by Anna Banks
He swims away then, probably to the other side of the island, where there is hopefully a change of clothes waiting for him. When he was informed he would be among those standing on the beach, he got all agitated, muttering to himself for a solid hour.
Old people.
I adjust my pack on my shoulders right before Mom slams into me. I’m still knee deep in the waves so the impact makes a healthy splash. Since Mom’s not really a hugger, this affects me down to the most basic of levels. I had counted on her to be my rock today, the stable one. That might not work out.
“Galen is already here,” she says, which I already know, but I feel a flutter in my stomach anyway at the sound of his name.
“What’s with the yacht?”
She leads me by the wrist down the beach and to the plank connected to the boat. “Grom and I are going to have a second honeymoon after the ceremony.”
“Ew.”
Rayna materializes on the deck of the boat wearing honest-to-God coconut boobs and a grass skirt. She gives us the classic princess wave, all wrist wrist, elbow elbow. I toss Mom a questioning look. She shrugs. “She wanted to help with something, and Galen already ran her off the other side of the island. Something about catching the decorations on fire.”
“Fan-flipping-tastic.”
“Hush. She’s just going to do your nails and hair.” Just? She caught fire to decorations, and now she’s going be to wielding a flat iron near my head mere hours before my mating ceremony? If there was a time when I didn’t need singed hair, it would be rightfreakingnow.
Everyone is going to be at this ceremony. The Triton kingdom. The Poseidon kingdom. Half the town of Neptune, at least. All eyes on me. That’s how I know something is going to happen. Rayna will crisp my hair, or burn a welt into the side of my face. A seagull will relieve itself on my dress. Or what could be more fitting than me tripping into Galen on our wedding day? Just like old times’ sake.
“Emma, if you don’t want to do this, you have to tell me right now.”
That’s when I notice I’ve stopped making progress in the sand toward the boat. I must look like a startled cat. “I’m just nervous,” I tell her, licking lips gone dust dry. “What if something goes wrong?”
She smiles. “Years from now, you’ll be able to look back on this day and laugh. No matter what happens.” So she thinks today has disaster potential, too.
“Laugh at how I sobbed myself to sleep on my wedding day?”
She grasps a tendril of my hair being thrown around in the breeze and tucks it behind my ear. “In a few hours, all this will be behind you. Just hang on for a few more hours. And it’s not likely you’ll be sleeping anyway—”
“Mom!”
We take a few more steps and start up the plank, the heat of my blush creeping down my neck and up to my ears. Rayna has already disappeared inside the cabin. We hear the sound of something heavy being mishandled, possibly dropped.
“How has school been?” Mom says quickly. “Are your professors nice? Is Galen adjusting to college life?” This isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation, but the questions must come easily to her, just as the answers come easily to me. It’s effortless chit-chat, which is what we both need right now.
“It’s fine. I have a few cool professors, and then there are some who act like morticians. Galen … Galen is being a good sport.” He’s great at his classes and politely evading the female population of Monmouth University. His weaknesses are not quite being able to choke down the cafeteria food and keeping his fists to himself when an intoxicated undergrad propositions me.
But he’s getting better. With the cafeteria food.
Once inside the boat, I follow Mom down the narrow hallway that leads to a rickety set of winding stairs, which takes us down to the next floor. At the bottom is one big room, probably meant for entertaining but that is now repurposed for the singular objective of prepping me for my wedding ceremony.
And it’s beautiful.
The carpet is sprinkled with flower petals, and there are black and white and violet balloons floating everywhere in different states of levitation. Matching streamers hang from the ceiling, along with crystalline balls, which cast a kaleidoscope of light spinning around the room. It’s all basic party gear, and taken separately it might be considered cheesy, but taken as a whole—including the fact that Mom and Rayna got along long enough for this to be done for me—brings it to a new level of special.
“Wow,” is all I can get out. Mom is pleased.
