Chantress Fury

by Amy Butler Greenfield

  Even as I turned toward them, the mermaid thrashed and knocked the whole barrel over. It split as it fell, and water gushed out, carrying the mermaid halfway to the rail.

  “No.” I forced myself forward and grabbed hold of a slippery fin. “Stay. Talk to me.”

  Even as I touched her scales, I felt her anger. There was no remorse here, no regret, only a wild hatred.

  You will pay, Chantress. Mind to mind, she spoke to me, even as her lips continued to shape the beautiful song. The sea is coming. We are coming. And we will drown you all.

  In shock I clutched harder at the fin. What?

  Let go. The mermaid’s powerful tail slammed me against the deck. Stunned, I released her fin.

  Still singing, the mermaid grasped the rail with her milky white arms and hoisted herself up and over it. With a great splash, she dived into the river and was gone.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  STRANGERS

  I raced to the rail. All was quiet and dark, and there was no sign of the mermaid, not even a slight glow under the waves.

  But her song was gone with her, and that meant I could draw on my magic again. I listened to the Thames and found what I needed—a music to find the mermaid and trap her, a music to pull her toward us.

  Behind me, the men were stirring.

  “What was that?” someone said.

  “She’s escaped,” the King cried. “The mermaid’s escaped.”

  “It’s the Chantress’s doing,” Captain Ellis snarled.

  “It must have been an accident,” Penebrygg said.

  Nat strode to my side. “What happened?”

  I couldn’t stop to look at him, let alone answer; the mermaid was getting farther away with every moment. Shutting everything out except the music, I called on the river to help me.

  My song traveled out into the night and then exploded into cacophony. My head swam. It was as if my song had run headlong into a wall.

  Something was protecting the mermaid, something unbelievably strong, something that in no way resembled the mermaid’s own magic. Could it be the river itself? Or the sea currents within it? Could mermaids call on that kind of power?

  “What’s she doing?” Captain Ellis demanded.

  “Keep quiet,” someone said. Was it Gabriel?

  The captain wouldn’t be silenced. “Don’t you give me orders. It’s my ship, and I’ll say what I like. How do we know she isn’t helping the mermaid?”

  Ignoring everything else, I sang again. Once more my music slammed into some sort of wall, throwing a surge of sound back at me. But this time, as the brief noise faded, I thought I heard something else deep in the water, the very faint traces of a powerful song, swirling with anger.

  Strange and complex, it was utterly unlike the mermaid’s song. Indeed, it was unlike any music I’d ever heard before. But there was something about the phrasing and the cadences that made me think of Chantress song-spells.

  Could it be another Chantress?

  In my shock, I must have made a sound, or moved in an odd way, because Nat said immediately, “What’s wrong?”

  A year and a half apart, and yet he could still read me plainly. Another time, that might have made me happy. Right now, however, it added to my sense of strain.

  Should I tell him—tell everyone—what I thought I’d heard? No. Not yet. I’d heard too little to be sure of anything. Instead I focused on what mattered most—finding out where the limits of my power lay. Would the river still do my bidding in other matters? Quickly I sang to it, a simple spell for creating spouts of spray.

  It responded immediately, even enthusiastically, shooting off small fountains in all directions. I sang a spell to calm it, and they vanished. But when I tried again to call back the mermaid, I hit the same wall. I strained forward, listening for the strange new music. This time I heard nothing.

  Behind me, Captain Ellis lost his temper. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong. Look at her!” I swung around to face him, but it was the men he was speaking to, not me. “The mermaid’s gone off to shipwreck other vessels, and all the Chantress does is blow bubbles. And yet not one of you will speak a word against her.”

  “With reason, Captain,” the King rebuked him. “She’s earned our trust many times over.”

  “And we’re not exactly blameless ourselves,” Nat added. “Some of us should have worn earplugs, just to be on the safe side. I had mine in my pocket, but that wasn’t good enough, not when she was singing just a few feet away.”

