The Mermaid's Madness

PRINCESS DANIELLE WHITESHORE OF LORINDAR clung to the rail at the front of the ship, staring out at the waves. If this wind kept up, she might become the first princess in history to welcome the undine back from their winter migration by vomiting into their waters. The weather had been mild for most of the morning, but the skies had changed as the sun passed its peak. It was as if the sea now took a perverse glee in tormenting her.

“Drink this.” Queen Beatrice’s voice was sympathetic as she climbed up from the main deck, holding a steaming tin mug. She pressed the mug into Danielle’s hand. “Tea laced with honey, just the way you like it.”

The queen had discarded the royal gowns of court for clothes that bordered on improper. With her dark blue breeches and loose, pale shirt, she could almost have passed for a sailor. A worn blue flat cap covered her hair, save for a few wisps that fluttered by her ear like tiny gray banners. Only her long jacket, decorated with white ribbon and trimmed in gold, marked her as royalty. That and the silver necklace she wore, which held a black pearl the size of Danielle’s thumbnail.

Anyone could see the queen’s delight at being out to sea. If not for the rules of propriety, Danielle had no doubt Beatrice would right now be climbing the rigging with the crew or manning the crow’s nest to watch for merfolk.

Casual as Beatrice’s attire was, she looked far more comfortable than Danielle. Danielle’s handmaids had packed for her, and they apparently had as little experience at sea as Danielle herself. The heavy cloak and cream-colored gown might have been acceptable for a casual day back at the palace. Here on the ship, she was constantly struggling to avoid tripping over her own skirt. Spray from the waves clung like tiny glass beads to the purple velvet of her cloak. She was tempted to ask permission to raid the queen’s wardrobe.

For the moment, she merely sipped her tea and did her best to keep from throwing up. The honey wasn’t enough to mask the more pungent taste of ginger and other spices.

“Not at all.” Danielle forced herself to take another drink. She had grown spoiled over the past year. Living with her stepmother and stepsisters, she had been lucky to brew the occasional cup of lukewarm tea using leftover leaves, and honey was a luxury remembered only from her most distant childhood.

Though Snow White’s culinary skills left much to be desired, Danielle trusted her. Snow had saved her life the year before, after all. The least Danielle could do was drink her overly pungent tea.

If nothing else, the tea helped wash the salty taste of the sea from her mouth. She took another sip, then turned to watch the Lord Lynn Margaret following in the distance. The Saint Tocohl trailed them on the opposite side, the three ships forming an elongated triangle in the sea.

“You’ll adjust.” Beatrice clapped a hand on Danielle’s back in a manner more fitting a deckhand than the queen of Lorindar. “I do feel for you. I’ve never suffered from seasickness, but when I was pregnant with Armand, I spent three months unable to eat anything more exciting than oatmeal. Even then, it was an even wager whether I would keep the oatmeal down.”

“Yet in spite of your sympathy, you still chose to inflict this misery on me?” A year ago, the mere thought of joking with the queen would have driven Danielle to her knees to beg forgiveness. Now she narrowed her eyes in mock anger. “I never imagined such cruelty from you, Your Majesty.”

The laugh lines on Beatrice’s face deepened. She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “If I wanted you ill, I’d let your husband take the helm.”

Danielle grinned and shaded her eyes as she turned to search for the prince. Though Beatrice had formally given command of the ship over to her son, Prince Armand had yet to take the wheel. The last time Danielle saw him, he had been inspecting the cannons on the right side of the main deck.

The starboard side. Armand had inherited his mother’s love of sailing, and while they both tried to hide it, neither Beatrice nor Armand could conceal their amusement when Danielle stumbled over yet another nautical term.

Beatrice folded her arms on the railing and leaned out, peering into the water. “I spared you this voyage in the fall when Jakob was born, but there are limits. King Theodore can avoid these journeys if he chooses, but as future queen of Lorindar, you must be presented to the undine.”

Her words brought Danielle’s nausea back in full force. She gulped the rest of her tea and took a deep breath.

“Also, it was past time you set foot on this marvelous galleon.” Beatrice’s eyes positively twinkled. “It was named in your honor, after all.”

