Sirens Unbound

by Laura Engelhardt

  Cordelia simply blinked. Not only was she being fired, she was being sent into exile. What had she done wrong? Atlantea smiled for the first time since Cordelia had entered the room, and she knew that she was missing something. Some clue about what this all meant. But she had been dismissed. So clearly, so cleanly. The only coherent thought Cordelia could muster as she left was gratitude that she had at least been fired in private.

  Many newly-transitioned sirens have a hard time redirecting their focus from what they have lost to what they have gained.

  – Sirens: An Overview for the Newly-Transitioned, 3rd ed. (2015), by Mira Bant de Atlantic, p. 60.

  Chapter 6

  Mira hated being summoned to Atlantis. Fortunately, Atlantea knew that and only rarely ordered her to appear. This time, Atlantea had summoned her to help explain the prophesy to the courtiers. What possible “developments” at the High Court session yesterday could have necessitated that she disclose it so abruptly? Atlantea had chosen to keep the Oracle’s prophesy a secret for decades. Why had she suddenly decided that now was the time for a revelation? Cordelia might believe Atlantea was an inspired leader, but Mira didn’t have that kind of faith.

  The currents altered around Mira to propel her swiftly through the deepest part of the ocean. Every time she entered the sea, she reminded herself that no siren had ever drowned. The first time she actually sank underwater, it had been a shock not to feel the strain of remaining without air. Mira still needed to consciously let out her breath and tell herself to inhale.

  And even after all these years, it was still astonishing that drawing sea water into her nose and throat felt exactly like breathing air. Despite the fact she had been siren longer than she had been human, Mira would sometimes suddenly sputter and cough underwater, as her mind rejected the possibility. Her instinct of needing air would probably never go away; she was like an amputee trying to scratch a phantom itch on a missing limb.

  After recovering from her recent coughing fit, Mira spent several moments marveling at the perfection of Aphrodite’s creation. She never felt the pressure of the ocean above, although she knew she was at a killing depth. The magnitude of the sea was usually enough to help her find perspective.

  Her son Thomas might wish that traveling through the sea were as exhilarating as a drop from a plane or as thrilling as a ride on a roller coaster, but being propelled underwater at over a hundred and fifty miles an hour didn’t actually feel all that much different from traveling in a high-speed train or airplane. You simply didn’t feel the speed. And while immersion in the sea usually more soothing than exciting, it was taking Mira longer than usual to relax into the ocean. She supposed that was due to the unusual nature of her recall.

  Her relationship with Atlantea had always been somewhat strained, even after Thomas’ transition when she gave up the pretense of being human. They just had very different hopes for Cordelia. While Atlantea had never said it outright, Mira knew she saw Cordelia as a likely successor.

  But the last thing Mira wanted for her youngest daughter was the burden of being Atlantea … and the last thing Mira wanted for herself or Thomas was the burden of supporting Cordelia as Atlantea. None of them was ruthless enough to crush the opposition that would undoubtedly form. But the Atlantic’s favor for Cordelia was unmistakable: it adored her. Unless a less-beloved siren killed Cordelia before Atlantea died, Cordelia would likely succeed her.

  The magnificence of the ocean and the luxury of her long-distance swim eventually quelled her worrying. Swimming was like praying the rosary for Mira: it centered her in the present, and filled her with a feeling of purpose and inner peace. Finally arriving at Atlantis’ rocky shore, Mira picked her way carefully up the beach. It was twilight, and the moon had already risen low over the horizon to share the sky with the setting sun. While it had been a long trip, she hadn’t really appreciated the passage of time.

  Mira stubbed her toe and cursed as the calm of her day dissolved amidst the harsh reality of being back in Atlantis. She really should have worn shoes. Her reluctance to return must have bled through her subconscious, because yet again, she had forgotten. Every single time she walked barefoot onto Atlantis’ shore, she felt like she was undergoing an unnecessary penance.

  By the time Mira got to their apartment, she had lost every ounce of peace she had gained on her sixteen-hundred-mile trip. But she didn’t have time to settle in, because when she opened the apartment door, she was surprised to find Cordelia sitting on the couch.