Rayna grins. “It’s going to be a girl party. You’ll see. Your mom brought all my nail polish, and I found these super-shiny shells by the reef that I think would go great in your hair.” Without asking, she comes right up to me, grabs a painful handful of hair, then pulls it back toward the crown of my head. “I’m thinking an updo like this. And forget the tiara. That’s too fancy for Galen.”
“I agree,” Mom says, but she won’t make eye contact with me.
Oh schnap.
* * *
The mirror must be mistaken. The girl in the reflection cannot possibly be me. Because the girl staring back at me looks so … so … glamorous. But in ways that are so subtle I wouldn’t have thought the sum of the parts could ever equal this whole image. The tiny shells in my hair—which is swept back into submission and curled into soft ringlets—look like shimmering gems in the light of the cabin. Though Mom took the simple approach with my makeup, it has a certain elegance to it. A touch of blush, a few swipes of mascara, and tinted lip gloss to complete the natural effect. (She was either going for natural, or this application represents the scope of her makeup knowledge. Either way, I’m happy with it.) I’m also the grateful recipient of Rayna’s best French mani-pedi to date.
My white strapless dress falls just above the knee, hugging my curves, but the outer sheer material flows long in back, just past my ankles. I feel I’ve been transformed into a real princess, instead of just being one on a technicality.
I wonder if all brides feel this way.
“You’re gorgeous,” Mom says, and since she almost chokes on the words, I almost cry and ruin my mascara. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
“You and me both.”
“Tell me about it,” Rayna says. “I never thought Galen would be able to trick anyone into mating with him.”
We all laugh then, because the idea is so ridiculous and because it’s better than crying anyway, right? Mom lets out a big breath. “Are you ready? The sun is about to set. We still have to get you through the trees to the other side.”
We walk the plank, so to speak, and plant our feet in the soft sand. I decide that whoever cleared the path from one side of the island to the other is an expert. I know the Syrena are skilled at prepping islands for mating ceremonies, but I don’t think they’ve ever prepared one quite like this—making accommodations for barefoot Half-Breeds was probably never on their to-do list before. Still, my feet encounter nothing but velvety white sand, warmed by the setting sun.
The walk is single file and quiet, Mom taking the lead, Rayna in the middle, and me last. I’m supposed to be lagging behind a little more, but it’s getting darker, and I’m just clumsy enough to trip over nothing at all, let alone some tropical obstacle blown in my way by the breeze or fate or whatever.
Through the trees ahead, I see a pathway of torches leading to the beach, to where I hear the waves lapping against the shore. Probably most beach weddings don’t lure the bride and groom to the water—but this is not most beach weddings. After all, the majority of our guest list will be attending in the shallow water, sporting fins instead of tuxedos and dresses.
When we reach the edge of the tree line, I stay behind, giving Rayna and Mom time to take their places at the front of the procession. And by procession, I mean me. I don’t know how long to wait—was it fifteen seconds or fifteen minutes? My lungs forget to breathe with my new dilemma. My heartbeat threatens the boundary of my veins. I’m going to make a fool of my
self.
I’m going to make a fool of myself.
And all at once, I hear humming. It’s soft but distinct, coming from the water. The gentle rise and fall of harmony. A song. They’re giving me my cue.
And so I walk, using the pathway of torches as my guide, trying to fit my stride to match the rhythm of the gentle tune. I wonder if this is a traditional Syrena mating-ceremony song and conclude that it must be. They all know it so well. They all contribute to it so beautifully.
There is a slight hump in the sand before the beach can be seen, and as I make my way over it, my eyes are inevitably drawn to the figure on the right. Galen.
My destination.
My destiny.
He stands in low tide wearing a tuxedo tailor-made to hug his physical perfection. His expression is the only thing not sharp about him. I thought—worried—that today he might adapt Grom’s impassive expression or maybe don an unruffled smile. That today would not be as nerve-racking for him as it is for me, and for some silly reason equating to something less special. I hoped that he would show some emotion. That he would reassure me with his eyes or a quick squeeze of my hand. That he wouldn’t be the statue he’s capable of being.
