by Lani Lenore
The witch shook her head. “I don’t tink jou will manage. Not when dere is so much at stake.”
Bliss took up an oyster shell from around her neck, clamped shut, and held it forward. She cracked it open just a bit, revealing a pink portion of flesh that the sea nymph guard did not quite recognize. Nevertheless, Bliss’s eyes were firm.
“I want to make a deal,” the sea witch said. “It is one dat she will not refuse.”
Chapter Thirteen
The Worst Fear
1
The underwater palace was just as Bliss had seen through Treasure’s eyes, though the structure had decayed considerably since the sea witch had been banished. Something about the way the water had damaged it made the dark mermaid smile, though within, she felt her heart ache. It was the fault of the Mistress and her wicked sisters that this place had decayed as it had, but the truth of it be told, Bliss had not come here to look. She was here strictly for business.
“Don’t try anything,” warned the ashen guard who escorted her, keeping close behind Bliss with her spear. The witch rolled her silver eyes and swam carefully forward. She didn’t want the wretch to have any reason to attack her, though it would not have hurt her heart to kill another one of these beasts.
“I could make jou suffer de worst pain jou have ever felt witout even turning around, jou disgusting and idiotic ting,” Bliss said in man’s language, and smiled to herself when the guard did not respond to the foreign dialect.
Though it had been years since she had been away, Bliss remembered the way through the spire. Seeing Treasure moving through was an aid to her in many ways, but she consulted her own memories as she swam toward the throne room.
It’s not far. For all the danger she was facing, Bliss felt surprisingly calm. Instant death could be awaiting her, but she felt certain that her own plans would go through. There was a reason she had been banished instead of sought for execution. To be an imperfect and to have that luxury was a sure sign indeed.
Dat’s true fear, she thought with satisfaction.
Before she had even entered the audience chamber, she could hear the screeching sounds of the Mistress’s voice echoing off the tower’s barnacle-encrusted columns.
“I don’t care where you have to go to look, and I don’t care if all you find is a shredded mass of flesh. I want to know where she went. We cannot allow the other slaves to think that they can flee like this!”
Bliss knew what this commotion was about. Timid little Treasure, the Mistress’s favorite slave, had fled. Of course, they would never find her now that she had gone to the world above. It was amusing to the dark one.
Her eyes drifted though she had willed them not to, and Bliss could see the number of slaves chained beneath the throne—so many young imperfects, ghastly and skeletal. They would be subjected to years of this treatment until their spirit was fully broken, and to look on them made Bliss’s fists clench. She felt anger, but she could not have sympathy for them now. They were not important in the grand scheme.
“Mistress, we have searched—”
“Search again! Do not come back until—”
“Jour slave has escaped has she? So sorry to hear dat. But ah well. She truly was too pretty for dis sort of work.”
The Mistress and her associates turned at the sound of Bliss’ voice, forgetting the other matter. Promptly, more guards surrounded the witch, their weapons at the ready. Bliss simply floated in the midst of them with a smile on her slender face. Yes, they remembered her. They were still afraid.
“What is the meaning of this?” the Mistress screeched.
“She was lurking outside,” the escorting guard explained. “I brought her to you promptly, Mistress.”
“How dare you bring her here? Don’t you know who this is?”
“Quiet jour tongue and pay attention. Jou’ll want to hear dis,” Bliss hissed fiercely in the mer-language, and as obediently as a child, the Mistress fell silent. The dark one began to speak.
“One does not have to live in dese general waters to know de state of tings. All know of de disrepair dat jou have allowed de kingdom to come to. And now jou mean to attack de human world, kill those nasty creatures as an offering to de sea, so dat it will bless jou wit male offspring, isn’t dat right? To take deir palace, making it sink to de bottom of de sea for jourself. If jou can make it happen, I’m sure it will all be sweet revenge—but more dan anyting, wouldn’t jou love to tell dem what jou intend to do?”
The Mistress was quiet, clenching and releasing her webbed fingers as she watched Bliss with a skeptical eye. The dark nymph knew the Mistress was wondering how she had heard of those plans, but she would never discover the truth of it. The witch continued on.
“How much would it please jou to hold council wit deir ruler, to show dem dat jou have a voice, and dat jou aren’t a simple monster? I know jou want dis, and dis is why I have come to jou. I am in a position to make a trade.”
Once again Bliss took up the oyster shell that was nestled among the fish bones that graced her chest, prying it open. Within it rested that lump of pink flesh—Treasure’s tongue.
“Dis is a human-shaped tongue, but not just any, no. Dis one is special. It can be affixed to jour own mouth, and wit it, jou will be able to speak de language of de humans.”
Bliss was sure that the Mistress could see through the gloomy water with her shining eyes and into the oyster shell, spying the tongue within. The dark one was not willing to go any further with her explanations about where she had gotten it, lest the monsters take to cutting the tongues out of all their human-like slaves. Bliss did not wish harm on those others who were like her, if it could be helped. Treasure had given up hers willingly for a trade, and the witch would use it as such.
