I swim quick circles around Niku, brushing him with my tail fin. He’s faster than me in a straight line, but I’m more agile. We twist and play, and even he grins at the ability to move with less restriction. I don’t notice Finn leave until the scrape of a tube opening rumbles through the water. I recognize the bright blue head that appears right away.
“Huron!” How’d he escape the black rectangle? How is he able to move again?
He stops halfway out of the tube, and his dull, unfocused eyes sharpen as his gaze snaps to me. He pushes himself the rest of the way out before I barrel into him, corkscrewing him through the water with a hug.
He scrambles away. “Erie, don’t.”
My heart drops into my tail. Huron has never pushed me away before, not even in front of Niku.
His gaze darts behind me, and I turn to find my sister, red eyes wide in shock and horror. “Erie?”
“Clair!” I grab her in a hug, but she pushes me away, too. My heart sinks even further. “What’s wrong?”
They’ve lost weight, and their gazes dart around, quick as fish being hunted. “Shh,” Clair whispers. “We’re not supposed to talk.”
“Or touch.” Huron’s so quiet, I can barely hear him.
“What? Of course we can.” I grab Clair’s hand and drag her to the other side of the tank, where Jen watches us with an indulgent smile. “Morning, Jen.”
“Good morning, Erie.”
Clair gasps and jerks back. “When did you learn to speak the air?”
“A few days ago. They kept saying the same thing every morning, so I said it back. Then Jen started teaching me words. I know the air word for hands, and that the enclosure is called tank. And I can ask for fish, say please, ask where they are, and say sorry—although I don’t, because I don’t do anything to be sorry for. I only know it because Finn keeps saying it to me.”
Clair’s eyes widen further, and Huron shakes his head. “Your landfolk let you speak?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t they?”
They glance at each other, and whatever they find in each other’s gaze, they don’t share it with me. What happened to them since they were captured?
Clair whispers, even though I already proved we could speak in front of Jen. “If we aren’t silent around them, they shock us.”
“You mean, with that loop?”
Clair bobs her head.
Niku swims to me, and I put my hand on his side. “They did that the first day to separate us, and once after, though I didn’t make any noise then. Finn threatened to use it again, but he hasn’t.”
“Who’s Finn?” Huron says.
I turn to the glass, where Finn has joined Jen. His arms are crossed, and he stares at us, stone-faced. I point to him. “Finn.” I point to Jen and say her name, then do the same to Clair and Huron.
One corner of Finn’s mouth turns up. “Hello, Clair, Huron.” He nods to each as he says their names.
Clair grabs my hand. “Did he just use our real names?”
“Of course. What other names would he use?”
“The landfolk usually call me K, or Potassium.”
“They call me Argon.”
I think back to when I first arrived. “They used to call me Io, but then I told Finn my name. Now, he calls me that, or ‘sweetness,’ or ‘beautiful,’ though I don’t know what those words mean.”
“I can’t believe they let you talk.” Clair sighs wistfully. It’s strange to see her as anything but overconfident and rebellious. “I’m sick of being silent until they leave.”
“Well,” I say, “we can’t have a conversation. I still don’t know enough air words to figure out why we’re here.”
Huron blinks in surprise. “You mean, you haven’t performed yet? When did you arrive?”
“Um . . .” I look at Niku, who raises his flippers in a dolphin version of a shrug. “Several days after you. What do you mean, perform?”
“Jump. Swim. Do tricks,” Huron says. “There’s an enclosure that’s bigger than this, and we perform while a bunch of landfolk watch and cheer.”
That doesn’t make any sense at all. “But . . . why?”
They glance at each other, and it’s clear that they don’t know any more than me.
“That’s why Finn wants me to jump?” I turn to him and frown. I wish I could ask what the point of it is.
“What’s wrong, sweetness?” he asks.
“Jump?”
He points to something as red as Clair’s hair above the water. I swim close enough to the surface to see it—that’s much too far away. I dive back to Clair and Huron. “I can’t do that—I’ll have to clear the water.”
“Yep,” Huron says.
I back away as a cold lump settles in my stomach. “No. Finn tricked me into jumping yesterday, and I burned my gills.”
“You have to hold your breath,” Clair says. “And you can’t refuse—they’ll shock you.”
“And that’ll burn your gills more than air,” Huron says.
Finn taps on the glass. “Erie, jump.”
I turn around and shush him. His lips press into a thin line.
“Erie!” Clair grabs my hand. “Just do it.”
“No.”
Finn taps on the glass again. “Clair,” he says, and her hand tightens around mine. “Jump.”
Clair jerks away from me as if Finn shocked her, swims to the bottom of the tank, and propels herself out of the water. She smacks the red thing with her hand and dives back in gracefully. “See?” she says. “Easy.”
I fold my arms over my stomach and shake my head. “I can’t believe you just did that.”
“You’d do it too, if you’d been shocked as many times as I have. Trust me, jumping’s not that bad.” She sticks her hand out. “I’ll show you.”
Huron sticks his hand out, too. “Just do it. I don’t want to be shocked again.”
