Part of Your World

by Liz Braswell

  “Sure. Just tell the humans she tastes like candy,” Attina said dryly. “Or that a mouthful of her flesh can cure their diseases.”

  “Thanks. I’ll give your suggestion the thoughtful consideration it’s due.”

  “Any time, little sister.”

  Sebastian scuttled on the floor toward them, seeming very pleased with himself. Threll swam above, looking likewise.

  “Don’t talk about this!” Ariel whispered.

  “Talk about what?” Attina asked innocently.

  Ariel made a desperate hush motion with her finger to her lips, minutely tipping her chin at her friends.

  “What are you doing? I don’t think I learned that sign…” Attina said, looking very puzzled.

  Ariel glowered at her.

  “Oh! But wait, don’t you think your friends should know as well?” her sister pressed.

  “Know what?” Sebastian asked curiously when he reached them.

  Ariel floated upright off her stool, fists clenched at her sides, wishing she could pummel her sister like in the old days.

  “Oh, that this whole thing with the Equinocturnal Celebrations and the Rites of Proserpine is over. She figured it out,” Attina said with a sweet smile, batting her lashes at the queen.

  “But we already know that,” Sebastian said, confused. “You have the sister singing it. What other news is there? Oh…ARE YOU GOING TO SING?” His eyes twitched in the crab equivalent of widening; he tiptoed forward, claws delicately tapping each other’s tips, as if afraid to scare away the idea.

  Attina guffawed silently and swam off.

  Ariel looked at the little crab and felt bad. She had felt bad ever since the stern talking-to she had given him about how she would never, ever sing while she was queen. She hadn’t changed her mind about that. But how could she make it up to him?

  She thought about the other musician in her life, Eric. In his own way he loved an audience as much as the little crab did; he relished the goodwill of the townspeople and was very much looking forward to the encore of La Sirenetta, performed for all who had missed it the first time. Composing was one thing, but both of them felt the most fulfilled when they could directly gauge the reactions of their listeners.

  That’s an idea….

  “Sebastian, I was serious. I will never sing for an audience while I am queen. However, that being said,” she continued quickly as the crab looked like he was about to explode, “two things. One, I want you to devote a portion of your spare time to writing me an aria—a really amazing aria—that I will sing, triumphantly, when my father is returned as king and I can go back to being a mostly private citizen. It should be a celebration of his return. This has to be epic, Sebastian. Things like the capture and return of the King of the Sea do not happen but maybe once in a thousand years.”

  Sebastian was torn, she could tell. His little black crabby eyes twitched desperately. Everything about this idea appealed to every part of him, from the artist given a truly special challenge all the way to the egomaniac whose work would be performed and remembered forever.

  But it still wasn’t the same thing as having her sing now.

  He was trying very, very hard not to say that. She could see it in the way his antennules clicked silently against each other.

  “And for the Equinocturnal Celebrations, I plan to give a speech to all the participants about my promise not to sing until Father is returned, and what we are doing to facilitate his return.” Did I just say “facilitate his return”? Next I’m going to start saying things like “leveraging the synergy…” “And then I will talk about the Return Aria and turn the floor over to you, so you may talk about your composition and your vision.”

  “That sounds highly acceptable,” Threll said with an eyecrest raised at Ariel—the closest thing he had to a wink.

  “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do, young lady,” Sebastian growled. But then his voice got dreamy. “Still…I can just see it now…‘The Return’! Everyone is seated in the Grand Amphitheatre…No! We will do something unique! We’ll build an all new amphitheatre!”

  “Uh, Sebastian, I didn’t say anything about approving funds for—”

  “We’ll have an upside-down amphitheatre! Starting at the top very big, then rows and rows getting smaller down until it’s just you, on the seafloor—No! On the Mound of Sartops, so everyone will be looking at us…I mean, you…And then I will raise my claw, so, and I will give a little speech of thanks for this opportunity and Triton’s triumphant return….”