What I never expected to see is this kind of tenderness radiating from him, the profoundness of vulnerability on his face. His eyes are intense glowing orbs in the torchlight, and they show me everything. How he feels about me, what he thinks about my dress, and a slight impatience for me to reach him. I feel the worry leave me like beads from a broken necklace.
This is right. Galen knows it. I know it.
Behind Galen is the setting sun, which illuminates hundreds of heads bobbing just above the water. Dark Syrena hair intermittent with the shocking white of Half-Breed hair. Hundreds of guests, but I’m undaunted because with each step I get closer and closer to the thing I must have. To the thing I don’t think I can live without.
Beside Galen, Toraf gives me a playful, brotherly wink. And I notice that Toraf cleans up nice. In a tux, he resembles a big, handsome child. I can tell he’s uncomfortable wearing long pants, because he keeps scratching at his knees. His sleeves are a tad short, and he tugs them down obsessively. Rayna grabs his hand then to stop his fidgeting: A crooked smile spreads across her face when she sees me.
I think Rayna might like me now.
Mom is on my left and Grom stands directly in the middle—he’ll be officiating the ceremony. Close to the shore, I spot Grandfather in the water. Grandfather, who is supposed to be standing on shore with the rest of us. Grandfather, who apparently had no intention of changing into a tux. And beside him is Reed—accompanied by not one, but two female Syrena. I think I recognize one of them from the Triton kingdom. Reed notices me noticing him, and he gives a little encouraging wave.
Galen raises a brow at him. Reed’s smile falters, his hand lowering below the surface.
One day they’ll get along. Maybe.
When I reach Galen, he takes both my hands in his. If I remember correctly, he’s not supposed to do that until we’re repeating the vows—or whatever the Syrena call them. When Grom sees that Galen is one step ahead, he calls the ceremony to order.
“Let it be known that we are all witnesses to the union of Galen, Triton prince, and Emma, bearer of the Gift of Poseidon. As we all know, friends, this union is to be everlasting, a bond broken only by death.” A solemn murmur breaks out through the water. Grom is undeterred. If anything, he sounds more official when he says, “Let it also be known, for the memory of the Archives, that this is the first legal union recognized by the kingdoms between a Syrena and a Half-Breed since the destruction of Tartessos. That this day will forever be remembered as a symbol of peace and unity between the ocean dwellers and the land dwellers.”
This is unexpected.
Our mating ceremony is a symbol for all the kingdoms? It feels like it has taken on a life of its own now, a moment flash frozen in time. It’s not just about Galen and me, and our dedication to each other anymore. It’s an occasion that will be memorialized forevermore as something bigger than the union itself. But I distance myself from that thought.
Because to me, nothing could be bigger than becoming Galen’s mate. I don’t care if this is the last legal union between Syrena and Half-Breeds, so long as this one happens.
Grom keeps talking and I try to listen, I really do. He explains the separate and mutual duties of the male and female, how the law cherishes loyalty, and how it outlines punishment for infidelity. That as prince, Galen’s first duty is to the kingdoms, his second to me. That my duties are the same, given my Gift of Poseidon. Then he drolls on, something about raising fingerlings to respect the law and the council of the Archives, especially during these times of change.
Not exactly the replica of a human wedding, but I’ve been to half a dozen of those—who doesn’t agree that they tend to drag on and on? Besides, these are things that Grom has already reviewed with me and Galen a few days ago when he sat us down and asked if we’re really ready to do this.
I allow myself to let go then, to focus all my attention on Galen and his lips and his eyes and his hands in my hands. A warmth steals through me, a tiny wave of excitement that almost makes me squeal.
Here are the vows. And as Syrena tradition would have it, I go first. But I’ve got this. I’ve repeated it to myself a million times in front of the mirror. Behind me, I hear sniffling, and I tear up, knowing it can only be Mom.
Mom who doesn’t cry.
