Perilous Princesses
Susan Bianculli
Lori Bond
Alison Ching
Steve DuBois
Jeanne Kramer-Smyth
Ameria Lewis
Christine Marciniak
Kath Boyd Marsh
Hope Erica Schultz
Madeline Smoot
Edited by
Madeline Smoot
Contents
1. Burden or Sacrifice by Ameria Lewis
2. Daughter of Thorns by Hope Erica Schultz
3. Cold Bargain by Jeanne Kramer-Smyth
4. A Princess, a Mission, and a Kiss by Lori Bond
5. Princess Deneige by Susan Bianculli
6. Becoming by Kath Boyd Marsh
7. So the Story Goes by Christine Marciniak
8. The Princess and the P by Steve DuBois
9. Aurora in the Dreaming by Alison Ching
10. Redemption by Madeline Smoot
I listened to the susurration of the ship-wrought waves washing back against the hull, the hiss of metal prow cleaving through the calm waters of the navy blue sea. The sound once calmed me, mesmerized me. Once, I thought life aboard ship was a luxury.
I am wiser now, and my love for the ocean has turned into resentment for the prison it has become. I wander the open water aboard a luxurious ship because I have no home on land. I have no welcome in any kingdom or democracy. On the sea, I am believed powerless. On land? On land, I am a goddess, and I made the mistake of letting my power be known.
What would you have done, faced with what I faced? What would you have done, with your home under attack, all you loved burnt and poisoned? What would you have done, seeing your parents brought to their knees and forced to beg not for their lives, but for yours?
You would have done as I did and raised the earth to bury the intruders. Whipped the winds and brought down lightning to strike at those invaders who had no place being in your homeland. You would have brought the melted rock from deep below to the surface to burn them all to ash.
I saved them all, my parents, my people. For that, I was banished, by treachery, to a life on the ocean—never again to be within sight of land, of green trees, golden beaches. I could still stir the wind and bring down lightning, but to what purpose? Destroy the ship I am on and myself along with it?
“Your Highness, luncheon is prepared.”
“I’m not hungry,” I said, hearing the sharpness in my voice as the server flinched back. They all feared me. Raising my power to defend my home turned all to strangers, even those who had known me from birth. Even my parents turned on me. They were the betrayers who had managed to get me on board this ship, unsuspecting of their intent.
The server may have flinched, but he was persistent. He knew, as they all did by now, that I would not actually harm them. I need them and am not so foolish to discard those that I need. He waited in silence to lead me to my midday meal. I bit back a sigh and turned away from the view of the endless sea and headed for the dining room where my entourage already waited. None were allowed to eat before I took my first bite. A foolish tradition, established by some long forgotten ancestor who apparently felt the need to force his preeminence down the throat of his subjects. No matter what I said now, I could not get anyone aboard this prison to discontinue that useless tradition.
They said this was a privilege, a luxury, an honor. That I was ambassador to all the kingdoms of the sea. An honored duty, one that a princess had never before been given. Not only was I tasked to represent my father’s kingdom, but I was to find these mythical sea-people and forge an alliance with them. A pretty story to tell a confused child of only twelve years. At seventeen, the lie had worn thin. Five years since my foot had touched land. Five years since I had smelled fresh green things, moist dirt, walked through my father’s palace. Five years since I had felt my mother’s arms around me or heard my father’s voice gently tease me.
Five long years to realize that my young instinct to protect my home had led to my banishment.
I entered the dining hall so luncheon could be served.
* * *
I woke from sleep with the moon still full and bright outside my window. Something had called me; I don’t know what. My sleep was always deep and restful. Small noises never disturbed me, accustomed as I was to movement and voices surrounding me most of the time. I lay still, listening, waiting for whatever had roused me. My room was full of midnight shadow limned in silver. Moonlight reflected off of the mirrors and glass. My balcony doors were open, as usual.
It came again, a soft calling song. I pushed the light blanket off and stood up, pausing a moment to be sure of the call’s direction. The balcony. The call came from the balcony. I waited no longer but stepped confidently towards this curious and unknown summons.
She leaned against the rail of my balcony, her back to me and face lifted to the moon above. Her hair was wet, hanging in long strands down her back. I could not determine the color under the moonlight, but it was dark. Her eyes, when she turned her head to look at me, were just as dark—inhuman, with no white to be seen. A complicated, twisting tattoo encircled her throat, the colors shimmering as she moved. Between her eyes, an oval of sea-opal reflected all the many colors of the oceans I had seen in the last five years.
She was not human. I was not afraid.
“Who are you to wake me from my sleep and summon me?” I asked, imbuing my voice with every bit of dignity and hauteur I had.
Her lips turned up as she spread a hand over the glistening ocean. “I am one of those you have been seeking. I am Liyana, of the house of Sidon, heir to the oceans and seas. We have watched you. We find you worthy.”
