Mermaid

by Carolyn Turgeon

  She smiled into his shirt as he continued.

  “Then one night we were caught in a storm, and my men died. I should have died with them, but I had a vision, the most beautiful vision, an angel in the water.”

  She sat up, staring at him with wide eyes. He barely noticed, lost in the memory he was describing. His hands were automatically tracing the line of her spine.

  “She was calling to me, lifting me from the wreckage and carrying me to shore. I just have the faintest memory of this, staring up at the sky, which I’d never seen so clear.”

  He remembered! Surely, he knew who she was. Surely that was why he had led her out here.

  “And she was singing, and this voice! This voice. I have never heard anything like it.”

  She smiled and stroked his face, tears coming to her eyes. His hand, on her skin, his palm. The grass under her legs. The breeze over her. All this feeling, from the center of her body. Her powerful tail vanished and in its place these fragile legs, this great wound, and this most wonderful feeling, because he knew.

  It was as if he had to wrest out every word. “I can’t describe what I felt. How astonishing it was. I thought I had died, that the sea had taken me, too, and God had sent an angel to me, to take me home, and I thought, I didn’t know that dying could be so beautiful as this, and I thought of my family, my friends, and I knew it would all be all right, no matter what happened.

  “And the next thing I knew, I was on a beach, bitter cold, and I opened my eyes and she was kneeling over me, this creature. She was so beautiful. My God. Her dark hair and eyes, her white skin. And I was finally able to focus in on her face.”

  The breeze shifted and felt cold suddenly against Lenia’s bare skin. Wait. It was me. It was me.

  “But this woman … Can I tell you this? I see I can tell you anything. This woman, I have no idea who she was. She could be any woman, from any place, who gave herself to God. A woman of God. Married to Him. And I felt that, spilling over to me.”

  No, it was not her. I saved you. I chose you. She shook her head, gesturing No! her heart twisting inside her. It was not her, it was me. I am the one you must love.

  He went on, oblivious. “It was a miracle, the way she appeared to me in the water. There is no other way to explain it. A miracle from God. He sent her out to me.”

  He sat up then, next to her, and looked at her with a face full of love and wistfulness. “You remind me of her, Astrid. You’re so beautiful, like an angel. Like her.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The Princess

  THE CASTLE FLARED UP, GLEAMING IN THE DISTANCE. They could see turrets, towers, the pennants of the South, the shimmering gold and green, colors of the old king. Under it, tiny black figures moved about. Around it, the earth was lush and green, like a bright, wet emerald, and beyond all of it was the sea, a shining blue sea sprinkled with diamonds and glass.

  They stood in a clearing in the forest, at the top of a hill. “This is where they are to meet us,” one of the guards said. “This is where we wait.”

  Margrethe looked down, her whole future laid out before them, filled with secrets and mystery. She turned to Edele, whose freckled face was lit up with excitement. In the sunlight her hair was practically orange. What a strange girl her friend was, Margrethe thought, filled with a sudden affection. She did not know how she could have made this journey without Edele.

  “Finally!” Edele exclaimed. “We can rest.”

  “Yes,” Margrethe said, slumping against her own rider, who laughed uneasily. She was exhausted to her bones. The guard dismounted and helped her down to the grass. She was unsteady on her feet after nearly seven straight days of riding. Her legs felt numb, her back sore. It would be so good to get to him, to this new life, and to rest. After she reached her goal, Margrethe told herself, she could sleep for days and days.

  Edele was still radiant, too, from her time with Rainer, who had promised to see her at Margrethe and Christopher’s wedding, when it would be safe again for everyone to cross from north to south. She ran about picking flowers and humming. Margrethe smiled sleepily at her as she leaned back against a tree.

  “Do you need anything, Your Highness?” one of the guards asked, despite his own exhaustion.

  “I’m fine. Thank you.”

  Already she was falling asleep. She half heard Edele’s humming, her chattering and laughing with the guards, the low tones of their voices as they responded.

  She might have dozed off for minutes or hours, when suddenly the pounding of hooves crackled through the forest, into the clearing. A group of soldiers rushed out of the trees, in armor, wearing green and gold. Quickly, Margrethe counted ten of them.

  Her two guards automatically lifted their bows, and for a moment it seemed that anything could happen.

  “We are here to take charge of Princess Margrethe, on orders of the king,” one of the Southern soldiers said.

  “Let us see proof,” Margrethe said, standing up straight, striding toward the soldier. She could feel her hands trembling and quickly put them to her sides.

  For some reason, she had expected Christopher to greet her, sweep her up in his touch and gaze into her eyes, the way he had in the garden. These men, here, were warriors, for an enemy king, and they knew exactly who she was.

  The lead soldier dismounted his horse and bowed, handing Margrethe a sealed letter.

  “From the king,” he said.

  She opened the letter and looked it over carefully. The king sent his greetings and extended his hospitality, guaranteeing their safe passage to his castle and during their stay inside it.

  “You are in good hands,” the Southern soldier said. “We are all willing to lay down our lives to ensure your safety.”

