Between the Sea and Sky

by Jaclyn Dolamore

  One of them tried to open the privy door, which was locked with a hook, then pounded. “Who’s in there? Go use your own pot if you’re going to be all night.” She heard laughter.

  She couldn’t very well stay in the privy all night. She swallowed and unlatched the door, prepared to bolt back to the room.

  The man put a hand to her chest, keeping her back. “Look what we have here. We were just speaking of you. No hurry. We are friends.”

  “Excuse me. I need to get back to sleep.” Esmerine spoke more boldly than she felt, shoving past the hand. The man made a grab for the waist of her breeches; fingers skimmed her back, but she ran, hot pain searing up from her feet. Her legs were on fire by the time she reached the bedroom, slamming the door behind her and securing the bolt.

  Alan was on his feet. “Esmerine? What happened? I was about to go after you.”

  “Those men—in the hall—I ran … It hurts.” She closed her eyes, inwardly begging the pain to stop. “They’re still there.” The men’s conversation in their own language had resumed, not far from the door. The coughing man pounded the wall. They dropped to whispers.

  Alan whisked the blanket from the floor and started folding it. “It’s not safe here. We should stay out of the inns when there aren’t other Fandarsee around. Especially here, with the window open like that. Anyone could get in!”

  Esmerine nodded and helped him shove their things back in the pack. They were able to climb right out the window and take off with the Lorrinese men none the wiser.

  “We’ll just have to camp somewhere out of the way,” Alan said. “I’m sorry.” He looked out to the dark landscape ahead. “A forest might be a little too lonely. Maybe a vineyard.”

  He landed them between neat rows of vines laden with clusters of grapes that were pale and immature. A half moon cast just enough light to see the dark sea of vines around them, a distant white house, and shadowed hills beyond. The air seemed cooler here—not cool enough to warrant a shiver, but just enough that Esmerine thought it might trouble her sleeping.

  “It’s eerie, isn’t it,” Alan whispered.

  She nodded mutely. Insects sang invisibly around them, but overall the effect was of a haunted place where the sun would never rise. She spread the blanket. “Now I wish we’d been able to carry two.”

  They both lay down on their backs on the blanket. Above them, the sky glittered with stars. Esmerine had rarely seen the stars because merfolk went to sleep when the sun set. Sometimes the sirens stayed up to guard the bay, but of course Esmerine hadn’t been one long enough to be out late. She remembered one visit from Alan when he had told her about an uncle of his who was an astronomer. He had let Alan look in his telescope and see the moon. Alan told her about the moon, planets, and stars, and for hours they had speculated about whether there were other worlds with people on them, and whether gods—or God—Alan’s people had a vague singular, while the merfolk talked in plural—were in the sky, or on the earth somewhere, or everywhere. It was one of the more intimate conversations they had ever had.

  She looked at him now.

  “Try to sleep,” he said softly, although he didn’t seem to be trying either.

  She made a sound of doubt. “I’m still shaken up.”

  “It’s my fault.” He turned his head her way. “I should have thought this through better. The common human doesn’t know a thing about mermaids except that they can be captured, and they think they have the right to capture them because mermaids sink ships. As for my people—well, we’re better at fleeing than fighting, I’m afraid.”

  “Why do humans assume all mermaids want to do is sing and seduce them?” she asked, thinking back to Alan’s father.

  “It’s all they know,” Alan said. “They can’t breathe underwater and find out for themselves, after all. They just know of sirens, sitting on the rocks and singing men to their doom.”

  “But we’re not like that. Even your father thinks mermaids are stupid or only want to enchant men. He couldn’t believe you’d taught me to read.” Her eyes followed a shooting star. It was so easy to be honest in such a lonely, dreamlike place, under faint moonlight.

  Alan was watching the stars too. He shifted one leg so his foot was on the ground and his knee was bent. “Maybe you could write a book,” he said.

  “A book?”