  Ariel blinked.

  “Everyone will be there because it’s a performance,” she said slowly. “And they will all be looking at you….”

  “Yes, of course, yes,” Sebastian said impatiently. “But also you. And then I will raise my claw, so…”

  It hit the Queen of the Sea like an orca slamming into a plate of ice.

  “I have it!” she cried. “I know what to do! Somebody, go find me Jona…Sebastian, you have the helm. I’m surfacing, but just for tonight!”

  “But my aria…” Sebastian called out sadly.

  She was already gone.

  Eric had trouble falling asleep. He had the beginnings of a brilliant idea for a plan, and no way to contact Ariel!

  It was late when his dreams finally overcame him, and it seemed like only a few moments later when he was woken up by Max.

  “Mmm, what’s up, boy…?” Eric murmured, turning over.

  Then his eyes shot open.

  The old dog slept a lot now, and always through the night. He never begged for walkies when it was dark.

  The prince pushed himself up on his elbows. Max had risen on his hind legs with one front paw on the wall for balance. He was staring out the window, gesturing at it with his lolling tongue and interested muzzle. Outside was a gull, its white wings flapping as delicately as a moth as it hovered there.

  “You?” Eric whispered. “From…Ariel?”

  The seagull bobbed as best it could. Then it peeled away from the castle. Eric watched it descend and then look back at him and give a quiet cry.

  It wanted the prince to follow it.

  Eric didn’t bother putting on shoes; he hastily pulled on a pair of trousers and tiptoed out of the room and down the stairs. His bare feet made no noise on the floor and for a moment he reveled in that; it was like being a young prince again, sneaking out to see the full moon.

  Outside, the gull, glowing a pale unlikely white in the night, waited patiently drifting through the air.

  He followed it south, past the castle beach and into the stony area with the basalt cliffs. When sand gave way he had to clamber on the rocks; the waves broke over seaweed-covered boulders and got deep very quickly.

  Holding on to one of those boulders was Ariel, strangely placid in the turbulent water. Her tail snaked sinuously out behind her, keeping her level and on the surface of the water like a kraken.

  “This is amazing!” he said, as delighted as a child. “This is how you really are.”

  “This is how I really am,” she agreed, touched that he had phrased it that way. She was no longer a human girl who became a mermaid to him; she was a mermaid first and foremost, and a human occasionally by choice. “But listen, we need to talk.”

  “I know, I know!” Eric said excitedly. “I had an idea!”

  “So did I! I was thinking of some sort of performance, which Ursula would attend, giving a speech or something pompous that would put her in front of a huge crowd.”

  “Exactly! Something where, for a moment at least, she is the absolute center of attention—”

  “Something that really tickles her vanity, so she absolutely agrees to go—”

  “Like the encore performance of La Sirenetta,” Eric finished.

  “Your opera!” Ariel said with a gasp. “It’s perfect!”

  “It’s so perfect. Everyone will be watching. The only problem is that I just don’t know how to turn her back. Maybe the altos can bring in a giant tub of
salt water on their heads and splash it on her? I don’t know, though, some of them are surprisingly dainty and delicate. Maybe they could each carry a small tub of salt water on their heads….”

  “Or…since it’s a concert for the people, you could have it outside in the town square, right next to Neptune’s Fountain. And we could just knock her in,” Ariel suggested lightly. Sebastian and Eric were more similar than she had even guessed. Always leaping to the most complex and fussy ideas when a simple one would do.

  “Oh, right.” Eric grinned sheepishly. “I hadn’t thought of that. You’re sure it will work?”

  “Absolutely, and it’s foolproof, because the water comes straight from the sea. So you need to make that fountain part of your opera, or at least stage it around it.”

  “Easily done. This is great.” He laughed and punched the air. “I can practically feel the happily ever afters coming for us!”

  “Slow down there,” Ariel said cautiously. “This is Ursula. Nothing is over until it’s actually over.”

