by Sara Ella
The crown princess laughed then and Coral relished the sound. When was the last time she’d heard her sister laugh?
“You are a captivating beauty,” their grandmother said. “You will find love again. And your father will understand.”
“And if he doesn’t?” The one-day queen’s voice rose, and a few dancers nearby stopped to stare. Her next words were softer but remained firm. “If he doesn’t, I’ll truly have nothing left.”
Coral’s heart skipped several beats before she found a way to breathe. Her sister’s fear ran in scarlet ribbons across her vision. Coral wanted to grasp those ribbons, to rip them apart until her sister felt safe once more.
“You will have me. And your sisters.” Taking time with her dessert, their grandmother took plenty of time with her words. To her, words held a magic far greater than anything the Sorceress of the Sea possessed. Finally, after what seemed the remainder of the evening had passed, she said, “I know your heart is broken right now, but have a little faith. Things will get better.”
Eyes pleading with the merwoman who’d helped raise them, the crown princess sighed. “How can I have faith when I have seen firsthand what Father will do? If he knew I’d fallen for a human, and then that human abandoned me? He’d banish me to the Abyss.”
Coral’s fears were at last confirmed, and it was all she could do not to vocalize her internal moan.
“Remember,” their grandmother said. “Swim through the darkness, find the light.” She touched the crown princess’s arm.
A lingering pause. A quick breath. A sigh. “Thank you, Grandmother. For listening.”
“Think nothing of it. It is my privilege and my pleasure.”
Her sister shifted and Coral mirrored her move, staying out of sight but close enough to catch her next whispered words. “Take care of Coral, okay?” A tear slipped free, falling fast down her right cheek. The crown princess erased it in a heartbeat.
Coral covered her mouth to stifle a gasp. Another tear? How was it even visible at these depths? Were tears so powerful they withstood even the mighty ocean waters?
Their grandmother didn’t respond for a fathom. Coral couldn’t see her face now, but she imagined her pondering expression. A mixture of darkened conflict worrying her brow and chin, singing the tune of the rolling fog on the water’s surface in winter.
When she finally answered, she took a long, deep breath. Then, “I would not dream of doing anything to the contrary.”
The crown princess bowed her head and left without another word or tear. Coral expected her to join the party, but instead her sister swam past a pair of palace guards, beyond the entry arch, and into the evening blue.
Coral watched the future queen, her gaze lingering on the arch long after she’d vanished. The little mermaid didn’t move. Or blink.
Her sister was in love with a human?
She could hardly process it.
“You can come out now, Coral,” her grandmother said, though she made no effort to look at her granddaughter over her shoulder.
The casual way she spoke didn’t startle Coral. How could I have thought she was unaware of my eavesdropping?
The merwoman made it her job to keep up with the kingdom gossip.
“Good evening, Grandmother.” Coral dipped her chin to her chest as she swam up beside her.
Her grandmother waved a waiter over. He nodded and produced a tray of delicacies full to the brim with more jellied kelptinis and a few whipped sunrise brûlées. The waiter handed Coral the latter and quickly swam on to the next group of guests.
She tasted a spoonful of the creamy, tangy concoction. The texture stuck to the roof of her mouth and eased down her throat. The overpowering sweetness of it made her queasy, so Coral resolved to hold the dessert, if only to keep her hands from fidgeting.
Grandmother nodded to a passing nobleman, who bowed his head in return. “Are you enjoying your party?” she asked Coral.
“Well enough.” If “well” meant she’d rather be anywhere else.
“I expect you’d enjoy it more if you didn’t spend so much time hiding.”
The statement could have been harsh, but it wasn’t. The sparkle in her grandmother’s champagne eyes released a burst of harmonizing notes—encouragement. Understanding. Grace. She didn’t mention Coral’s oldest sister or bring up their conversation. This was her grandmother’s way. She could be trusted with secrets. She would not betray any of her granddaughters by speaking of them behind their backs.
“I expect you’re right,” Coral said.
“Have you prepared your performance?”