  “About what merfolk are really like. Just like all those travel narratives where people talk about what the customs are in other human countries. You could write about what mermaids do, and eat, and wear, and what purpose songs and theatricals have in your society … talk about your myths and religion … There are a hundred things you could write about.”

  A book. She tried to imagine writing it—scratching out all those words on paper, watching the stack of pages grow, letting Alan read what she had written so he could learn about his mother’s world. Then she imagined her words between two solid covers with gilt letters—not a big book, just a small one that Alan could tuck inside his vest. Maybe it would even have a few illustrated plates.

  “I’d help you,” he said, as if he had the same thoughts. “I know you’ve not written much before, but it would be such a unique subject that I feel sure I could find someone to publish it.”

  She caught her breath, momentarily overwhelmed by how wonderful the plan sounded. Except … “When could I write it, Alan? After we help Dosia, we both promised to go back home.”

  “You could write it while … Well, no. I guess it would take a long time.”

  “It would,” she whispered. She might stay an extra week or even two, but more than that would be indulgent, and she couldn’t write a book about her home in a week or two. She didn’t know anything about writing, yet if she were to do this, she would want it to be as worthy as any of the books she had read. It would take time to consider what she wanted to convey. Disappointment crushed her chest.

  She hated many things about the surface world, and yet there were moments that shone almost bright enough to make her forget her homesickness. It struck her that this vineyard under the stars would be a memory she’d hold on to for the rest of her life. She would think of it always—the time Alan had encouraged her to write a book.

  But she had to say no. Someday soon she would look at the Floating City only from afar.

  She turned away from him as her eyes welled with tears.

  “Esmerine?” he said.

  She wiped her nose on her sleeve.

  He touched her shoulder, and she let him pull her onto her back again. Now he touched her opposite shoulder, his wing draped over her, his eyes searching hers. “Don’t … cry,” he said. “It was only an idea.”

  “It’s not that. I’m just … so scared. I’m scared I’ll never feel this way again. When we were on the roof—and now—I kept thinking this might be the last time I’ll feel alive like this.”

  And the way he looked at her at that moment … no merman had ever looked at her like that. So much emotion weighted his gaze—was it the same yearning she felt?

  She put a hand to his collar, and when she tried to pull him closer, he didn’t resist. In fact, he softened, like she had snapped some rigid piece of him with her touch.

  Their lips met, warm and soft—and urgent. It was her first kiss, but it didn’t have the lack of assurance that first anythings usually have. Her other hand moved to the back of his head. His short hair tickled her palm. His wing moved from her shoulder to her back, his embrace so sheltering that suddenly the vineyard felt like the safest place in the world.

  She was still almost crying, even as they kissed, because she couldn’t escape the thought that it would all be lost to her soon enough.

  His lips parted from hers, and he touched his forehead to hers, breathing hard. “We can’t—”

  “Don’t talk! Don’t say it. I know.”

  His wing around her tightened, pulling her against him, so their skin was warm together through their clothes, and for a moment he held her like that, like someone mig
ht come and rip her from him if he didn’t keep her close.

  Then he let her go. They lay back down, but he kept his wing over her. She moved close to him. Nothing was said—they both knew it couldn’t go on forever, so there was no sense in talking. She let her tears flow freely, quietly, for some time, and finally drifted to sleep with his wing for a blanket.

  Chapter Eighteen

  In the morning, they stopped in the next town for food: plump raspberries and bread laced with nuts, half of which was packed for later. Neither of them brought up the night before, but Esmerine noticed that Alan now touched her shoulder if he wanted her attention.

  They flew over hills, their peaks growing sharper than the soft curves of the hills around Sormesen and the Floating City. By lunchtime, they reached Torna. Alan swept them over magnificent white ruins that dwarfed the ones in Sormesen, for Torna had been the capital of an ancient empire that had once stretched beyond the Diels in the north to the larger islands in the south.

  North of Torna, they flew for a long time without seeing a town, just hills covered in vineyards and large houses with tiny people moving about them.