  “I know, I know, but it seems so…perfect! Artistically, too,” he added thoughtfully. “You know, ending it with an opera that’s actually about the two of you, and there’s singing, so it’s all about your voice, and that’s what does her in….”

  “Yes, yes, very clever and semiotic. But I should go—I don’t know if this counts as ‘castle grounds’ or not, but you are definitely helping me. It would be stupid to risk Grimsby when we’re so close.”

  “Agreed. And I should get back and…I don’t know, walk around the beach talking to myself and Jona or something. Maybe sing. Keep up the whole Mad Prince thing a bit longer.”

  “Oh, I hope you don’t ever give it up entirely! I rather like it.”

  “For you, it will come out of the closet occasionally.” He leaned over into the water. Ariel kicked her tail and rose up just long enough for a quick kiss—cold, wet, salty, and slapped by the sea at just the wrong moment.

  Heaven.

  Eric good-naturedly laughed at himself as he brushed the foam and seawater out of his now-limp forelock.

  “You have to make sure she attends,” Ariel warned.

  “Oh, leave that to me,” Eric promised. “I know exactly what to say. I’ll also work hard to keep the original performance date—on St. Madalberta’s feast day. Two weeks from now.”

  “I hope that’s soon enough—that it’s before the circuex or whatever she’s planning.”

  “Nothing in the castle has seemed out of the ordinary so far. No weird things ordered, no giant cauldrons procured—in fact, Vanessa has been rather quieter than usual since her big threat. I wouldn’t worry too much yet. You’ll be there, right?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” the mermaid said dryly, and dove back down into the depths.

  Eric wandered back to the castle, zigzagging to pick up shells and a stray feather, sticking the latter in his cap. Just in case anyone caught him.

  He saluted the gull above him and could have sworn it did a victory roll in response.

  “Come again?”

  She was seated on her poufy chair, Vareet perched uncomfortably on a stool at her feet. Sometimes Ursula ran her fingers through the girl’s hair, which, while certainly not as pleasant as stroking an eel, was at least a little satisfactory.

  The prince stood before her with a strange look on his face, somewhere between timid, ironically amused, and chagrined. It was impossible to predict what was going to come out of his mouth, and what finally did was mind-boggling.

  “I am here to offer a détente, and a bit of an apology for our…argument in your study.”

  She raised a very skeptical eyebrow.

  Eric sighed.

  “It was very rude of me to point out the technicalities of our marriage contract the way I did. While it is all still true, it was very bully-ish of me and highly unmanly. Threatening a woman is the basest of sins.” He bowed, but the edge of his mouth twitched in a smile.

  “Please leave gender out of this,” Ursula said without thinking. But really. Even if he meant it as a joke. “Also, apology formally accepted—although I don’t believe it for a moment.”

  “Believe what you will, I have no power over that. The fact is I am genuinely embarrassed by the way I acted. At the very least we can be civil while we’re together.”

  “Hmm,” she sniffed. She couldn’t detect any obvious falsehood, but since he was turning out to be smarter than she thought, nothing he said or did could be taken at face value anymore.

  “Here is part one of my peace offering,” he said, and gave her the brooch he had been holding.

  Ursula looked at it with surprise. She knew about his secret meeting with the head of the metalworkers guild, and had assumed it was to re-explain what she had already said, the way men boorishly did—or to outright contradict her. But apparently this was the true purpose of the meeting: a tiny metal octopus, its tentacles all akimbo and curled, detailed down to its little suckers. The eyes looked suspicious and were rubies. It was made from…

  “Bronze,” she said with a chuckle. Eric gave a little bow.

  It was really quite delightful. Normally she didn’t care about jewelry beyond what was considered trendy and appropriate for princesses to wear, but this…this was an adorable little trinket. No one had given her anything like it…any gift at all, really…in years….

  She fastened it onto her collar and tried not to admire it there, sparkling temptingly.