“Yes, I know.” Danielle remembered her horror the first time Armand broke the news. “They couldn’t come up with anything better than the Glass Slipper?”

“Midnight pumpkin? There was no pumpkin! I never—” Danielle caught herself. “You’re teasing me again.”

Danielle frowned. Beneath the queen’s exuberance, she sounded distracted. Her smile faded too quickly, and she kept turning away. Normally, Beatrice gave her undivided attention to whomever she was with, whether that was an emperor or a stable hand. “Bea?”

Another absent smile. “Over one hundred young, strong, hardworking sailors crew the Glass Slipper. You should be grateful Snow remembered you at all.”

All at once men were racing about, hauling ropes and furling the sails. From the quarterdeck, Armand cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Ease away tack and bowline! Stand by to take in fore topsail!” He waited a beat, watching the men work, then yelled, “Haul taut, and up topsail. Stand by on main topsail!”

He might as well have been speaking a foreign language, but Danielle could hear Beatrice whispering the commands along with him.

Danielle leaned back, studying her husband. His sleeves were pushed back, exposing the lean muscles of his arms. Armand had allowed his dark hair to grow longer over the winter, and Danielle still hadn’t decided whether or not she liked the new beard. It filled out his narrow features, but tended to tickle at inopportune times.

Smiling at the memories, Danielle edged around the foremast to the very front of the railing, trying to stay out of the way as the crew climbed up to take in the sails. Nobody had ever warned Danielle how crowded a ship could be. The three masts—four if you counted the bowsprit spearing out from the front of the ship—all trailed ropes and rigging, as though a giant spider had spun its web over the entire ship. With eight cannons secured to the main deck, as well as the longboats, there was hardly room for two men to pass each other.

Danielle watched as her friend Talia made her way across the deck. The chaos didn’t seem to bother her in the slightest. She glided through the crew as though she had been born at sea, though from what Danielle knew of Talia’s past, she hadn’t even set foot on a sailing ship until her late teens, when she fled her desert kingdom in the south.

Shortly after Talia’s birth, fairies had bestowed upon her a number of gifts, not the least of which was supernatural grace. Danielle might have been jealous if she hadn’t also known the price Talia paid for those gifts. Few knew the true story of Sleeping Beauty, how her century of slumber had been broken by an awakening to make nightmares pale.

“Are you ready?” Beatrice asked, drawing Danielle’s attention back to her responsibilities as princess.

“Does it matter?” She knew she shouldn’t be nervous. All she had to do was stand there . . . stand there and represent the entire kingdom of Lorindar. She who had spent most of her life in rags, with only the birds and the rats for company. Her short time as princess of Lorindar couldn’t overcome a lifetime as Cinderwench, and there were still times she thought this new life a dream, an illusion to be swept away come midnight.

To the undine, nobility flowed from mother to child, so it was the queen who was most revered. The former queen of the undine had passed away several seasons earlier, leaving the husband to rule, but they still expected to be greeted by the queen of Lorindar. The queen, and now the princess as well.

Danielle should have been presented the year before, but she had been touring the kingdom with Armand when the undine returned to Lorindar’s waters. She had planned to see the undine in the fall, when they left for warmer waters to the south. Her stepsisters had ruined that plan, kidnapping Armand and enslaving Danielle, then trying to steal her unborn child. Even after Danielle returned home, she had been in no condition for a voyage at sea.

She touched her stomach, remembering the dark magic her stepsister Stacia had used to rush her pregnancy along. Danielle had been terrified of what that magic would do to her son. She still thanked God every night that Jakob had been born healthy. No healer could find the slightest problem, and even Snow assured her he was free of any taint or curse.

Beatrice took her hand, gently guiding Danielle to the railing at her right. “Lorindar is fortunate to have such a princess.” Turning back toward Armand, she raised her voice. “Lorindar would do well to have a less distracted prince, though. Hurry, Armand!”

Armand was already making his way toward the bow. Etiquette didn’t actually require his presence. Indeed, he could have stayed behind with King Theodore, who was known to have the same reaction to sailing as Danielle. But Armand was his mother’s son, and he rarely passed up the opportunity to sail.

Behind him, two sailors lugged a watertight wooden chest, sealed as firmly as the ship’s hull with pitch and beeswax.

