstress follows the magician, wrapping up the evening. The pain settles in once more, stronger this time. It makes the room spin and my stomach writhe.

  “I need to go,” I whisper to Pippa as I push my seat away from the table.

  The moment I stand, my consciousness shifts, almost as if I’m somehow aside from myself. Black smudges mar my vision, and I clutch for the table even though I know it’s too late. Bran rises, his attention on me for the first time all evening, but I can’t revel in the pleasure of it now.

  My legs give, and the hall goes black.

  ***

  “I agree that she has a concussion,” a man’s voice says, waking me. “But it’s the mermaid’s magic making her ill. She’ll feel better in time, though it may take a few weeks.”

  I blink several times, wincing at the bright light.

  Pippa sits in the chair next to me, resting her chin in the palm of her hand with her elbow propped on a side table. An elderly gentleman with a trim white beard and tiny spectacles stands near the end of the bed, pouring hot water into a mug.

  “Where are we?” I ask Pippa, feeling groggy.

  The room is long with several narrow beds. Sunlight streams in through a wall of windows to the south. There are brightly flowering potted plants sitting on tables scattered about the room. I think they’re attempting to make the space look cheerful, but there are a good deal of sharp instruments lying about that kill the effect.

  “Infirmary,” Pippa says, looking bored. Her hair is long and loose about her shoulders today. Absently, I note how gold the ends look in the light of the sun. Then her words sink in.

  My eyes fly to the physician, horrified. Deep down, I know I should fear this man, and my body reacts even if my mind is blocked.

  After the tea has steeped, the man tops it off with tepid water.

  “Don’t want it to scald her.” As he says it, the physician looks up. When he finds me alert, he smiles. “Awake at last?”

  If I weren’t frozen in fear, I’d likely claw my way from the bed.

  He purses his lips, studying me, perhaps questioning my terror. Moving slowly, he hands the mug to Pippa. “See that she drinks this.”

  “Of course, Master Physician.”

  Then, giving me much-needed space, the man nods and leaves the room.

  Pippa watches him go, and the second he closes the door behind him, she leans backward, almost toppling out of her seat, and pours the entire contents of the earthen mug in a potted plant.

  I gape at her. “Will that kill it?”

  She faces forward once more and gives me a wicked smile. “Better it than you, don’t you think?”

  “What do you mean?”

  The princess points to my mark. “I know a mermaid when I see one.”

  I gape at her as Bran’s warning words run through my head.

  “Not that I’ve seen one before, mind you.” Oblivious to my horror, she slaps her lap and stands, off to snoop through the physician’s cupboards. “But we have a grand library in our estate in Errinton and snow nine months out of the year. I’ve become an expert on almost everything.”

  She looks over her shoulder and grins to show me she’s not completely serious.

  “Now, let me see what I can come up with.” Standing on her tiptoes, she clucks her tongue. “How do you think you’ll stomach brumblebracken?” After taking in my baffled look, she shakes her head and begins rummaging again. “Hmmm. Maybe not.”

  I look around, further taking stock of my surroundings. It’s far nicer than the beach hut, but I would give anything to turn back the hands of time and stay there forever. I look down at my fingers, which are tightly clasping the thin, white sheet. “Where’s Bran?”

  “What time is it?” Pippa asks, glancing at a tall, imposing clock in the corner. “Eleven-thirty? They’re probably just crowning him now. The coronation will likely take another hour or so—they’re dreadfully long.”

  Crowning.

  He’s the king of Triblue now.

  My desolation must show on my face because Pippa makes a noise of concern, crosses the room, and sits near the head of the bed. “Are you all right? Do you need sea water? I bottled some this morning and snuck it in here.” She tilts her head to the side. “And I read something about mermaids needing salt, so I bought some from the sundry near the Eastern port. I thought we might add it to tea, maybe try some in cider again—though that didn’t seem to go well last night, so maybe not. Eventually, we’re going to have to figure out what you can eat.”

  Despite the knot in my stomach, I give her a wan smile. “Shouldn’t you be at the ceremony?”

  Ceremony.

  She watches me for several moments, and then she gives me a knowing look. “You’re taken with Bran, aren’t you? And now you’re heartbroken because you’ve realized you and he were finished before you could ever begin.”

  “I don’t even know him,” I argue.

  She gives me a wry look, and I look away. Unfortunately, my gaze falls on my ring.

  “I noticed that as well,” Pippa says, turning her attention to my hand. “Any idea why you wear it?”

  “No,” I murmur, and then I meet her eyes once more. “You never answered. Why are you here?”

  “Because besides His Newly-crowned Majesty, I’m the only soul who knows what you are. I confronted Bran about it last night after your grand exit from the feast. We couldn’t just leave you in the physician’s hands, now could we? The poor man might have killed you without even knowing it.” She grins. “Plus, if he became too suspicious, I was supposed to distract him.”

  I glance at the door. “He didn’t suspect?”

  She shakes her head. “No, he jumped to the conclusion—or perhaps I might have led him—that you have been touched by mermaid magic and are suffering because of it.”

  “I thought you said we were to tell people I’ve had the mark as long as I can remember?”