I stepped closer. Worthy? The castoff daughter banished from land and home? Bitterness wanted to color my voice, but I had studied how to rule before my banishment, and one of those studies was on control of face and tone. These were tools to be used. “An honor, I have no doubt. It has been near half a decade that you have been watching. Why reveal yourself to me now?” My lips did not twist with cynicism. “What need do you have of me?”
Liyana laughed, the sound reminiscent of wind chimes: merry and bright. “We have no need of you. We have only a message to pass, one that we believe you have a right to know. We do not approve of what has been done with you. We do not like this land danger passed on to us who dwell within the deeps. You could turn your power to harm on us as easily as you could turn it to your enemies on land. You have not done so. You have done nothing that would lead us to think you would allow your power to run unchecked. So we come with a message: you must go home.”
I laughed and lifted my arms. “This is my home. I have no other.”
“Not so!” Liyana reached out and lowered my outspread arms. “You are of the land, and to the land you must go. We have long watched your kingdom, and we know of the danger it now faces. The forces that once threatened that home have massed again and are even now crossing our waters to threaten once more. You are needed.”
“But not wanted.” I turned away, and even all my control did not completely leech the bitterness from those words. Needed, perhaps. Not wanted, no longer. Once, I had been wanted, but not needed. I wished for those days again.
Liyana was silent a moment. “Sister,” she said gently, “there is a price that comes with great power. As you are not asked if you wish for that power, you are not asked if you are willing to pay the price. These are not choices you have. The choice
you have is whether that price will be a burden or a sacrifice freely given for love. It was your love that revealed your power to all and led to the price you paid, and continue to pay. But now you must choose: burden, or sacrifice? Will you leave your people to suffer, to be killed, and your land to be ravaged? You have the power to protect them, once again.”
Her words burned me. Her gentleness shamed me. She was right. At twelve, I had not understood. At seventeen, I had the maturity and wit to understand the actions my parents had taken. I did not agree with them, but I knew fear for themselves alone would not have caused them to cast me away.
Burden or sacrifice? My choice must reflect the person I am, that I wish to be. Would I be a savior and once more earn banishment from my home? Or would I turn my back and let that which I had once prevented come to pass?
From the past, my father’s voice echoed back to me. “We rule, but for the comforts and privileges we have, we can never put our wishes first. Our thoughts, our decisions, must always be for the good of the people who trust us to lead them. We are few; they are many. They are our children to protect and discipline, to guide and nurture. They must always come first, Ezrina. Always.”
My people feared me, and to soothe them I was banished. But they were still my people, and there were some who had chosen banishment with me. They chose sacrifice. Could I do any less?
“Sister,” Liyana said again and touched my cheek gently. “You always have a welcome home on the surface of the waters. Call your winds to fill your sails and make all speed.”
* * *
The captain of the ship wanted to argue. I could sense that in him. His orders from his king were to keep me safely distant and to follow a regular course that brought the ship to ports on a regular basis—not that we ever docked. Tenders came and went, bringing supplies we needed, new staff. They did not know that the distance they kept from shore did not matter. If I could sense it, I could wield power. I chose not to. What purpose would it serve?
“Captain,” I said, calmly, serenely, “you may turn this ship towards Atlantis. Or I will do so. Danger threatens our home, and I will not allow this.”
“Your Highness, we are far from there. It will take weeks. Whatever threat there is will be well done and gone before we can come near.”
I smiled reassuringly. “Not so, good captain. Turn this ship, and I will fill her sails with wind. We will fly over the waters, straight and true. Point the way, sir; it is time for us to go home.”
The orders warred within him. King or princess? If the need did not exist, I would not put him in this position. My own young oaths bound me to obey my king, my father. Some things were more important. As I lifted my hand—an unnecessary gesture but a habit I had not yet broken—to stir the waters to carry the ship around, he sighed and rolled his shoulders.
“Turn the ship,” he instructed his crew. “Head for capital port, Atlantis. Message the portmaster; we’re coming home.”
I smiled and laid my hand on the captain’s shoulder. “Worry not, sir. The only harm that will come is to those who would threaten our home.”
“And then, your Highness?” he asked doubtfully.
Indeed. What then?
* * *
I felt the fear of Atlantis before I could see her outline against the sky on the horizon. The unsettled prickle of wrong goose-bumped my skin. Perhaps it was my own emotions that I projected on my home. I had thought much on what actions could be taken. I had spoken with my tutors and assessed the reasons for the last attack and the probable cause of the current one. Atlantis, land of wonder, magic, and beauty. No other land was as beautiful. No other country as advanced. Others were jealous of that beauty and the lives we lived. I knew what needed to be done, what only I could do. I could well guess the price I would pay.
Burden or sacrifice?