Coral’s rib cage closed in, squeezing her lungs and heart until they were ready to burst. Breathe, Coral. You don’t have to sing. Not yet. Maybe there’s still a way out of it.
“Father wants to match me tonight, doesn’t he?”
Her grandmother turned to her then, placing her free hand on Coral’s cheek and stroking it with a tender thumb. “We’re all made for something. And you, my darling, have so much to give.”
The answer wasn’t an answer. Or maybe it was.
Coral studied her eyes. Her own burned and she blinked the sensation away. “What if I don’t want to give it? Not this way—not to someone I do not love.”
“If you ever find love, true love, hold on to it.”
She clung to her oldest sister’s words. There had been an urgency behind her gaze when she shared them. And something told Coral her sister had never shared this belief with anyone.
Which made those words of so much more value and worth than even the pearls adorning her waist.
“You’ll find your voice, eventually.” One more stroke against her cheek before her grandmother lowered her hand. “And the one who hears it? Who truly stops to listen? He’ll be the finest match in all the oceans, won’t he?” She winked and sipped her last drop. “Now then, this is a party. I suggest you find a nice young merman to ask you to dance.” And just like that, her grandmother switched from profound wisdom-giver to carefree father-supporter.
Was it difficult for her? To have a son as gray as the king and a granddaughter as vibrant as Coral? To love and support them both when they were as different as land and sea?
“Go on,” she urged, forehead wrinkles smoothing. “Might as well have some fun if you have to be here.”
The thought of joining hand in hand and hip to hip with a stranger gave Coral almost as much anxiety as singing in front of a crowd, especially if it was for the wrong reason. Fun? That was the last word she’d use to describe the situation.
But her grandmother never took no for an answer. “You heard me. Enjoy yourself.” She shooed Coral with one hand.
Coral suddenly found herself amid twirling couples. The orchestra struck up a new tune as graceful as a manta ray’s glide. Those who danced floated about as if they’d rehearsed in sync for some time. The same moves on repeat. Left, two, three, turn. Right, two, three, turn. Bow, dip, pivot, glide. Coral’s pulse accelerated. A merboy around her age caught her eye and began swimming toward her. She avoided his gaze, finding a rather interesting light fixture to study.
A server whipped by, cocktail tray raised with a crooked arm above his head. He didn’t even stop to offer her an hors d’oeuvre. Which was fine. She wasn’t hungry anyway.
Swallow. Relax. Breathe.
I. Can. Do. This.
How hard could this dancing thing be?
Dishes clattered, rattling Coral’s nerves and lighting a blaze of orange before her vision as the merboy moved closer. He wore black and white, same as everyone else. The required attire made the absence of color seem almost purposeful. The lack of hue was a splendor all its own. Despite the muted shades, a rainbow burst before her vision with each key change. New notes invited shifting tones. They darkened, lightened, twinkled, and flashed. This was her world.
And she was drowning in it.
Coral touched her daylight hair. Ran her fingers over her grumbling stomach and traced the edge of he
r out-of-place tail. The other merwomen wore lengthy skirts of dark, drab seaweed, their hair slicked in tight twists atop their heads.
Coral had tried to fit in, using a bit of Jordan’s eel gel to tame her unruly locks. The goo had darkened the strands immensely, making them seem more midnight green than midday gold. A belt of black pearls hung from her waist, matching her necklace and earrings, birthday gifts from her sisters. She’d messed with Jordan’s eyeliner, attempting to frame her bright eyes in shadows. The resulting reflection sent chills deep into Coral’s marrow.
She closed her eyes. Who was she? Someone her father would approve of? Or merely a pawn in his game? Someone born to play a role she’d never fill?
“Won’t you join the festivities, Princess?”
Opening her eyes, Coral prepared to greet the merboy and accept his offer to waltz.
But he was not the one who waited before her.
Jordan’s suitor, Duke, floated inches away, smelling of too much cologne and oyster tonic.