  “Cordelia?” Mira asked. Cordelia almost always stayed in her own rooms at Atlantis House instead of their family apartment. Unless she or Thomas were visiting, Cordelia preferred to be in the palace, and Atlantea’s summons had been so urgent, Mira hadn’t taken the time to tell Cordelia that she was coming.

  “Mom, what are you doing here?” Cordelia responded, without standing up.

  “Atlantea called. I suppose you know about the prophesy now?” Mira flipped on the light switch. Cordelia had been sitting practically in the dark.

  “You know about the prophesy?” Cordelia asked.

  “That’s why Atlantea summoned me,” Mira replied briskly. “You remember Jonah, of the Danjou Enclave? Well, we actually met when I took Mary to boarding school for the first time. He had been on his way to visit the Oracle when I ran into him. It was by mere chance that we discovered the existence of the prophesy.”

  Mira went into the kitchen and flipped on the lights in that room too. She hated sitting in the dark.

  “You’ve known about this since Mary went to boarding school?” Cordelia asked, surprised that it had been that long. Mom was always going on and on about her chance encounter with Jonah “at a rest stop on the New York Thruway” as if that had been the strangest thing that had ever happened to her.

  “Yes. Imagine meeting an enclave mage at a rest stop on the New York Thruway,” Mira replied as she pulled a soda out from the fridge. She was still proud that she had been resourceful enough to seize upon their unusual meeting, gaining an information source with the Danjou.

  Mom can be so predictable sometimes, Cordelia thought. She repeated the same old stories over and over, while leaving out all the important things. “I can’t believe you never told me about the prophesy,” Cordelia replied dully.

  Mira looked over at her. Cordelia’s reaction wasn’t nearly as heated as she would have expected. Cordelia could play the outraged victim almost as well as her oldest daughter, Mary. Thomas and Amy were more easy-going. “What’s wrong?” Mira asked sharply.

  “Nothing,” Cordelia lied.

  “Something is wrong. Is it the prophesy? Does Atlantea think war is imminent?” Mira came back into the living room, firing questions like a machine gun, and Cordelia wilted under the barrage.

  She waited, but when Cordelia failed to answer, Mira wondered if her daughter were troubled by something other than the prospect of a mage war. She took a deep breath and tried to soften her approach. Cordelia’s face was oddly blank, and Mira thought she looked pale. Ignoring Cordelia for a moment, Mira sat down on the chair next to the couch, where she could see the ocean out the window, and listen to muffled pounding of the surf. The fading daylight hid the water’s surface, except where undulating flashes of light reflected off the wave crests.

  “When I first told Atlantea about the prophesy,” Mira began again, “I thought for sure she would tell the High Court. She was so upset. Neither you nor I have experienced war, so I suppose we just don’t have the same points of reference as do the sirens who lived through the War of Succession. And Atlantea has an almost pathological aversion to mages. As terrified as any rational person would be at the prospect of a mage war, given Atlantea’s hang-ups, I’m surprised she’s been able to handle the information alone for so long.” Mira watched Cordelia out of the corner of her eye. Something was very wrong.

  “She spoke to Queen Sophia about it,” Cordelia remarked flatly. There was something in her voice that Mira couldn’t quite make ou
t.

  “But she only just told the High Court now. And I swore that I would tell no one.” Mira hoped Cordelia would forgive her for keeping the secret. It seemed that she was cursed to keep secrets from all her children. Neither of her latent children knew she was still alive, and until now, neither Thomas nor Cordy knew about this prophesy. At least one set of her lies of omission had been remedied. Oddly, she didn’t feel as unburdened as she thought she would.

  “I suppose Atlantea didn’t want her courtiers to know about the prophesy until she knew its fulfillment was imminent,” Cordelia mused.

  “I think you’re right,” Mira responded. “She worried that with too much advance knowledge, certain courtiers might disguise preparations for another civil war in any broader mobilization effort.”