By tradition, Lorindar presented the undine a gift each year to welcome them back from their winter migration. For as long as King Posannes had ruled, that gift had been a chest of strawberry preserves. Last year, Posannes had given Beatrice the pearl she now wore, saying he had gotten the better part of the deal.

“Man the yards!” Armand shouted. The crew in the yards came to attention, arms held back so they could grasp the ropes for balance. It was an impressive salute, over fifty men stretched out on the horizontal beams which held the now-furled sails.

Talia climbed onto the forecastle, then stepped aside to make room for Armand to follow. The prince leaned down to haul the chest after him, aided by the men below.

“There.” Beatrice rested one hand on the rail as she pointed toward the distant shapes. “Where is Snow? I wanted her here as well.”

If not for Beatrice, Danielle would have mistaken the undine for rocks in the water. Only their heads and shoulders broke the surface. They swam in an inverted V formation, reminding her of geese.

Armand stepped toward her, sliding one hand around her waist. Such informality would have earned stern words from the chancellor back at the palace, but such rules were less important here at sea. Danielle leaned against him, the warmth of his body a pleasant contrast to the cool winds. He pointed to the waves where the undine had vanished. “Watch.”

The lead undine launched into the air, arching over the water and disappearing with hardly a splash. Two more followed, leaping even higher than the first. Faster and faster they flew from the water in pairs, so close Danielle was amazed they didn’t collide.

“There are more than I remember,” Armand commented. “I wonder if another tribe has joined with Posannes’.”

On either side of the main deck, men jammed long rods down the cannons, packing the powder into the barrels. They hadn’t bothered to haul cannonballs up onto the deck, as this was only a show for the undine.

“Wait.” Beatrice was still studying the water, though the undine were too far away to make out any detail.

“I’m not sure.” Beatrice sounded troubled, but uncertain. She started to say more, then shook her head.

The men used ropes and pulleys to haul the cannons into position at the edge of the deck, the barrels protruding through wide gaps in the railing.

At each cannon, men brought long poles with burning fuses over the cannons. The resulting explosions sent a shudder through the Glass Slipper. The cannons bucked from the recoil, straining at the ropes. Dark smoke billowed from the sides of the ship. Danielle wrinkled her nose at the burned-metal smell.

“I’m sorry,” Armand said, still smiling. His tone sounded not the slightest bit apologetic. “I forgot to tell them to only use half a charge.”

“Yes. I seem to recall you ‘forgetting’ last year, too.” Beatrice shook her head. “Your eyes are younger than mine. Do any of you see King Posannes?”

Talia stepped to the railing on Beatrice’s left, peering through the smoke. “Not yet. What’s wrong?”

By now, the breeze had begun to clear the worst of the smoke, and the undine were close enough for Danielle to make out individuals through the haze. Their skin was a deep tan, a few shades lighter than Talia’s. Most were bare-chested, the men and women both, though a few wore tight-fitting gray skins that left their arms uncovered. Some wore weapons, mostly knives and slender fishing spears, secured to harnesses around their arms and chests.

He yelped in surprise as Talia kicked the back of his knees. She caught his collar as he dropped, dragging him toward the ladder.

Armand reached around to grab her wrists, trying to pry her hands free. With a shrug, Talia released her grip, dropping him. Armand lurched to his feet, and Talia shoved him backward. His heel hit the chest of preserves, and he fell again, tumbling down onto the main deck below.

“Talia!” Danielle peered down to see her husband sprawled atop two fallen crewmen. “Are you all right, Armand?”

Danielle started to obey, then turned back to take the queen’s hand. “If there’s danger, you should leave too.”

The sea just ahead of the ship exploded in a fountain of white spray. The lead mermaid arched through the air, higher than any of the others had leaped. Perhaps her twin tails gave her greater strength, or maybe the others had simply held back.

A scream tore from Lirea’s throat, a ragged, furious sound that pierced Danielle’s ears, nearly driving her to her knees. Danielle lurched forward, grabbing Beatrice’s arm and pulling her out of the way as Lirea cleared the railing.