  “We’ll make it easily to Fiora late this afternoon. I do know a good inn there, so we should be able to get some sleep.”

  Once upon a time, Esmerine might have complained about the inn. Their bed there was ridiculously high, and the food lacked seasoning, but they had curtains—she would never take that for granted again—and such good wine that even Esmerine, who usually had no taste for the stuff, poured a second glass. There were other Fandarsee staying in the inn, which relaxed them both.

  That night, with the wine loosening their tongues, there were no kisses nor tears, but laughter at memories of their shared childhood—memories of various games like shells carefully collected for currency to play “shop,” the ongoing story in which they had pretended they were “friendly” pirates—as if there were such a thing—or the fact that their biggest fight had started over the rules to a game that involved swatting plants with sticks.

  It was fun to laugh with him, but when they settled down to sleep she was more miserable than ever, thinking of the parting that must come. Sheer exhaustion claimed her quickly, but her dreams were fretful.

  They departed Fiora under clear morning skies, and in the distance, looming like a mirage, were the Diels, their white tips turning golden under the rising sun.

  “Is that really snow?” Esmerine asked. She had only ever seen pictures of snowcapped mountains, and it didn’t snow in Sormesen. Esmerine had thought of the hills around Sormesen as mountains themselves, but she realized now how dramatic, almost frightening in their stark beauty, real mountains could be.

  “Yes,” he said. “The Diels are so high and cold that I can’t fly over them. Fandarsee have to go through the passes just like humans. There’s snow on the peaks all year round.”

  Esmerine understood why Fandarsee liked to live in warmer places. Humans and fairies could bundle up and tuck themselves around a fire during cold months, but mermaids and Fandarsee had no choice but to interact with their environment. Already the air nipped at her face.

  But below them the hills remained hospitable, with towns climbing their forested slopes and broad valleys of farmland stretching in between.

  By the time they reached the city of Tarinora, the Diels had grown to their full majesty, an abrupt shelf of mountain rising beyond the tiny hubbub of the city. Another Fandarsee was flying in. Alan angled closer, giving his wings a few brisk flaps.

  “I’ll ask him if he’s heard word about your sister.”

  The other Fandarsee lifted a foot, acknowledging them, and slowed his flight until Alan flanked him.

  “Alan, isn’t it?” the other Fandarsee called.

  “That’s right. Darius?”

  “From upper Torna,” Darius agreed. “You’ve got a passenger?”

  “Yes. We’ve come all the way from Sormesen,” Alan said. “I’m looking for a mermaid who would have recently married a gentleman from this area, a Lord Carlo. Heard anything?”

  “I’ve just come back from three months in Lorrine,” Darius said. “But they may know at the messenger house. That’s where I’m headed.”

  “I’ll let you land first,” Alan said. They were flying over dense rooftops now, with tiles a darker red than those of Sormesen. Darius swept down for a landing while Alan circled. Esmerine watched Darius set down on a rooftop, and as he did, Alan started bringing them in. Esmerine happily slid off his back, shaking exhaustion from her arms.

  Downstairs, a dozen or so Fandarsee gathered, talking, reading, or drinking from large decorated mugs. The majority were men, but one man and woman talked together, and Esmerine thought the slender person reading a pamphlet by the fire was also a woman despite her cropped hair. A few of the Fandarsee had very dark brown skin, almost black. Esmerine had never realized there were so many Fandarsee from so many different places. As a child, she had assumed they all lived in the Floating City, and only consciously corrected herself now. Many wore similar blue clothing, which Esmerine guessed to be the messenger’s uniform, and a few had even pierced their skin along the arms of their wings to accommodate sleeves.

  So many dark Fandarsee eyes stared at Esmerine. And how young Alan looked among them! He had always seemed old and worldly to her, but many of the other Fandarsee had an aged and distinguished look, handsome but tired.