Coral raised an eyebrow. “Duke.” When she backed away, Coral nearly bumped into another couple. “Nice to see you.” The lie almost sounded believable and she smirked. Maybe she was better at smooth speech than she believed.
Duke shook his head. “Is it?” He held out a hand. “Then humor your brother and grace me with a dance.”
Ahem. “You’re not my brother yet.” Coral gripped his hand firmly, squeezed, then released. “Perhaps another time. I need to find our future queen.” Or anyone, for that matter. Where had the merboy gone? Couldn’t he swim faster?
“What better time than at your own ball?” Duke eyed her up and down.
The intrusiveness of his gaze wrapped Coral’s nerves in jellyfish tentacles.
He withdrew a small mirror from the inside pocket of his waistcoat. Duke didn’t take his eyes off his own reflection as he uttered his next words. “Daddy loves his parties, doesn’t he?”
Cringe. She’d almost forgotten he referred to their father as “daddy” when he wasn’t around.
Gag me. What could Jordan possibly see in this merman?
Maybe nothing. Because their father had chosen him.
“Where is Daddy, anyway?” Duke checked his teeth. Pocketed the mirror once more. “He’s missing the celebration.”
“I’m sure I don’t know.” And she wouldn’t tell Duke if she did. She narrowed her eyes. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
Before Coral could escape, Duke grabbed her left hand and drew her in. His chest pressed against hers. A wall. A prison. Dark and void of color or sound.
A soundless, inky cloud of nothing exploded before her vision.
“I asked you to dance.” His voice warbled, far off, though too close. His tight grip crushed Coral’s hand to a near breaking point. “It’s rude to decline a gentleman.”
Stay here, Coral. Stay now. Don’t lose the color. Don’t lose the light.
“You’re no gentleman.” She pulled and tugged, forced herself to rise from the darkness. Whipped at his tail with hers. “And I don’t want to dance.”
She fought against the shadows. Against the blankness threatening to take her away.
Duke’s palms, colder than the water surrounding them, were slime against her skin. “Have I offended you in some way, dear sister?” His wicked grin could slay an army of sea monsters. “A racing pulse.” The grin turned ravenous. “Are you nervous? Or perhaps a better word would be . . . Diseased?”
He could sense it? How?
“Do us all a favor, Princess.” He released her.
She was shaking. The earthquake inside her bones rivaled a shifting seabed.
“Go for a swim in Red Tide. Maybe then my wife-to-be can stop acting so cold toward me, worrying she’s going to end up like your wretched older sister.” Duke turned, weaved his way through the crowd, and wiped his hands on his tail.
Did he think she was contagious?
We’ll see about that.
“Be bold. Be brave. Even if you don’t feel it, act it. This is the way of a true princess.”
Stored insights from her grandmother soothed Coral in a way nothing else could.
She straightened, becoming her own calm. Shoulders squared and bubbles in, she followed him despite her fear. Everything in her wanted to jet in the opposite direction.
But Coral had no intention of allowing Duke to believe he held any amount of control over her or her family.
When she reached him at the edge of the ballroom floor, she tapped his shoulder. Hard. Attempted to speak up for herself as their grandmother and the crown princess had both taught her. “Duke. It must have been the band’s vibrations you felt. Red Tide is as far from me as the depths of the Abyss. And you’ll take care not to speak of your next queen in such a manner. What would Daddy think if he heard his almost son-in-law had failed to show respect to one of his daughters? Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
For once, the color crimson wasn’t so menacing. The embarrassment blooming on Duke’s cheeks was worth the nausea that rose as she left him in her wake.
She swam around the edge of the ballroom. Purpose and pace drowned her nerves. Keeping with the tempo, she aimed for the row of sand-sculpture chairs one tier below the king’s balcony where her sisters would shortly reside.
“Princess, would you mind—”
Coral ignored the address. Stopping for a chat was obviously not a good call. Not after her encounter with Duke. If he could see the Disease, who else might notice it?
“Princess Coral, Princess Coral!” This time it was a child whose attention was piqued by the sight of her. She waved frantically, attempting to pull away from her guardian. “Princess Coral!”