  There had been three contenders for the Atlantic kingship when Atlantea’s predecessor died unexpectedly in the mid-nineteenth century. Ama, the usurper, had tried to take the crown by force, instead of allowing the Atlantic to choose its favorite. She had waged a particularly bloody campaign of assassinations, eliminating most of the “undecided” sirens with any degree of power before the rest of the Atlantics even knew that a war had begun. If the third contender, Georg, hadn’t allied himself with Sisi, now Atlantea, Ama might have been queen — legitimate or not.

  Little wonder that the Atlantics were treated like pariahs: they were soaked in blood. And little wonder also that Atlantea feared another bloody transition. The way she managed her High Court was as much about containing potential usurpers as it was a way to actually govern.

  Cordelia was probably right: the queen’s decision to share the prophesy with her High Court now indicated that she had received some indication that the mage war was more imminent than Mira had supposed. She imagined at least some of the courtiers would use her visit to Atlantis to invite themselves to Mira’s compound in Brazil, hoping to avoid the fray. Others would see a mage war as an opportunity to gain advantage. But really, Louisa was probably the only person on the Court who would embrace the idea of a war. Louisa would relish spending her final years on the battlefield, Mira thought.

  “Atlantea does worry about certain courtiers,” Cordelia remarked without much enthusiasm.

  “Cordy, what did Atlantea say yesterday?” Mira asked directly. As Cordelia recounted yesterday’s Court session, Mira noticed that she barely mentioned the reconciliation debate. After months of hearing about Cordelia’s endless preparations, Mira knew this was the meeting where she had planned to pitch her reconciliation plan. Atlantea’s pronouncement about the prophesy obviously threw a wrench in the works, and it was notable that Cordelia was glossing over it now.

  “And then Atlantea asked to meet with me privately,” Cordelia concluded, looking down at her hands as if examining her nails for breaks.

  “She asked you to meet with her privately?” Mira parroted back. “Today?”

  “Yes.” Cordelia sighed and looked directly at her mother for the first time since Mira had walked into the apartment. “I’m not being cagey. I’m just having a difficult time understanding what just happened. To be honest, I feel even more unsettled now than I was when I first joined the High Court.”

  With a little more prompting, Cordelia explained the broad outline of her meeting with Atlantea that morning. When she finished, Cordelia wasn’t the only one perplexed, and they both sat in silence for a moment as Mira collected her thoughts, and Cordelia slumped back on the couch.

  “Maybe it isn’t what you think it is,” Mira finally said, rubbing her chin as she always did when she was thinking hard about something. Cordelia told her that it was annoying — it made her look like a storybook villain, no matter which pin-up star she resembled — but she didn’t stop.

  “And what do I think it is?” Cordelia challenged, standing up. “Do I just think she kicked me off the High Court? Because I know she did. She said so. Do I just think she exiled me to Europe? No, I don’t just think it; I know she did. Because she arranged it with Queen Sophia before she even told me. What I don’t know is why! Why she wants me out of the way. Why she went to so much trouble to throw me out in this convoluted fashion.” Cordelia stalked into the kitchen; she moved like a cat, all liquid grace and elegant outrage.

  “Tell me again what happened at the High Court meeting last night,” Mira said when Cordelia’s pacing eventually brought her back into the living room. “And this time, don’t gloss over the Court’s discussion on reconciliation.”

  Cordelia shook her head in exasperation.

  Even though Mira understood that her daughter needed an outlet for her anger and hurt, it didn’t feel great to serve as her punching bag. Now, at least, she thought she understood the pattern of events. Cordelia just couldn’t see things clearly. Despite Mira’s best efforts, she couldn’t convince Cordy that Atlantea was mortal just like them. She didn’t walk on water. Well, actually, she could, but that was beside the point.

  “Look, Cordelia,” Mira began, and despite Cordelia’s attitude, Mira could tell that she was paying close attention to what she was saying. “Louisa has always been a risk to Atlantea. She only became a reluctant supporter when it became clear that powerful sirens would have to pick sides. She’s been managing our military since Atlantea came into power. And she hates you and your ideas. The fact that at least half the guards support reconciliation drives her crazy. The only reason she hasn’t been someone you needed to worry about is because she’s almost a hundred years older than Atlantea and will soon be dead.