The mermaid twisted to avoid the lines. She staggered as she landed, ramming the butt of her spear into the deck for balance. Her tails were gone, replaced by feet. Even as Danielle watched, the fins running down the outside of Lirea’s legs flattened against the skin and disappeared. The scales on her feet and ankles sank into her skin, leaving faint trickles of watery blood. The rest of her scales remained, like purple mail protecting her legs and waist.

Lirea was thinner than the other undine. Her skin clearly outlined her ribs and collarbone. Had she been human, Danielle would have guessed her to be in her late teens. A worn harness crossed between small breasts. A dagger hung on one side of the harness, the handle jutting forward. She wore a necklace of polished oyster shells that appeared far too large for her slender form. A small gold hoop shone in one ear.

Before Danielle could move, Lirea leveled her spear at the queen. She coughed, spitting seawater onto the deck, then said, “You’re trespassing in our waters.”

Her voice was hoarse, as if she were recovering from a nasty cold. Danielle started to move between them, but Lirea swung her spear, cutting Danielle’s arm. Blood seeped into her sleeve.

Lirea moved closer, driving Beatrice back until she stood against the railing. Lirea glanced at the chest. With a look of disgust, she placed a foot against the chest and shoved. It slid from the forecastle and crashed onto the main deck. “We are undine. We have no need for human fruits. If you wish to travel our ocean in peace, you’ll bring us gold. Gold and my sister.”

“Your sister?” Beatrice glanced at the main deck, where Armand and the men had already gathered with crossbows and spears.

“Don’t play games with me,” Lirea said. “I hear everything . I heard you conspiring with Lannadae and my father, just as I hear them planning to attack.” She jabbed her spear into Beatrice’s side, hard enough to make the queen gasp. A small circle of blood darkened Beatrice’s shirt beneath her jacket.

“You killed Posannes.” Beatrice ignored the weapon pressed against her ribs. “Just as you killed Levanna.”

Water dripped down Lirea’s face, making it appear that she was crying. “They betrayed me. Every day, the waves whisper of their treachery.”

Motion near the rigging caught Danielle’s attention.Talia was climbing one of the lines on the port side. She was already high enough to jump to the forecastle, but even Talia wasn’t fast enough to stop Lirea before she could kill Beatrice. Not without something to distract the undine.

Danielle knew little of ships, but she had been to the docks often enough to see the rats climbing the ropes and scurrying over barrels and crates, just as she had seen the cats prowling the docks in search of prey. Every vessel was home to far more than the crew.

All of Danielle’s life, animals had helped her. Doves and rats assisted with her chores, cleaning the fireplace or picking slugs from the gardens. Years later, those same doves had blinded her stepmother and scarred her stepsisters. When her stepsisters kidnapped her, the rats had helped her escape.

It was then, imprisoned by her stepsisters, that she had learned to speak to the animals without words. She didn’t know how or why they understood her. Perhaps it was another gift from her mother, like the glass slippers and the silver gown she had worn to the ball. All Danielle knew was that they came to her aid.

“I’ve had enough ‘help.’ ” Lirea’s words were like needles stabbing deep into Danielle’s ears. “Give me Lannadae, and we will allow you to return home. Refuse and we will hunt you all, from the smallest fishing boat to your mightiest warship.”

Beatrice bowed her head. “Your father loved you, but he was no fool. How did you do it, Lirea? How did you kill him?”

“He forced me to it!” There was no mistaking the tears trailing down her cheeks now. “He thought of me as a twisted freak, a perversion who should have been left to die. I know what he would have done if I hadn’t stopped him.”

“He only wanted you to be well again. To be happy.” Beatrice started to reach for the spear. Lirea tensed, and Beatrice drew back her hand.

A stifled exclamation from the main deck drew Danielle’s attention to the three rats scrambling up the ladder. Armand had grabbed another crewman, stopping him from crying out. Armand met Danielle’s eyes and nodded. Armand was unarmed, but a twitch of his finger signaled the others to ready their weapons.

Lirea didn’t notice as the rats climbed the starboard ladder onto the forecastle and raced through the puddles left by her arrival.

Lirea spun, thrusting the long horn on the end of her spear at Danielle’s stomach. “Surrender Lannadae, or we will kill your crew, starting with this one.”