How could she ignore this child? Coral paused midswim, redirected her attention toward the mermaid who couldn’t be older than six. Coral laced her fingers and met the little mermaid’s eyes. Cleared her throat. “Yes?”
The maid peered up at Coral through big dark eyes the size of sand dollars. “You’re pretty. Sparkly. Not like the others.”
Coral’s pulse picked up again. She self-consciously touched her greased hair. Her glittered skin. “Others?”
“Your sisters. The dark ones.” She pointed to Coral’s tail. “You’re different. You shine.” The words rolled off the mermaid’s innocent tongue.
And something cracked in the armor Coral had been so careful to construct.
A strange shift took place. Coral’s lashes tingled and her lids throbbed. Then a single tear, as real as the heart beating inside her chest, surfaced. She caught it with her knuckle before it slipped past her lid, hoping the small mermaid didn’t see.
But the O shape of the child’s mouth and the expanse of her gaze told Coral everything she needed.
The mermaid saw. She knew.
“Mama, did you see—”
“Hush, Ellesyn.” The mother offered an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry, Princess. She doesn’t know any better.”
“She’s all right.” Coral stopped, breathed, looked deeper into the mermaid’s eyes. The darkest shade of turquoise she’d ever seen. A hidden gem, but it was there, producing the sweetest, most innocently colored sound Coral had witnessed yet.
This mermaid was not a stranger to tears. A silent secret passed between them as Ellesyn’s mouth turned up and her eyes glinted.
Could the Disease be more common than Coral thought? Maybe if they stopped hiding from it, they could begin to understand it like never before.
Coral’s mind whirled, hope swelling and thoughts dancing. She had to tell the crown princess. If her sister knew more shared her tears, perhaps she wouldn’t feel so alone.
Coral didn’t care about the party or her guests or the wrath that would inevitably follow if she missed her debut.
Determination in tow, she aimed for the exit.
She didn’t bother glancing back. Not even when the shell horns sounded.
Not even when they announced her name.
Eight
Brooke
After
A giant bay window overlooking a stretch of grass allows the sun’s natural light to warm the gathering room’s cozy space. Silk flowers grace every surface from the bookshelves to the windowsill.
I shield my eyes and find the trash can, picking at my brownie and gulping the milk. Anxiety over having food in my mouth when I’m inevitably called upon begins to fester. I finish my dessert and drink in a rush, then crumple the napkin and toss it into the trash before I place the glass on a low table. I swipe at the corners of my mouth as Jake enters the room.
“Happy Monday, ladies.” She closes the sliding door behind her and takes a seat on a poufy ottoman, setting a tote bag on the floor beside her. “Gather ’round, please. We have some fun in store today.”
I find a seat on the edge of one couch’s chaise, refusing to sit back and get too comfortable. That’s what she wants, isn’t it? The others may be too naive to see it, but she can’t fool me.
“Full disclosure?” Jake says once everyone’s seated. “I know it’s only January, and Valentine’s Day isn’t for another month. But for the sake of this exercise, we’re putting our hearts on the line.”
A few of the girls laugh, but the brownie in my stomach churns. Valentine’s Day? Why draw attention to a day that focuses on love when it’s merely a fantasy? I glance around, taking in the others’ expressions. Most keep their eyes trained on Jake. They’ve clearly fallen into her trap. The rest avoid eye contact at all costs, staring at the throw pillows in their laps or gazing out the window.
For these, there is still hope. The hope they’ll realize such a thing does not exist.
The sliding door opens and closes again, inviting everyone to face in that direction. The effect is one I succeeded in avoiding upon my own entry, though a twinge of pain knots my gut when a blush creeps up Hope’s cheeks.
“That’s the second day in a row.” Jake’s words are firm, but kindness coats them. The tone throws me. “It’s odd for you to be late. See me after?”
Hope nods and pulls her long sweater sleeves down to cover half her hands. “It won’t happen again.”