“I ‘ave de ability to put dis tongue into jour mouth so dat jou can use it, and I will gladly teach jou. But I will be needing to ask for someting in return.”
The Mistress was quiet, and even those guards in the throne room with their spears pointed at Bliss had their eyes on the ruler. What would she say? The suspense was deadly—but Bliss knew the answer, even if it took ages to emerge.
Swimming upward and flipping back, the Mistress found her seat on the throne. Bliss smiled to herself, for she knew the Mistress liked her place on that seat, and she had plans to keep it. Wouldn’t that tongue put her one step higher than the others? Some might think she had defiled herself with it, but who could deny the talent in speaking an assortment of languages in another tongue? Bliss could almost see the thoughts running course through the monster’s head. Finally, she spoke.
“What is it that you want?” The Mistress’s tone was reserved, though not quite calm. The ruler did not want to seem afraid, but she was—she feared what Bliss might ask for in return for this service.
“Don’ be troubled,” Bliss said slyly, closing up the oyster shell. “What I ask for is very simple. All I want is for jou to let me come back. To serve jou again, though not as a slave. I wish to serve jou wit my magic, but I will not be chained, and I may come and go as I please.”
“Impossible,” the Mistress said swiftly. “We cannot allow an imperfect to have an ounce of power in this society. It would send false messages to the others.”
“It’s a shame dat jou feel dis way. But I suppose I knew dat it wouldn’t work for us. Too much bad blood. I’ll just see myself out.”
Bliss turned herself in the water as if to swim away, but was not surprised to see her path immediately closed off by guards with their spears, making them so brave. Even though they had those weapons, however, Bliss knew that she was feared by these unworthy creatures. Their hands were unsteady, and their yellow eyes wavered in the water.
“Did you think we would just let you swim out of here?” came the Mistress’s voice from behind her. “You’re an intruder. Banished, and yet you have returned. You’re an enemy.”
“I already killed one of jour guards outside. It was easy. Or did jou forget why jou banished me in
de first place. Afraid to kill me, but afraid to keep me close, because I could just as easily kill jou.”
“Do, and half the sea will be on your fins.” The Mistress sounded confident enough. It was almost convincing.
“I know dis, which is why I am trying to be civil,” Bliss said, turning back. “One more chance to accept my offer, and den either jou kill me, or I kill all of jou. Take de deal, and de tongue is jours. Dis doesn’t have to get bloody.”
It was all a bluff, but it was one that would work. Bliss knew how badly the Mistress wanted the tongue, though the ruler would not like the others to know just how she ached for the chance to speak man’s language. The dark one had known this secret for ages—back from the time when she was a captive herself.
“Why have you decided this?” the Mistress asked after some time of consideration. “Why do you want to be back here?”
“I would tink it’d be obvious,” Bliss said easily. “I’m tired of being alone. Banished for so long… I’ve learned my lesson.”
The Mistress thought these things through with her long fingers clenching the arms of the throne where the mighty Sea King had once sat. She considered herself to be as great as he had been, and Bliss knew that what she wanted—what the Mistress really wanted—was a name that those remaining humans would remember for the rest of creation. She wanted a name that they could pronounce and whisper in fear.
“I’m willing to accept your trade,” the Mistress said finally, and all those in the room were amazed aside from Bliss herself.
“Mistress, are you sure it’s such a good idea to make a deal with—” A sharp hand was brought down the side of the questioning guard’s face, and blood began to flow out into the water.
“Don’t dare question me,” the Mistress warned, but was far too distracted to take further action. She came forward from her throne and approached Bliss. The dark one kept herself from cringing to look at the face of the one who had enslaved her so many years ago. She managed to keep her smile as the Mistress raised a dangerous hand and touched her smooth face.
“Truly,” the nymph ruler said with a mocking tone. “I am glad to have you back on our side, sister.”
2
For the rest of the day, Nathan could not concentrate on anything that might have formerly given him pleasure. His thoughts were askew, he could not be still, and found himself hastily pacing the palace hallways in frustration. He’d thought his life had been drawing along the lines of being perfect. He had the luxury of the palace. He’d changed his outlook and was being a better man as he’d promised, but now the world was falling down on him since this worst possible thing had happened.
Treasure… She’s here on land. On legs! Impossible, and yet it has happened.
How was he to know that Treasure could be a human just as easily as a mermaid? If he’d known that, he certainly would not have said goodbye to her—wouldn’t have had to—but she’d told him no different. Now, not only was she a similarly beautiful creature on legs, but she had fallen into the hands of Ellister. Ellister, who Nathan could already tell was succumbing to her charms in a way that he hadn’t thought the man was able. Nathan could not speak up, for it was the prince who had his claim on her and was growing fonder by the moment.
They want him to get married. He will want to marry her.
The thought made him sick and enraged all at once. He would like to declare to himself that he could not let Ellister have her—crown or no crown—but what exactly was he to do about it? If he tried to stand in the way, Ellister would have him cast out of the palace at the very kindest of actions. If that, where would he go? He would be even farther from Treasure than he was at this moment, which to be more exact, they had both been within the palace all day and he had yet to see her again since the morning. He wanted to find her, but he could not do so without good reason or permission, lest anyone should think he was being inappropriate toward the young woman.