I turn to Finn and Jen. Finn’s arms are once again crossed, but he points a finger at the red thing. Jen has her hands on the glass, eyes wide with hope.
“You’re not a princess anymore, minnow.” Clair twists a lock of my hair around her finger, like she did when we were home. “You’re a prisoner. You have to do what they say.”
Niku’s nose bobs. “She’s right. Finn and Jen have gone easy on us so far, but it’s time to face the future, and ours is this. I’m sorry, Princess. We can’t beat the landfolk.”
I play with the jewel around my neck, trying to think of a way out until my shoulders sink, defeated. I don’t understand why the landfolk want to watch us swim, but Niku’s right—we can’t beat them. “Fine.” I take Clair’s hand.
Clair and Huron lead me to the bottom of the tank, and she squeezes my hand. “A good kick, and hold your breath before you surface.”
“Finn wouldn’t have shocked me,” I mumble.
“Too late,” Huron says. “Go.”
They yank my arms, and I kick hard as they pull me up. “Breathe!” Clair yells, and I take a deep breath before we surface. Cold, stinging air rushes past my face, forcing me to close my eyes, and the water melts away from my body as I leave its safety. I shudder as air rushes by the tip of my tail, and then Clair and Huron pull me back down. The water envelops me again, and I gasp, opening my eyes.
When they release me, I swim to Niku and trace his scars for comfort. His voice is serious when he speaks. “Are you hurt?”
I take a moment to collect myself, assessing the damage, but there’s none. Even my gills feel fine. Finn and Jen cheer, but I turn my back on them. “I’m fine.”
“Told you,” Clair says as she swims over, followed by Huron.
He has a big grin on his face. “Kind of exhilarating, isn’t it?” His tailfin brushes mine like he used to, and I flush, glancing at Niku in embarrassment.
“Terrifying, perhaps,” I say.
“You wanna go again?”
Clair shoves him. “Stop hitting on my sister in front of the landfolk.”
“They don’t know.”
“Niku does.”
Huron runs his fingertips over my dorsal fin, and I turn quick enough that his fingers caress my stomach as well. My blush deepens and an ache lodges at the base of my tail.
“Who’ll Neeky tell now?” Huron whispers.
Niku shoves himself between us. “Who’ll save you from me now?”
A loud knock rings out on the glass. “Niku,” Finn says. “Stop harassing the Mer.”
Huron smirks as Niku backs down. I don’t know what most of the air words mean, but I do know Finn took Huron’s side. I shush Finn, and he points at the red thing. “Jump.”
I don’t want to jump—I want to take Huron to a corner of the tank and finish what we started the day he was captured. I swim a tight circle around him, my tailfin caressing the length of his. “I’ll go again.”
Clair rolls her eyes. “For the Tides.”
I ignore her as Huron pulls me to the bottom of the tank. He faces me and holds both of my hands. “Ready? Open your eyes this time.”
I take a deep breath. “Ready.”
His tail kicks, and I kick back—we’ve swam this close dance before. We move as one, cresting the water and clearing it. I squint my eyes against the air, and he arches backward. Our tails kick the red thing before we dive back into the water.
“Show-offs,” Clair mutters as Finn and Jen cheer.
My stomach clenches and my scales flush with warmth as I catch my breath. If they’d let me stay with Huron, I’d jump whenever they asked me to. We swim through the water, twisting, touching, forgetting all about the landfolk until Finn knocks on the glass.
“Niku, your turn. Jump.”
Niku growls, and I stop to watch him. He doesn’t bother swimming to the bottom of the tank, he just kicks hard where he is, clears the water, and twists, landing on his side. A wave crashes over the glass, soaking the landfolk. Jen screams in delight.
Finn’s mouth gapes, and he holds his arms out for a moment before his jaw snaps shut and his eyes narrow. “Playtime’s over.”
I don’t know what that means, but the tone of his voice mirrors the dark look on his face. “Erie, Niku, tube. Now.”
I do know what that means and grab Huron’s hand. “No.”
“Erie.” Finn’s voice holds a warning that says I can’t get away with disobedience this time.
“Please,” I beg, hugging Huron’s arm. “I’ll jump again. Please don’t make me leave.”
“Tube. Now.”
I slam my fists on the glass. “This isn’t fair! I did what you wanted. You can’t take them from me again!”
Finn climbs the stairs to the platform, and Huron pulls me toward the tube. “He’ll shock us. Just go, Erie.”
“No.” I pull free of him and swim to Jen, press my hands against the glass, and speak the air. “Please, Jen. Please.”
“I’m sorry, Erie.” Jen looks like she wants to stop Finn, but won’t. “Please, go to the tube.”
Huron and Clair pull me to the tube as Finn lowers the loop into the water. They shove me inside headfirst; there isn’t enough space to turn around. “Please,” I say again as they back away and Niku takes their place, nudging my tail.
My hands curl into fists, broken nails pricking my palms, but I swim forward. A low, burning anger grows in my chest. “Someday, I’ll pull Finn into the water and rip all his fingers off so he can never use the loop again.”
“Good,” Niku says as the glass door scrapes closed behind us. “I’ll help you.”