  She studied the Southern soldiers, the hard looks mixed in with more welcoming ones. She had the clear sense that not all of these men had positive feelings about taking charge of the Northern princess. Surely they all knew now that the North was planning to launch new attacks at any moment—there were too many spies about for such grand staging as her father’s to go unreported—and it was clear that these soldiers didn’t entirely trust the new arrivals.

  She nodded, swallowing hard. “We are ready,” she said haughtily, determined not to betray her uneasiness. At her command, the two riders transferred the girls’ satchels and furs from their own horses to the horses the Southern soldiers had brought.

  “Thank you,” Margrethe said to the guards who had traveled so far with them, “for all you have done. May God be with you.”

  The two men would come into rich rewards for their service. They could not go back to the North, where they would be killed for their betrayal of the king. So Margrethe had arranged for them to receive a hefty payment, the last and biggest portion of which would come to them now that she and Edele had been delivered safely, that would set them up for life in the South.

  Margrethe envied them as she watched them go, free to start their lives anew.

  The Southern soldiers helped Margrethe and Edele onto the two horses—sidesaddle now, like ladies, which felt strange after so many days of riding like men. Margrethe grasped the reins, and they began to ride. Her heart was pounding as they moved from the clearing into the woods.

  The sun streamed around them, through the leaves. Big bright green leaves shaped like hearts spilled from the trees. Birds squawked overhead, and they could smell the sea, hear it in the distance.

  The short ride to the castle seemed endless. Margrethe and Edele rode hand in hand, the men silent around them. Margrethe concentrated on the seal she’d seen with her own eyes, reminding herself that they were safe. Even if some men in the group around them would have liked to see them dead, what mattered was the king and his wishes.

  Still, it was not exactly the greeting she had hoped for.

  They approached the castle gates. Outside people were selling wares, gathering to look at bowls and clothing and fish. A small band was playing, a troubadour standing in front
singing a song about love.

  The castle was bigger, more elaborate than any she had seen. It seemed at least twice the size of her father’s castle, which was thick and close to protect its occupants from cold.

  People stared up at them curiously, these two ragged noblewomen surrounded by the king’s soldiers, as they rode through the gates.

  At the orders of the head soldier, most of the others split away, having performed their duty, a few of them bowing their heads or in some way paying respect to the foreign princess.

  The remaining soldiers took Margrethe and Edele to a tower, where they were met by a guard and a servant.

  The head soldier turned to the two women. “The king feels you will be safest here, in the tower. You will be well protected.”

  “We have tried to make it comfortable for you, Your Highness,” the servant said, stepping forward.

  The guard took their things and led Margrethe and Edele inside and up a long stairway. At the top, they came upon a wooden door that opened into a large bedroom. The servant followed behind.

  They walked in. There were shining silk curtains hanging about the bed. A window that looked out over the sea. A small fireplace, unlit, a wardrobe, and a table with chairs. A large chest at the foot of the bed.

  The servant began unpacking their satchels, putting everything in its place. A woman walked in with a jug of wine and two glasses, a plate of bread and fish.

  “The king has said you are to rest,” the guard said, “and then someone will be back to take you to him. I will be outside your door for the entirety of your stay, should you need anything.”

  “Thank you,” Margrethe said, and then she and Edele were alone.

  “It is like a prison here,” Edele said, flopping on the bed, “a beautiful one, but a prison nonetheless.”

  Margrethe sat next to her, resisting the urge to cry.

  “Let us rest, my friend,” Edele said, putting her arm around Margrethe’s shoulders. “This will all seem better once we are rested.”

  Margrethe nodded. “This isn’t what I was expecting. But I was probably naïve to expect anything different. This is war, and I am the daughter of the enemy king.”

  “You expected him to be here waiting for you.”

  “Yes.”

  “I know, I did as well.” Edele sighed and stood up, pacing the room. “The water is beautiful, though. Much more beautiful than at that horrible, gloomy convent.”

  Margrethe smiled. “I told you, I liked it there.”

  Edele shivered. “Maybe if I had met Rainer there, I would have liked it better, and be mooning about it now the way you are.”

  “I am not mooning about it.”

  “You’re so mad about this prince you can’t see straight. You’re risking everything to be with him. It’s like you think you’re in some ancient poem.”

  “Edele, you know what is at stake here, for our kingdom. That is what I care about.”

  “Yes, I know what it is you say,” Edele said, making a silly face, then reaching over to poke Margrethe’s side. “But I also know your heart, my friend.”

  Margrethe sighed and lay back. “I am tired of arguing with you, Edele. You are even worse when you’re in love, you know that? I think we ought to get some rest. Especially you. I’m not sure you’ve slept at all the past two days.”

  “These Southerners are incredibly good-looking,” Edele said, still at the window.

  “I can’t believe you,” Margrethe said. “Madly in love and we’re here only two minutes before you start eyeing other men.”

  “It’s not a man. A woman, walking by the water. Her hair is so blond it’s practically white.”

  “Go to sleep,” Margrethe said, rolling her eyes. “You exhaust me.”