  She frowns, realizing her error. “Well, we’ll have to hope the physician isn’t a gossip.”

  I sit very still for several moments. “Do you really believe I’m a mermaid?”

  “I don’t know,” she says honestly. “And until you either remember or accidentally sprout fins, I’m afraid we can only guess.”

  Rolling onto my back and staring at the ceiling, I groan. It’s bad enough to not remember who you are. But not remember what you are? It’s vexing.

  Pippa gets up, off to poke through the physician’s supplies once more.

  “It wasn’t the cider,” I say after several long minutes.

  Pippa turns back. “What?”

  “I didn’t pass out because of the cider. I’ve had this pain.” I press my fingers to the middle of my forehead. “It comes and goes, but last night was the worst.”

  The princess frowns. “That’s not where you hit your head.”

  “No.”

  She looks perplexed, which doesn’t make me feel better. What’s wrong with me? If only I could remember. I push at the fog, but it flares, making my head ache anew. But this pain is different from last night’s. It’s just as invasive, but not as draining.

  “You have to be starving,” she finally says. “As far as I know, you’ve had nothing but sea water.”

  “I am hungry,” I admit. The water dulls the ache, but it doesn’t take it away.

  Pippa
clucks her tongue as she thinks. Then her face brightens, and she snaps her fingers. “Let’s try some broth. That’s nice and salty.”

  I agree, and the princess disappears, leaving me alone in the bright, silent room. I roll to my side and clutch the sheet around my shoulders. Without years of memories to keep me company, my mind replays my time in the sea cottage with Bran.

  He’s king now.

  I can’t be a burden on him any longer. I must find a way to reclaim my memory and then go home.

  Wherever that might be.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Bran

  It seems half of Elden has gathered for the coronation. I stand at the top of the stairs, in a small room above the chapel waiting to go into the sanctuary. It’s a monumental day, one I’m not sure I’m ready for. The music begins, telling me it’s time.

  With a cloak of heavy velvet about my shoulders—something that I’m sure hasn’t seen the light of day since Father’s own coronation—I descend the steps. The fabric is ridiculously heavy and swelteringly hot in the packed church.

  Despite how early it is in the season, there must be hundreds of lilies fastened to the pews and standing in urns at the front and back of the room—from the royal greenhouses, no doubt. How long ago did Mother request the gardeners grow them for this very day? Their usually sweet scent is cloying in such an abundance.

  Father waits near the podium, crown still atop his head. He looks proud, regal, everything I wonder if I’ll ever be. And perhaps something else—he seems finished. He’s given his time, his life, and now it’s his turn to live. I know he and Mother have been looking forward to this day for a great many years. They’re going to travel, see the world, coming back only briefly for the grand gala they arranged.

  Someday, that will be me. I will leave this legacy to my son, more than ready to be free once more.

  All eyes are on me as I near the front of the room. They weigh on me, judge me. Stuart stands near the front, dressed in his tunic with our crest on the front. Behind him, my knights stand, looking like perfect copies of my stalwart cousin. They are somber, all of them likely thinking that it should be Stuart in my place.

  My greatest fear is that I’ll prove them right, be less a king than my father.

  Pushing the thoughts away, I focus on the matter at hand. The ceremony feels like a wedding. Even though it’s the worst timing, my mind wanders to Elle. She’s in the infirmary with Pippa. How the princess knew what she was, I’ll never know.

  In a way, it’s a relief to no longer carry the burden alone.

  The crowd goes quiet as the ceremony begins. The bishop asks me questions—whether I’m willing to put my people first, if I swear to uphold the laws of Triblue, and so on.

  “I give you my solemn vow,” I say.

  Time slows to a crawl, almost standing still, as the bishop removes the crown from my father’s head, pauses in front of the crowd for emphasis, and then slowly places it on me.

  It’s cumbersome, mostly for show—not something I must wear every day. But it’s not its physical weight I feel. I do my best to stand tall and hide my trepidation from those in attendance.

  The crowd claps politely, and thus begins the tedious ceremony of personally thanking each of the nobles who traveled here today.

  Three hours later, the ceremony is over.

  I am king.

  ***

  “Your Majesty.”

  I turn from the window to face my steward. I’ve been king for a week now, but I don’t think I’ll ever hear “Your Majesty” and not look for my father.

  “Your parents are ready to leave.” The man stands tall, practically unblinking. It looks uncomfortable. “They asked me to inform you.”

  I glance out the window, at the calm sea. Once more, there are ships in the harbor and beyond. Crewmen aboard a large fishing vessel load supplies. They’re preparing to head into deep water. The skies are blue, and there’s not a cloud in the sky.

  Our weather has finally returned to normal for this time of year.

  “Inform them I’ll be right down,” I tell the steward without looking back.

  The man leaves, softly shutting the door behind him. I stare out the window for a few minutes longer, envying those who are on the water—craving their freedom.

  Then I groan because I can put off the inevitable no longer. I leave my chamber, avoiding people when possible. They treat me differently now, which, I suppose, is to be expected. Still, I’ve quickly grown tired of the bows, the pandering, and most especially the wide-eyed stares.