Ships unnumbered surrounded my home. Smoke rose from the port city. One of the palace towers was a crumbled ruin. Smoldering hulks floated on the water, dozens, burnt to the waterline, burning still inside. Small fishing boats searched for survivors, pulling them from the water and taking them ashore for tending.
Even as others sought to destroy Atlantis, her people still claimed they had no one they called enemy.
Saving these people would not change anything. Kindness and compassion only invited more attacks. The weapons my ancestors had built to protect us from this threat would not be used; I knew my father. He was a kind man, wise in his way. Life was precious, and he would not be the one to take any life.
Inside myself, I felt cold and distant. I reached for my power. I sent out a call. Soon the sea boiled with the restless swarming of sharks. I raised my hands and once more called my power, raising the water high, higher, higher yet, towering over the ships. Down it came, controlled, slow enough to do no damage, hard and fast enough to sweep the decks clean. I needed the ships. I did not need the crews. The sharks fed and fed and fed as the waters shifted from clear turquoise and turned murky red. Distantly, I felt my stomach roil; my mind screamed. But again I raised the waters and brought them down. Some might survive. For the moment.
Ship by ship, I cleansed them of invaders. Guided them, unpopulated, into port. They floated there, serene and unthreatening. My people, small and almost indiscernible at this distant, came to inspect. They stopped and stared as my ship, my home, came into port and the crew cast lines to tie up on the royal dock. I stood in the prow alone, and watched as my people flinched back, huddled together, and whispered their fear as they saw me.
They feared me before. They feared me still. They would fear me more, but I would remove the danger from their lives.
A path opened and a cavalcade approached. My father rode at the head, in full armor. I recognized him; he had changed little in five years, unlike myself. My child’s body had matured into a young woman’s. It took a moment for him to realize which ship this was and who stood waiting for him.
I felt cold. I needed to feel cold until this task was done.
My father did not wait for a groom to hold his stallion’s bridle; he swung off the horse himself and left it untended as he rushed up the gangway that the crew had just slid out. His guards moved with him, swords half-drawn as their ward threw himself into reckless danger.
I waited for him to come to me. I could not be the daughter now, happy to see her father. There was work yet to be done. Before he reached me, arms already lifting to encircle me, I lifted my hand, palm out, and stop him with the smallest push of wind. I could not be his daughter now, or my resolve would waver and the actions I had already taken would be for nothing.
“They come out of jealousy, out of greed, for what we have and they do not. We are now what they will one day be, and they have not the patience to wait and work for that day. These attacks will not stop, and you will not do what must be done to stop them. The duty therefore falls to me.
“You, my father, my king, are a man of peace. You nurture and you grow. You are a good king, beloved by your people. But your strength is your weakness, and so I have but one choice: to do what must be done for the greater good or condemn my people to endless invasions until there is nothing left of them or of their home.”
My father’s eyes, so like my own, were soft with love, red with exhaustion, and lined with worry. I was wrong; he had changed much. He had aged although still a man in his prime. “Daughter, I have longed for the day I could see you again. I mourn that day comes at such a time. You have swept our attackers away, for I do not doubt that your will and power controlled the unnatural waves. Come, come home for the night, the week. See your mother, your sisters and brothers, and celebrate the end of this siege.”
“I will not step foot on land,” I said, now choosing the exile that had once been enforced on me. I understood, now, why it had to be done. My power would have brought more attacks, much earlier, than this. What I could do, what I controlled, inspired fear in others and that which is feared is destroyed. “Father, if peace is what you wish for your p
eople, you must gather them together and find a new home for them. You and they must forsake the technology, knowledge, and magic that our people have amassed. Leave behind the weapons you will not use and luxuries that ease the tasks of life. Board these ships, sail away, and find peace in a distant land.”
“Leave?” My king’s eyes widened in shock. “Leave? This is our home! This is the place of our ancestors! How can we leave?”
I looked over the smoking city, the fallen tower. I heard the cries of those wounded, the wails of those holding their dead. “Can you stay and fight off more attacks? Can you stay and watch your people die?”
“Even if we leave, someone else will come and claim that which is ours as their own,” my father objected.
“No,” I answered. “None will come. I will see to that. But what must be done cannot be done while any that yet live remain on Atlantis.” I paused, relented in the distance I kept from he who had once played with me in the gardens, tickled me until I was breathless with laughter, and guided my first adventures in exploring my power. I reached for his hands, lifted them to my heart. “Pray to the goddesses, Father, and they will answer. Go to mother and pray. Come tomorrow and tell me your answer. And remember: no living thing left behind, no part of Atlantis taken that is more than can be found in other lands.”
I released his hands and stepped away. Back, back, back. I did not turn around. I allowed myself the indulgence of seeing him for as long as I could until bulkheads blocked my view.
When the choice was between his people and material things, I knew the choice my father would make. My heart remained cold. There would be time, and eternity, to mourn later.
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