  “Part two is that the encore—and farewell—performance of La Sirenetta, I am dedicating to you.”

  “Why?” She didn’t even pretend to be touched. There was a reason behind this that had nothing to do with kindness—she could feel it.

  “We need to present a united front. As is obvious from that horrible dinner, the staff and probably the townspeople think we’re—on the rocks, as it were.”

  “I don’t see why what they think is important. Riffraff.”

  “Then apparently you don’t understand humans as much as you claim to. At some point one of your friends or enemies is going to use our inimical relationship to drive a wedge through the kingdom. Many countries are already getting rid of their kings and queens and princes and princesses—or at least taking away their power while letting them keep their pretty crowns. Royalty that actually rules is a dying breed. Do we really want to give anyone the opportunity to speed it along here in Tirulia?”

  Ursula had never thought of it that way before. It was true—a lot of nasty populist places were having revolutions and becoming republics and democracies, patting their royalty on the head and pushing them on their way.

  (If the royalty was lucky, that was all that happened to their heads.)

  The fact that Eric was concerned about this was a novelty; she had always thought he was just a happy-go-lucky, entitled prince who, yes, cared for his people—but in his own privileged way. She never thought that he actually valued his princehood, or keeping it.

  “You may have a point,” she allowed.

  “Thank you. Thus, ostensibly I am dedicating the opera to you as a promise to spend more time on our…ah…marriage, and to me being a good prince. We have moved the venue to the town square so everyone can come and we’re constructing a raised dais just for you. I’m having this chair made, sort of muse-of-thearts-y….”

  He unfurled a scroll of paper and showed her the plans: where the performers would stand, where the orchestra would sit, and where there was a beautiful velvet-canopied pavilion with an ornate chair that was basically a throne.

  She would look like a real queen sitting there.

  Not some dumb princess.

  The royal purple fabric…the gilt chair…the way it was angled so both the audience and the performers could both see her. She would be queen in all but name.

  All would be watching her as she brought down destruction on them, like a true Old God tyrant.

  “I…don’t…trust you,” she said.

  “I don’t expec
t you to. I don’t trust you, either. But once in a while we may need to actually work together for survival. And as I said, I am, if nothing else, genuinely regretful for the way I spoke to you.”

  He’s a regular Prince Charming, Ursula snorted to herself. If nothing else, it was amusing to see him spend all this effort trying to get her to go to a performance she never had any intention of missing. If he had a trick or two up his sleeve, well, it was nothing compared to what she had planned.

  Performing the opera outside, in the square, was better than she could have ever dreamed. All the people of the little seaside town would be there. A thousand victims to sacrifice, a thousand hearts bleeding together with the King of the Sea.

  Thanks to Eric and his generous apology dedication of the performance, there was no way the spell could fail. The powers released by all that death would grant her true magical mastery over the Dry World and the World Under the Sea. She would be unstoppable. Atlantica would fall. All would bow to her or fall to her wrath.

  Ursula realized she was absently stroking the little bronze octopus and stopped it immediately.

  When the day of the opera came she wished she had better clothes; it seemed a shame to attend Eric’s opera in the rags of a maid. But she changed into what she had, slipped the trident into her hair, and looked for Scuttle.

  “Right here, Ariel! Just a moment!” the old gull called. He was standing at the shoreline gazing into a very calm tide pool at his feet, adjusting his chest feathers and preening his wings. “All set!” he finally declared and glided haphazardly over to her. “Wanted to look my spiffiest for everyone’s big day.”

  Ariel smiled warmly and stroked him on his head. There was a bit of slick black seaweed around his neck, arranged to look a little like a cravat.

  “Got me a nooserton,” he said proudly. “Just like the fancy human birds.”

  “You look wonderful.” She kissed him on the beak, then offered her arm. “Care for a ride? Just so you don’t get tired too early.”

  “It would be my honor to escort you, my lady,” he said with a bow, then hopped lightly up.