  I was grateful that Nat was helping to shoulder the blame. Yet when he turned to me, his eyes were full of questions—the same questions that were in everyone else’s, even the King’s.

  What I had to tell them wasn’t going to help matters.

  “I’m afraid Captain Ellis is right.” I steadied myself against the rail as the ship swayed beneath me. “The fault is mine. I meant only to keep the mermaid from choking, but it all went wrong.” As dispassionately as I could, I explained how she had told me she was dying, how I’d tried to save her, and how I’d made a mistake with the ropes. “I chased after her, and just now I tried to use my magic to sing her back. But she outwitted me. I’m sorry.”

  My admission of guilt didn’t take the edge off the captain’s anger. Sir Barnaby also looked none too pleased, and Sir Samuel and the Admiral and Dr. Verney gave me reproachful looks. Nat had stepped back into shadow, so I couldn’t even guess at what he thought. But at least the King, Penebrygg, and Gabriel were nodding sympathetically.

  “I’m afraid there’s more.” I told them what the mermaid had told me: The sea is coming. We are coming. And we will drown you all.

  “What does it mean?” the King wondered.

  “Nothing good,” Captain Ellis growled under his breath.

  Sir Barnaby jabbed his cane at a bit of the broken barrel. “If you ask me, it’s a pack of nonsense. She was lying to you, Chantress. Just as she lied about choking and dying.”

  Had she been lying about the gag? I still wasn’t sure. And the vicious words of warning had felt like the unvarnished truth. “It didn’t feel like a lie.”

  “You were fooled before,” Sir Barnaby said.

  To that, I had no good answer, except perhaps to mention the faint song I’d heard, so powerful and so full of ill will. But then I was unsure of that, too. I’d heard it for only a moment, and it was hard to remember now exactly how it had sounded, still less why it had put me in mind of a Chantress. Most likely it was more mermaid magic—and Sir Barnaby was right to point out that I’d been taken in by that before.

  Before anyone could say anything more, the King intervened. “Well, whatever the truth of the matter, it seems that no one is drowning now, for which we should all be thankful. Captain Ellis, I am sure you and Dr. Verney will want to stay with your ship, but I suggest that the rest of you come with me now to Greenwich Palace. We will discuss this again in the morning.”

  The King spoke with a finality that kept even Captain Ellis from contradicting him. Orders went out that the ship’s tender should be readied to bring us to the landing.

  The Lord High Admiral shot a doubtful look at me as we boarded the tender. “Well, it’s a shame the creature got away from you, that’s all I can say. And there was one who escaped earlier too, wasn’t there? So that’s two of them on the loose. They could be anywhere by now.”

  I thought of Lady Gillian. That episode wasn’t something I could keep to myself now, though I’d do my best not to bring Sybil into it. “I’m afraid there may be one in London,” I told the others. “At twilight today, someone reported an odd creature swimming near the Whitehall landing. It may have been nothing, but now I wonder . . .”

  “By Whitehall?” The King looked alarmed, and so did the others.

  The Lord High Admiral looked thunder at me as I sat down across from him. “You didn’t investigate?”

  “No. At the time, it wasn’t a priority.” I wasn’t going to explain why. “Of course, now I wish I had.”

 
; The Lord High Admiral narrowed his eyes. “I should think so. Quite an oversight, I must say.”

  Perhaps the others were merely busy finding their seats—Nat sat down in one well away from me—but no one came to my defense. And I couldn’t defend myself without implicating Sybil.

  Fortunately, Sir Samuel was only too happy to take advantage of my silence. Seated on the other side of the Lord High Admiral, he started conversing with him about the best way to defend London and the navy against this new threat.

  As the oarsmen set out for Greenwich Palace, the others joined in the discussion. While they talked about the best way to procure earplugs and issue them to seamen, I kept quiet and looked out at the river. No matter how hard I listened, I could hear no sign of the mermaid. Nor could I hear anything of the strange force that had protected her.