  Maids who shooed Dristan and me from the kitchen when we were young, hollering at us to stay out of the sweets, cast their eyes downward and mumble their respects as I pass.

  I’m the same man I always was a week ago, but you’d never know it.

  The guards open the main doors that lead to the courtyard, and I’m hit by a balmy breeze. It’s so welcome, I almost close my eyes, prepared to take a moment to relish the scents of spring in Triblue. Then I see her.

  Elle stands with Pippa and Rosie, laughing at something Irving just said. Her hair is long and loose, blowing in the slight breeze. She looks free and happy, and my stomach knots at the sight of her.

  Once again, I remind myself it must be this way. This amicable distance is better for both of us. I’ve seen her very little since I brought her to the castle, but I’ve been keeping tabs on her through Pippa. She’s doing well from what the princess has told me, though she still suffers from occasional dizzy spells and headaches that have the physician more concerned than I like.

  She hasn’t sought me out or even tried to approach me on the rare occasions when our paths cross. She’s usually in the girls’ company. They’ve adopted her.

  Only Rosie is hesitant, but the gypsy is coming around. She’s just a bit too protective of my brother and me, has been since we took her in.

  I watch Elle, feeling strangely morose. It’s almost like those days on the shore never happened.

  And that’s for the best. Now that I’m king, I need to put my energy into ruling the kingdom and finding Triblue a queen.

  The girls Mother invited for the coronation are still here, still lingering, still casting flirtatious looks my way. They’re even more predatory than before, prowling about the castle, hoping to catch me alone so they can strike.

  None have caught my eye. I glance at the woman with the long, blond hair. Her smile is bright, as inviting as honey to a bee.

  Elle looks over as I come down the stairs, and our eyes lock. Her carefree expression falters, and her brows twitch. For one moment, I think she might turn away, make an excuse to leave—which tells me she’s been avoiding me too.

  Unable to help myself, I give her a hesitant smile. I’ll never know if she was about to return it because Pippa, oblivious to my presence, nudges Elle, drawing her back into the conversation.

  Elle tries to pay attention, but from the too-straight curve of her spine, I can tell she’s still with me. I watch her for a few moments longer, knowing she can feel my gaze, and then pull myself away, preparing for the task at hand. It’s time to say goodbye to my parents.

  Mother and Father both stand by the carriage that will take them to the pier. They plan to travel to the southern islands for a much-needed holiday. Originally, they planned to go to Ptarma afterward, spend the summer there, but now they must return for the gala.

  Even if the vacation will be a short one, my mother is eager to be away. She gives me a bright smile and holds out her arms as she makes her way toward me. Once she reaches me, she clasps my shoulders and leans close. “We’re about to go—if I can get your father into the carriage.” She lowers her voice. “He worries about leaving you so soon after the coronation.”

  “Everything will be fine.”

  “I know that. Your father knows that too, but he worries all the same.”

  “It’s only a few months. Even I can handle the kingdom on my own for that long.”

  She laughs as s
he pats my shoulder, and then she gives me her sternest look. “When we return, you must have decided on a bride.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Unable to help herself, she draws me into a tight embrace. Then, laughing, she turns to Dristan, Rosie, and Belle. She hugs them all, taking the most time with her granddaughter.

  Stuart waits, along with several of my men, and Father turns to him before he leaves. “Take care of my boy, won’t you Stuart?”

  Inwardly, I cringe, but I keep my expression pleasant.

  I admired Stuart when I was young, looked up to him as I would an older brother. He was dashing with his dark hair and blue eyes, quick to smile, friendly to all whether they were a maid, king, or stable boy. Everyone loves him.

  He can do no wrong.

  “Of course, Your Majesty,” Stuart says, bowing his head with respect.

  Father holds out a chastising hand, his eyes laughing. “Not anymore.”

  My cousin smiles, his expression cordial as can be. “Old habit, I’m afraid. Forgive me, Uncle.”

  Father laughs and turns to me, shaking my hand before he enters the carriage. “You are ready for this.”

  “Who are you trying to reassure?” I ask. “Me or yourself?”

  “If you fall into trouble, Stuart will help guide you. He’s a good man, and we’re fortunate to have him.”

  I force a smile. “Very fortunate.”

  Father clasps my shoulder and enters the carriage.

  Marigold and Teagan exchange goodbyes with the group next to me. The pair will ride with my parents to the islands, and from there, they’ll sail to Lestonia. We likely won’t see them again until autumn, right before the sea turns rough again.

  As always, Irving tries to talk them out of their adventure. He never wins, but that doesn’t mean he’ll stop trying anytime soon.

  “No shipwrecks this time,” Irving says when Marigold can’t be convinced to stay home, lock herself in a tower in Glendon, and spend her time on activities where a needle prick might be the most dangerous thing she encounters. “I’m not tracking you down again.”

  Marigold rolls her eyes and pushes a light brown lock of hair behind her ear. The princess is pretty in a wholesome way. Though she’s usually somber, every once in a while, a flicker of Irving’s wickedness shows in her eyes, making it obvious the two are related by blood.