  “Sit and rest while I ask around,” Alan said, directing her to a chair near the girl with cropped hair.

  Esmerine tried desperately not to look out of place while he went to the bar and talked to the men there. She was the only person without wings.

  She watched the girl with cropped hair get up, stretch her legs, and give her wings a little shake, then tuck her pamphlet in her vest like Alan always did, before heading to the bar with lithe grace. A deep pang shot through Esmerine. How nice it must be to move with the ease of a Fandarsee woman, free of both human clothes and a mermaid’s pain.

  She stared at the fire for a time until Alan returned.

  “I know where to go,” he said. “Swift was here bragging about your sister’s house. It’s not far. Should we go there tonight or wait until morning?”

  Her heart raced. “Maybe … morning. I want to see Dosia, but—”

  “I understand.”

  The sooner they found Dosia, the sooner they would have to go home.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Although Esmerine had expected a grand house, the sheer size of the villa surprised her, while the Diels loomed in the background, dwarfing every human creation. Perhaps houses needed to look more monolithic here among the mountains. Nearly a hundred windows looked out on the lawn and its statuary. Alan landed them near the double doors so Esmerine would be spared the walk. Even as they landed, a servant hurried down the steps to greet them—or possibly to send them away.

  Esmerine stepped down from Alan’s back—clumsily, as she was now clad in a dress again—and resisted the temptation to stay behind him when the servant demanded their names.

  “Alan Dare,” Alan said, with a slight bow. “And this is Esmerine, sister of Dosia.”

  The servant smothered his surprise. He was a tall, grave-looking man in a white wig and black coat with gold braiding. Esmerine thought he looked adept at smothering his emotions in general. “Just a moment, sir. I will notify the household of your arrival.”

  Esmerine took a deep breath. “Goodness.”

  “Don’t be intimidated,” Alan said.

  They waited. Birds landed on the neatly trimmed bushes of the garden around them, chirping to other birds that perched on the edge of the fountains. Esmerine understood why Swift had been so impressed. She imagined half her village might fit in the space the mansion occupied, and everything was impressively symmetrical. Each side of the path had a fountain, and if there was a bush formed of three round green puffs on one side, you could be sure it had its counterpart on the other side.

  The door opene
d again, and Esmerine whirled around from gazing at the garden.

  “Lady Carlo shall see you.”

  Lady Carlo! How impressive that sounded.

  Alan offered a wing to escort her—or perhaps just so she had something to clench. They were shown into a grand hall, and Esmerine felt every muscle in her body trembling with the anticipation of finally seeing Dosia again.

  Instead, two strange young women entered. The first had an imperious face with strong features, particularly her nostrils. The second was freckled and sanguine, with an abundance of curls the golden-brown color of bread, and had the well-fed appearance characteristic of many humans. Mermaids were always very lean—fish and seaweed being a poor diet to put meat on one’s bones. These women were both dressed in gauzy white dresses, and their hair was curled and styled in a fussy way so that some curls fell over their ears and some spilled from their buns along their elegant necks.

  “Good morning,” the imperious one said, her eyes roaming over them. “What a curious surprise.”

  “You are Dosia’s sister?” the other one asked.

  “Yes,” Esmerine said. “Esmerine.”

  Esmerine only realized she ought to have introduced Alan after he introduced himself, with a slight bow. “Alan Dare.”

  “Christina Dantello,” the imperious one said, “and this is my sister, Octavia. Lord Carlo is our brother.”

  The girls each dipped a knee. “What brings you to visit?” Christina asked. “You must have come a long way.”

  Esmerine thought Christina must surely already know, since she would have entertained Swift. “Well … to see Dosia of course.”

  “I’m afraid that our brother and your sister aren’t here at the moment,” Christina said. “They’ve gone to visit friends in the country.”

  “Gone?” Esmerine cried. “When will she be back?” She was beginning to wonder if Dosia had disappeared into the mountains forever.

  “Soon,” Octavia said. “Any day now.”