  When we reached the palace, the King asked to see any dispatches from London. We were all relieved to hear there were no reports of anything that could possibly be construed as mermaid magic. Heaving learned this, the King seemed disinclined to work into the small hours. At any rate, he didn’t want to work with me. When I offered to stay, he said, “No, no. You’ve done a great deal already. I expect you could use a rest.”

  His expression was kind, and I had to assume his concern for me was genuine. Yet I noticed he stayed back to have a word with Nat and Sir Barnaby. Worried and confused and tired out from the magic I’d done, I said good night and left them.

  The room assigned to me was a fine one. A maidservant had already laid the fire, and she returned to set down a tray of pastries and cold beef to tempt my appetite. But I could not seem to settle. Instead of eating, I stood by the oriel window that looked out over the Thames, just listening and listening.

  Not one strain of the river’s music seemed out of the ordinary. Yet still it worried me to see the Dorset floating at anchor, vulnerable in the dark. By letting the mermaid escape, I’d put the ship and her crew in danger. What if she returned and her singing drove the night watch mad? Or what if the power that guarded her chose to attack in the night?

  We will drown you all.

  Was it just an empty threat? Maybe. But if there was even a chance it was true, I ought to keep watch over the ship. Though not from here. The landing would be better; I could hear everything out there.

  The maidservant made a token effort to dissuade me from going out, but she was in too much awe of my magic to do more. Cloaked against the damp river air, I slipped through the passage­ways, headed for the landing.

  At this hour, few lights were left burning, but memory and touch guided me. A left turn through this doorway, and then down the steps.

  Hands skimming the rail, I turned the curve of the staircase. A shadow loomed in front of me, but I was going too fast to stop, and I thumped straight into it.

  The shadow turned out to be a person. At first I didn’t know who—only that it was someone big enough to knock me off my feet and send me sliding down the stairs. Sprawled on the bottom step, head swimming, I heard an unmistakable voice.

  “Lucy?”

  “Nat?”

  “Yes.” He knelt beside me, still shadowy. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you. Are you hurt?”

  I checked my ankle, which had borne the weight of my fall. “Nothing that won’t mend.” My head was still swimming, but for a different reason now. I could only just make out the lines of his body, but he was so close, I could feel the warmth of him there in the dark.

  “You’re still up?” I asked.

  “The King wanted me to tell him everything I knew about mermaids. And you?”

  “I’m going out to the landing.” There was no reason to hide my plan; it wasn’t a state secret. “I’m worried the mermaid will attack the Dorset again, so I’m going to keep guard over it.”

  “There’s no need,” Nat said. “We found some more serviceable earplugs here in the palace, and they’ve been delivered to Captain Ellis. The night watch is now wearing them, and the rest have them at the ready.”

  “Oh.” That would go a long way toward keeping the Dorset safe. “But there are other ships . . .”

  “Thousands,” Nat agreed, “but no one can guard them all, not even you. Especially when you’re exhausted. If a mermaid attacks, you can be sure we’ll call on you. But for now, you should go back to your room and get some sleep.” He reached for me. “Here. I’ll help you up.”

  His steady hand wrapped around mine, pulling me to my feet. It was done in a moment, but it left me breathless. His rough chin brushed my forehead, and I felt him take a deep breath. He still had my hand, and we were so close that we could have kissed.

  I lifted my head, and then we were kissing. So familiar this, and yet so new after all this time apart. When I leaned into him, his hands circled my waist and pulled me closer, as if to erase all distance between us. His lips were like music on mine, and I felt a rush of elation so intense, it was almost painful.

  He still loves me. After all this time, he still loves me. The thought was as powerful and irresistible as magic itself. After so much sadness, so much loneliness, I wanted to drown in his kisses, drown and be lost.

  He broke off the kiss and turned his head, his chin scraping my cheek. “Someone’s coming.” He pulled away, and then I heard it too, the tramp of boots coming close.