The first rat sank his teeth into the back of Lirea’s unprotected ankle. At the same time, Danielle swept her arm up, knocking the spear away.

Lirea stumbled toward the railing as a second rat latched onto the side of her foot. She swung her spear, striking the third rat.

Talia was faster. She dropped to the forecastle and kicked low to sweep Lirea’s legs from beneath her. While Lirea recovered, Talia grabbed Danielle’s arm and flung her into Armand. The two of them fell together, to be caught by the crew below.

Armand jumped to his feet and grabbed a crossbow from one of the men. “If you get a clear shot, take it.”

Armand swore. “You four, stay with me. Everyone else get to the sides. Raise anchor and signal the Tocohl and the Margaret. Their archers will have a better angle to shoot the undine off our hulls.”

On the forecastle, Talia was trying to get to the queen, but Lirea had already recovered. Lirea jabbed twice with her spear, driving Talia back and keeping Beatrice trapped at the front of the forecastle. The third time, Talia twisted sideways, catching the shaft and yanking Lirea closer. Talia stepped forward and drove the edge of her other hand into the mermaid’s throat.

Danielle had seen Talia drop men twice her size with that move, but Lirea merely staggered, stumbling into the pinrail that circled the foremast. The undine must have stronger throats, or else their windpipes were better protected.

Talia hadn’t released her grip on the spear. A quick kick to Lirea’s wrist broke her hold, and Talia yanked the spear free. She spun the weapon overhead and swung.

Lirea jumped around the mast, colliding with Beatrice and knocking the queen into the railing. Beatrice caught herself, then rammed her elbow into Lirea’s side. Someone cheered as Beatrice shoved the mermaid back toward Talia.

Lirea pulled her knife from her harness, slashing wildly. Talia rapped the shaft of her spear against Lirea’s wrist, then stepped back, using the tip to cut Lirea’s arm above the elbow. Lirea barely avoided the follow-up thrust, which gouged wood from the rail.

Beatrice was keeping the mast between herself and the two fighters as she tried to get to safety. The queen was a capable fighter, but Talia’s skills were inhuman. Armand was already shoving his way to the edge of the forecastle to help her down.

Lirea screamed again, the sound so painful several men dropped their weapons. Even Talia staggered back. Still screaming, Lirea thrust her knife at Talia.

Talia twirled out of the way, then swung the spear in a wide arc to crack against Lirea’s back, breaking Lirea’s scream and the spear both.

The impact flung Lirea directly into the queen, driving them both into the railing. Lirea stepped back, and Danielle’s heart knotted.

Lirea stared at her hand, still wrapped around the hilt of the knife. She screamed again, a wordless cry of anguish that blurred Danielle’s vision. Through watery eyes, she saw Lirea yank the blade free and fling Beatrice toward Talia before leaping from the ship.

Armand was first up the ladder, followed closely by Danielle. Talia already had both hands over the wound, trying to stop the flow of blood.

“I called for my surgeon, dammit!” Armand stared at his mother’s crumpled form. Danielle could see him fighting to maintain his self-control.

Danielle reached out to touch Armand’s arm. “Snow is a skilled healer. She’s helped Beatrice before.”

Snow wasn’t waiting for his answer. She knelt beside the queen and spread her hand over Talia’s. “Press harder. Everyone else get back and give me light.”

Snow didn’t answer. She touched her choker, a band of oval mirrors connected with gold wire. Light flashed from the mirror in the center, illuminating the wound. “Pull your hand away now.”

Talia drew back, and Snow clapped her own hands down over Beatrice’s chest. Her hair fell like black curtains to obscure her actions.

“They’ve already fled. You’ll never catch them.” Danielle reached out, but Talia slapped her hand away with the spear. “Even if Lirea remains, she’ll kill you. You can’t fight them in the water.”

“Snow will save the queen,” Danielle said. “Don’t leave me to explain to her why you threw your life away.”

If Danielle hadn’t been watching so closely, she would have missed the faint slumping of Talia’s shoulders.

When leaving the docks at Lorindar, he had shouted orders for a quarter of an hour. From the way the crew worked together now, unfurling the sails in near silence, those detailed commands had been little more than a formality.