  “If Atlantea is sending you off the island, my guess is that it relates to her concerns about Louisa. Zale knows where Atlantea’s heart is better than anyone, even if he rarely shares that information publicly. What does he think?”

  “I haven’t spoken to anyone about this,” Cordelia said. This wasn’t something she wanted to think about, let alone share with Zale! Dropping back onto the sofa, she opened the can of soda she had taken from the kitchen. If she ever needed a jolt of caffeine and sugar, it was now. She still hadn’t caught her balance since her meeting with Atlantea, and her mother’s hopping from idea to idea wasn’t helping.

  “It would help to get Zale’s perspective. Although,” Mira paused, rubbing her chin again. “Atlantea’s inane talk about your lack of progeny is hard to follow.”

  “That made no sense to me,” Cordelia stated, carefully neutral. This was a difficult topic for them. She knew her mother had been unhappy with her decision to follow siren childbearing customs. Since they had moved to Atlantis when she was twelve, her mother had called pregnant sirens “cuckoos,” a double-entendre of sorts that disparaged them as crazy, while judging them for “abandoning” their children to be raised by others. Never mind that the Atlantics placed their children with amazing parents, desperate to have children of their own.

  But Cordelia thought her mother’s aversion to adoption was probably more due to her unresolved transition trauma. Writing her book had definitely helped her mother come to terms with her own change, but that hadn’t been enough after Thomas’ unusual transition. She wondered if her mother had only delayed her despair at losing her mundane life with her obsessive quest to find her brother’s test-tube babies. It had been thirty years, and she still wasn’t over it. But her mother’s issues weren’t relevant to Cordelia’s current problems.

  “It sounded like Atlantea approved of your relocation strategy,” Mira continued, “except that by telling you to get pregnant, she is effectively trying to prevent you from visiting the fae. And yet, she’s sending you to Europe. It’s a mixed message, for sure.”

  “What do you mean, a ‘mixed message?’” Cordelia demanded.

  “Perhaps Atlantea wants the fae problem solved. But there are bigger concerns at play now, and she needs her High Court focused on the prospect of a mage war. She needs at least some of them to help prepare. You always said the biggest problem with relocation as a means of reconciling with the Aos Sí was the time it would take to actually build the ships
to transport them. I guess she could be telling you to take a year to do it — I don’t know. Atlantea should stop playing these guessing games. It’s so counter-productive.” Mira let her frustration show.

  “You think she wants me to move forward on the project? Even though the High Court didn’t approve it?” Cordelia was scandalized.

  Mira snorted. “What, you think everything happens because the High Court approves it?” Mira shook her head. “How many times have I told you that the High Court is an affectation? Atlantea keeps all her powerful sirens close — and uses the High Court as a tool for that purpose. But the Court has no real power. You know that.”

  Cordelia bit her tongue. They’d been having this argument since Cordelia was a teenager and Mira insisted that Marisol’s stories of the High Court were made-up fantasies and wishful thinking. Cordelia knew the High Court wasn’t the pinnacle of purity she had believed it to be when she was new to Atlantis, but it also wasn’t the non-entity Mira tried to make it out to be either.

  “Mother, let’s agree to disagree on the power of the High Court. In any event, it’s no longer really relevant for me,” Cordelia said crisply.

  “Oh, Cordy,” Mira said. “I’m so sorry. It doesn’t matter that being a courtier wasn’t what I wanted for myself — or for you, for that matter. It’s what you wanted.”

  “You know, I didn’t go back to my rooms after that meeting. I walked out of the silver receiving room and into the public chamber, and I felt like I didn’t belong anymore. I can’t believe Atlantea met me in the damned silver receiving room like I was nothing to her. A stranger. Everything is just changing so suddenly. She knew all of this for years, and said nothing. You said nothing.”

  The worst part of being a mother was watching your children suffer and not being able to fix it. Little children, little problems; big children, big problems. And even the obvious truth that this change wasn’t the end of the world, that there was some purpose behind it that they just needed to uncover, didn’t change the fact that Cordelia was hurting.