  A FEW HOURS later, there was a tap on the door. Servants shuffled in, to bathe Margrethe and Edele in warm, perfumed water and dress them in splendid silk gowns. By the time the guard led them down the stairway to meet the king and queen, Margrethe was trembling with anxiety, but she held her head high. They walked past several rooms, through the great hall, and up another staircase, to where the king and queen sat on their thrones to hear matters of the kingdom. Outside the door, a throng of people waited to gain audience with the king. The room itself was filled with benches and guards.

  Margrethe looked around for the prince the moment they set foot in the room. When she saw he was not there, she tried to hide her disappointment before turning all her attention to the king and queen, smiling in her most gracious manner.

  The king was old but much more kindly seeming than her own father. Even in his elaborate crown, holding his jeweled scepter, he seemed more grandfatherly than regal, with his long, gray beard and hair. Next to him, the queen was far grander, striking, with her hair that had been dyed a deep black, her red lips and bright purple robes. She was dripping in jewels, from her forehead to her ears to her neck.

  The king’s eyes immediately went to Margrethe, and the room was cleared, seemingly in seconds, with one nod of his head.

  “Princess Margrethe,” he said. She was surprised by the warmth of his reception. “You are every bit as beautiful as I have heard. And Lady Edele, it is a pleasure. You are a great friend to your mistress here, to accompany her on such an arduous journey, and for such a noble cause.”

  The queen looked them up and down as her husband spoke. Margrethe sensed in her the same uneasy feeling she’d gotten from some of the soldiers, and she saw right away that king and queen did not share the same mind.

  “Thank you, Sire,” she said, curtsying, Edele following suit next to her. “I am happy to be here.”

  “It was nothing less than divine providence that led you here. I have thought for a long time that God was speaking to me and wanted me to die with my heirs secured and my people content, not ravaged by war the way they have been. I have grown more philosophical with age, it seems.”

  She smiled. “I pray that my father will follow your lead,” she said. “I am sorry I had to defy him by coming here.”

  He nodded. “You are a brave young lady.”

  “I thought that I might see your son here today,” she said. “My betrothed.”

  The king looked to the queen and then back at Margrethe. “I am sorry he is not here to greet you. But … The truth is he does not yet know about our arrangement.”

  “He does not know anything about you at all,” the queen said bluntly.

  Margrethe felt her insides cave in.

  “My son is a headstrong young man,” the king said. “With his own ideas. It has been necessary to wait to introduce you to him until we could present you in person. To ensure both your safety and his cooperation.”

  She stopped, confused. He did not know she was coming?

  “Do not worry,” the king said. “You are safe here, among friends. The main thing now is to get word to your father. I understand he sent men up north to search for you, but they must have returned at least a few days ago now. I do not know if he yet suspects that you came here.”

  “Have you sent word to my father yet?” she asked.

  “I have just dispatched my men,” he said. “You must make yourself as comfortable as possible here in my land until everything has been arranged. Your father will not take kindly to an offer of peace, I suspect, but he will come around. It is best for all of us, and our heirs.”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” she said, curtsying again, her heart in her throat.

  It occurred to her, for the first time then, that the prince himself might not want her here. He might not want her at all.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The Mermaid

  LENIA STOOD ON A SMALL STOOL IN THE MIDDLE OF HER room. The chair next to the window was covered in rich fabrics, each with a different feel and hue—the plush softness of velvet, the smooth wetness of silk, the swirling hardness of woven brocade. Lavenders next to pine greens next to the palest, most delicate yellows. She was draped in a gorgeous deep blue satin dotted with red ros
es. Two seamstresses knelt at her feet, talking between themselves and hemming the skirt that flowed around her.

  “You will have the richest gowns of anyone in the castle,” one of the seamstresses said, smiling up at her, “and be the most beautiful woman at court.”

  “Not if Princess Katrina can help it,” the other said and then laughed.

  Lenia smiled politely. She knew that the prince, and the rest of the court, would find her pleasing in these new dresses the prince was having made for her, but she was still not used to the feeling of fabric weighing down, cold and heavy against her skin. Her waist cinched in, her breasts confined and pushed up, the sleeves tight against her arms. Even under the flowing skirt, there were layers of lace that brushed against her legs and made them ache.

  But she did not mind. She had been in the castle for nearly two months now, and she had no doubt that he loved her, even if he did not remember her. At meals he could barely take his eyes off her; he had even started leaving the king’s table to sit next to her. Everyone was talking about the two of them—more than one man commented on the prince’s great fortune, finding a woman as silent as she was beautiful—and throughout the court, rumors flew about her origins. Elaborate stories were made up about where she had come from. Some said she came from the mountains that split the North from the South, others that she’d come from a faraway land where the castles were made of ice and diamonds. Some of the more flirtatious young nobles claimed that she’d been dropped straight from heaven itself. But no one could have guessed the even more extraordinary truth.

  Prince Christopher sent for Lenia every night, when her maids helped her out of her stiff layers and into a thin robe, and combed her long hair until it hung in a stream over her shoulders and down her back.

  When she was not with him, she thought of him. Even now, she could not wait for the seamstresses to finish their task, leave her to prepare for dinner in the great hall, and him.