I clear my throat and start spouting the words. “Galen, Triton prince, I vow to cherish you as my mate for time everlasting. I vow to serve you within the boundaries of the law and the council of the Archives. I vow to be faithful to you always, and to honor you in word and deed. Galen, Triton prince, I take you for my mate.”
Galen doesn’t have to be told when it’s his turn. As soon as the last word leaves my lips, the first of his vows falls from his. “Emma, bearer of the Gift of Poseidon, I vow to cherish you as my mate for time everlasting. I vow to serve you within the boundaries of the law and the council of the Archives. I vow to be faithful to you always, and to honor you in word and deed. Emma, bearer of the Gift of Poseidon, I take you for my mate.”
Grom gives his brother a solemn nod. This is where we’re supposed to kiss each other’s cheek. “Friends, I present—”
“I’m not done,” Galen says. Then that Syrena prince gets on his knees in the wet sand. His eyes are wells leading to his soul, his very being. I think I’m going to swallow my own heart. “Emma, I will love you with every breath in my body, and beyond my own death. I swear to be your shield, your protector, your worshipper. There is nothing I will deny you. I am yours.”
I drop to my knees then, too, brought down by everything that is Galen. My dress splashes into an oncoming wave, and the saltwater licks up my hips and thighs, but I couldn’t care less. “I love you,” I tell him, but I’m not sure he can make out the words through my tears.
His mouth is on mine, covering over my sobs. All that he said in words, he puts into this kiss. I’m vaguely aware of a distant cheer surging up over the sound of the waves and of the seagulls and my heartbeat. I’m vaguely aware of Grom clearing his throat, of Mom’s hand on my shoulder, of Rayna giggling. But this kiss cannot be stopped.
And it shouldn’t be.
* * *
I straighten the corners of the sheet over the sand and settle in the middle. Galen takes the spot behind me, wrapping his arms and a light blanket around me. He pulls me to him, leaning me back against his chest. Our nakedness feels natural, like we’ve always been this way with each other. It’s odd to think that hours ago, this island was overrun with guests, congratulating us and cheering us, and bringing us fish for our first night together. To think that Mom was here, proudly clutching Grom’s arm while Rayna fretted over my soaked dress. Even now, the noise of the crowd seems to swirl around us in the wind as a ghost that reminds us of all that took place. Of all the privacy we didn’t have.
But the moment they were all gone, we took our solitude back with a vengeance.
Tonight Galen and I have loved each other fully, in a way we’ve never been able to before. I still feel breathless when I think of his touch, his tenderness, the warmth of his body. I will never be satisfied, and yet I am content, right now at this moment.
“I have a surprise for you,” Galen whispers in my ear. Tingles shimmy through me, commandeering my spine and taking my senses hostage. He runs a hand down my arm and extends it out toward the ocean, pointing to the horizon. And then I see it.
The water is glowing. Thousands and thousands of blue lights swarm just below the surface, forming a wide ring around the island. The illumination from the jellyfish is magnificent, a radiant constellation in the water, which taken together looks like a spill of florescent paint into the ocean.
“How?” I breathe.
“You’re not the only one with the Gift of Poseidon.”
“It’s like underwater fireworks.” He nuzzles his nose into my neck, planting a kiss just below my ear, which evokes an involuntary sigh from my lips.
I don’t want this night to end, but at the same time, I want tomorrow to begin.
And all the rest of the days with my Triton prince.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Where to begin? They say it takes a town to raise a child. And it just so happens that writing a book is like rearing a child from birth (the idea), all the way into its dramatic late teens (edits). At first it’s a delight, and you love playing with the child and just spending time with it in general. Then things get progressively more difficult to deal with. Terrible twos. Next thing you know it will be in middle school and back talking you like nobody’s business, refusing to shape itself into the working plot you imagined. But you still love it because it’s your baby. You created it. But you reach a threshold where you must cut it off (by copy edits, you’re ready) and launch it out in to the world whether you’re ready or not (seriously, by copy edits, you’re ready).