Stopping in his pacing, angered by his own thoughts and foolishness, he turned and punched the wall. It did not give beneath the force, shooting pain up his arm. He leaned in against the discomfort at his knuckles, and closed his eyes to gather himself. Things should not have been this way, and how was it even possible? He needed answers, though he knew no place he could get them. Treasure was, of course, the best source, but he could not hope to speak to her privately, and aside from that, he was sure that she could not speak. That was just one more thing that he could not get to the root of. He needed to talk to Ellister about certain things, but he was afraid to face the man in the state he was in. He might let his anger slip through, or worse, something about Treasure.
I can’t do anything about this. How can I learn anything? Where do I begin?
Gideon’s. The Shipwrecked Sailor. The thought worked its way to the front of his mind.
Yes, the tavern he’d just visited last night. Before he’d even formed the thought fully, he was already carrying himself in the direction of the palace gates. Gideon and his daughter may not be able to give him the specifics about why Treasure was on land or why her tongue was missing, but they might be able to recall a legend describing such a thing—or at least tell him if a mermaid gaining legs was one of the signs or conditions.
Though figuring out this mystery was certainly not as important as getting Treasure away from Ellister, Nathan had to do something with himself. Perhaps if he began piecing the puzzle together, his real dilemma would become easier to solve.
They must know something—they must!
With that thought alone in his head—simply because he would not let others in—Nathan took himself back toward the docks.
3
Within the seclusion of his study, Ellister leaned up from his papers with a sigh, and then slumped over them once again. He adjusted himself in his chair, unable to be comfortable. His hand wavered on the compass, and he miscalculated numerous times. Eventually, he let the instrument fall from his fingers and collapse on the map, then ran a hand over his hair. He couldn’t concentrate. He’d been trying for hours.
Leaning back, he retrieved his pipe from within his coat pocket and filled it with tobacco, lightning it so that puffs of sweet smoke filled his lungs, but still he was not at ease enough to focus on his charts. He knew the cause, for every time he looked at the map, his eyes slipped out of focus, and he was seeing an image of that young nymph in his head. Her blond hair, the uncertain look in her seawater eyes… She had been nameless, but he had given her a name—Amelia—and just as well he could make her into a suitable lady. He knew that progress could come in time, but now she would not leave his head. The curvature of the lands on his map looked like her body, her eyes, her lips…
I have to see her again.
Ellister pulled himself promptly from the chair, taking his pipe with him as he left the room. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that it was only a spell—a supernatural infatuation—that was drawing him to her, but he could not fight it. He wasn’t even sure that he had been drawn so strongly to the others in his private pool, but his thoughts were muddled and he needed to see her before things would make sense again. She must stop haunting him if he was to get any work done.
He found her where he expected, back in the dining hall, seated at the table with the tutor who had been assigned to her—a hateful woman who had taught him as well, Mrs. Danielle Barnaby. An array of tableware was set out before her, and Amelia was no doubt being coached as to the proper identification of each piece. This was only one of the things he had planned for her, and he would be thrilled to find that she was a fast learner. Just the sight of her lifted his heart, even though she did not notice him. Danielle, however, did see him, and she raised her head accordingly.
“M’lord?” she asked respectfully. She moved to rise up from the table, but he waved his hand.
“No need for that. I trust everything is going well?”
Amelia lifted her eyes to him then, giving a small smile that was merely polite, but it
pleased him. It did not hurt for her to be a bit timid. She was unsure of herself and where she was; he accounted for that. She would get better as time passed. She would become a much more suitable companion.
“Yes, lord, the young lady and I are perfectly fine. Just discussing proper table manners, as you instructed.”
Yes, he had seen that, but wished the elderly woman would shut up—or simply go away completely. That was a much better idea. Her mere presence had begun to irritate him in a way that he couldn’t explain. It had ignited quickly, like a match flame. He felt his distaste building to a point that he felt he might lose control of his tongue. Somehow, it was as if the woman was standing in his way, and he did not like that at all.
“Would you give us a moment?” Ellister asked as politely as he could stand. “Have yourself a recess.”
The woman seemed a bit reluctant to do as he asked, but eventually lifted her rigid self out of the chair, gave a short bow of her head and moved out of the room. Amelia herself did not stand at his approach or show any sort of reverence other than to keep her head lowered a bit toward the table. He was not angered by her lack of ceremony; she would learn.
“She’s treating you well, I hope,” he said to her, planting himself in one of the chairs and setting his pipe down carefully. The smoke wafted in the air as he looked at her for a response. Of course she would not answer with words, but she looked at his eyes and gave a short nod.
“Good,” he said, resisting the urge to touch her hand. “When we are done with you, there will be little you don’t know about royal etiquette.”
Though he alluded to the fact that she knew nothing of manners or proper behavior, he would not speak of her true origins so openly, lest she become offended by it. Even though he knew she had come from the sea, perhaps he would offend her if he said so. His words kept their place, but his eyes were free to linger. He glanced down to the conch resting on her breast before continuing.