“What about her?” One of the crew gestured at Talia with her crossbow. “It was her who fought the mermaid and got the queen stabbed.”

Talia turned on the balls of her feet. Her expression made Danielle pray the man had already prepared his will and made peace with God. Then Talia looked at the queen. She bowed her head and dropped to the deck, her anger disappearing.

“I said take us home.” Armand’s voice was soft, but the crew scrambled to obey. He crouched beside Snow. “What can I do to help?”

Danielle took Talia’s hand and pulled her toward the ladder. It was a measure of Talia’s shock that she didn’t resist as Danielle led her away.

Snow had spent most of the day in the galley, reading a treatise on the development of marine navigation, from simple star charts to celestial globes of enchanted quartz to the first astrolabe.

The oven had been extinguished after breakfast, as the growing winds made the risk of fire too great, but the smell of fresh-roasted sausage lingered in the air. Snow sat on a wooden bench in the corner, knees pulled close to support her book. She was so absorbed in her reading that she barely noticed the gentle clangs of the pots and pans hanging on the wall.

Her choker cast a soft beam of sunlight on the pages. Each oval mirror was an enchanted twin to the magic mirror she had inherited from her mother.

This was her second choker. The first had been destroyed a year before. Snow had spent several months working to create a new one. To Snow’s surprise, Danielle had proved quite helpful. Her father had been a skilled glassmaker, and though he had died long ago, Danielle still remembered much of what she had learned from watching him. She had shown Snow several tricks to help her improve the quality of the mirrors.

These were slightly larger than the mirrors from Snow’s first choker. The gold-rimmed edges dug into her chin and throat if she bowed her head too far, but the larger size made it easier to manipulate their power. In the days leading up to this voyage, she had used the mirrors to capture several days’ worth of sunlight. This wasn’t her first time at sea, and despite what certain people might think, she couldn’t spend the entire time flirting with the crew. Three more books waited for her in her cabin.

The first scream shattered her spell, plunging the galley into darkness. She pressed one hand to the wall, rising on unsteady legs. There had been a magical element to that scream, but it was a damaged magic, like an injured boar, wild and enraged.

She waited for the sound to fade, then touched her choker, restoring enough light to make her way safely out of the galley. She passed other crewmen rushing to and fro. “What’s happening?”

“Excuse me.” Snow flashed a friendly smile as she stepped over the groaning man and climbed up into the sunlight.

The scream came again. This time, Snow was able to brace herself. This wasn’t a deliberate spell. Her own magic drew on various energies, from the sun’s light to her own will, weaving them into whatever pattern she chose. These screams were . . . snarled. Power without form.

At the front of the main deck, Prince Armand was shouting to the crew. Snow climbed onto one of the longboats for a better view. A canvas tarp covered the boat, and she moved carefully, feeling for the crossbeams until she found a comfortable spot to stand and watch.

On the forecastle, a half-naked woman holding a spear was fighting with Talia. The stranger appeared human, but her nudity marked her as undine, as did that sharkskin harness. Royalty, judging from the oyster necklace. This had to be Posannes’ daughter Lirea.

Queen Beatrice stood behind Lirea and Talia, unable to get past. Already the crew had gathered, blocking Snow’s way. She turned to the nearest crewman. “I’ll wager a dozen crowns on Talia.”

Talia soon ripped the spear from her opponent’s grasp, delivering one blow after another. Lirea screamed again, then drew her knife.

Snow’s breath caught. Unlike the screams, the magic woven into that knife was deliberate and precise. She could feel only a faint shadow of the knife’s power, little more than a whisper, but it was a whisper full of pain and despair. Snow leaped from the longboat and tried to shove her way to the forecastle.

The mermaid lunged, and Talia broke the spear over her back. An instant later, the magic in the knife flared up like oil-soaked rags.

“Bea!” There were too many people in her way. Snow jammed her thumb beneath one man’s jaw, a dirty trick Talia had taught her years before. A whispered spell caused another to leap back, even as her illusory spiders flickered and vanished. Tossing spells with abandon, Snow cleared a path to the forecastle, heedless of the injuries she left in her wake.

Moments later Snow knelt beside the queen, her hands over the gash in Beatrice’s chest. She sent the others away. Even as she frantically drew on her magic to chill the wound and slow the bleeding, panic threatened to unravel her spells.