  “You wait here,” he murmured. His own boots made hardly any sound; I knew he was gone only when I heard a door click shut. A little later, I heard voices in brief conversation, though I couldn’t make out the words. Soon he returned alone, a bright candle in his hand.

  “Just one of the guards,” he said quietly. “Nothing to worry about. I told him I was having a quick check of the place. I . . . er . . . didn’t mention you were here.”

  “Oh.” Was Nat simply trying to safeguard my reputation, or did he not want anyone to know that we’d been together?

  I couldn’t ask him. The interruption had made us awkward with each other. In darkness, it had been easier to believe that nothing had changed between us. The light gave that the lie. Suddenly we couldn’t meet each other’s eyes.

  “This isn’t going to work, is it?” Nat said.

  Dread hit me in the pit of the stomach. He’d spoken my fears aloud.

  Slowly I said, “I think we need to talk.”

  “Yes.”

  “You go first,” I told him.

  For a moment, I thought he wouldn’t. But then, looking steadily down into the candle flame, he started to speak.

  “The reason I was on that ship—the reason I was coming back to England—was to see you.”

  That was why he was here?

  “Since we parted, I’ve thought of you every day, almost every hour,” he went on. “I’ve hated being so distant from you, but I thought that in the end we’d be stronger for it. And I was hoping the time had finally come when we could be together again. But it’s not that simple, is it? I saw that on the ship. The moment you saw that gag, you sided against me.”

  “I had questions, yes.” I couldn’t deny it. “But—”

  “You gave the mermaid the benefit of the doubt, again and again. But not me.”

  I winced. I hadn’t thought of it that way before. “That was a mistake. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not an apology I’m after, Lucy. I’m just saying that the trust between us is gone. I’ve been trying to tell myself it doesn’t matter, that we can rebuild—but I’m not sure we can. The way you look at me, the way you speak to me, it’s all changed. We might as well be strangers.”

  I was so upset, I couldn’t speak.

  More gently, he said, “You must feel it too.”

  And the worst of it was, I did. The Nat who had gone away wasn’t the same as the one who was speaking to me now. And I supposed I wasn’t the same Lucy, either. But that he thought of us as strangers—that was as bitter as galls to me.

  I meant to stay calm, meant to choose my words carefully, but I suddenly found I couldn’t. “If we’re strangers, whose
fault is that?” I said, my voice unsteady. “You’re the one who left me. You’re the one who asked me to stay away. You’re the one who said I mustn’t even write to you.” I hadn’t realized till this moment quite how angry I was about that. Or maybe I had, and I’d buried it. But there was no burying it now.

  “I gave you everything you asked for,” I said. “I let them all think there was nothing between us. Even when the Court gossips said that you’d left me because I was too cold, too inhuman to love, I said nothing—”

  “They said what?”

  I barely registered his words. “I didn’t even tell my friends the truth. I couldn’t; they might have given you away. I was more alone than I’ve ever been. And maybe you’re right; maybe that’s changed me. But in the name of all that’s holy, Nat, how could you walk away from me for a year and a half and then come back and expect me to be the same?”

  I turned my back on him and ran up the stairs.

  CHAPTER NINE

  LOVE SONG

  I woke the next morning to a sore ankle and a sodden, weeping sky.

  He didn’t come after me, was my first thought.

  And then: What did you expect?

  His voice echoed again and again in my mind: We might as well be strangers.

  By the cold light of morning, I had to admit the truth. He was right. I was a stranger to him, and he to me. There was no trust between us anymore—and no love.

  I shut my eyes again. Whatever loneliness I had felt while on the road paled beside this.

  The maidservant bustled in, bearing a cup of chocolate. “Good morning to you, my lady. Though good’s not the word for it, really. It’s bucketing, it is. You should see the guards at the gates. They look half-drowned.”

  Drowned . . .

  I sat up sharply. “The ship. The Dorset. Is she still out there?”

  “No, my lady.”

  My heart thudded. I shouldn’t have left her unguarded. “What happened?”