The knife couldn’t have pierced the heart, or Beatrice would already be dead. Snow grabbed the large mirror at the front of her choker and pulled. The wires untwisted, releasing the mirror into her palm.

She placed the mirror on the back of her other hand, directly over the wound. “Mirror, mirror—” Her mind went blank. The rhymes weren’t necessary, but they helped focus her spells. She needed that focus right now. “Dammit, what rhymes with blood? Wait, I’ve got it.”

There. One of the smaller arteries leading from the heart had been cut, but not completely severed. She could see blood pumping from the cut with each beat of the queen’s heart.

There was no way for needle and thread to reach such a wound. Snow touched her choker again. A length of gold wire unbraided itself, coiling around the index finger of her left hand. “Hurry, curse you.”

She snapped the wire free, then pressed her finger against the wound. The wire grew hot, remembering the heat of the forge until it was soft and pliable as silk. The tip of the wire snaked into the wound, growing longer and thinner as it sought out the cut.

Six times the wire pierced the artery. More finely than any human hand could sew, it stitched the edges together, gradually slowing the flow of blood. A thought severed the wire, melting the ends together so that no sharp points remained. Snow continued to watch through her mirror until she was certain the bleeding had stopped. Only then did she reach up to touch Beatrice’s face.

“Nobody’s dying if I have anything to say about it.” Gentle hands slowly pulled her away. The ship’s surgeon, an older man named Hoffman, sat down beside her. “She’s still breathing. I’ll take over from here.”

Snow barely heard. Beatrice’s face was pale and still. Her blood covered the forecastle. It had gotten onto Snow’s hands, soaked into her sleeves and trousers. She could smell it in the air, the sharp tang overpowering even the salt of the sea air.

She pulled away, trying to get to Danielle and Talia. “The surgeon . . . will do what he can.” With those whispered words, Snow fled.

Danielle had seen death before. Her stepsister Stacia had died in front of her only last year. Her father died when she was ten, her mother even earlier.

She had wept for them all, in very different ways. Her mother’s death was less a memory than a collection of impressions. Broken glass . . . her father had dropped the bottle he was working on when he heard her mother fall. The bottle had been such a vivid shade of blue. Still warm from the fire, the softened glass had absorbed some of the impact before shattering, spreading shards of oddly warped glass across the floor.

Her father’s death had been a slow thing. Danielle had known what was to come, even if her stepmother refused to acknowledge it. Danielle had stolen every moment with him that she could. When death finally came, it was almost a relief, releasing him from his pain.

Sitting on the edge of the cot in the cabin she shared with Armand, she refused to cry now. Snow would save Beatrice. She had to.

“Beatrice found me.” Talia’s accent was thicker than usual, elongating the vowels and slurring the harder consonants. The finely woven carpet muffled the sound of her footfalls as she paced. She still carried the broken spear she had taken from Lirea. “Four years ago, when I first fled to Lorindar. I was so frightened I nearly killed her.”

“This isn’t your fault.” Worrying about Talia’s fear helped Danielle to ignore her own. “You can’t blame yourself.”

Talia stabbed the tip of the spear into the wall. She twisted, prying up a long splinter. “Lirea didn’t intend to kill Beatrice. She wouldn’t have, if I hadn’t—”

“And what a marvelous job I did.” She punctuated her words with another blow to the wall. “I should be on deck. The merfolk might come back.”

Talia shook her head. “They can’t. Otherwise King Posannes could have picked his own strawberries. This was something else.”

At least she had stopped pacing. Danielle spoke quickly, hoping to keep them both distracted. “Lirea had two tails.”

“Most have only one,” said Talia. “The royal blood-line has two. They believe it makes them superior, closer to being human. They’re faster swimmers, too.”

“Beatrice said she was one of Posannes’ daughters.” Had Lirea killed her own father to take command of her tribe? “Lirea was asking about her sister.”

“Power passes through the females.” Talia twirled the broken spear in one hand. “Posannes only led the tribe after his wife died. Even though he wears the crown, his daughters hold the true power. The eldest would have taken over in another year or two. If Lirea is looking for her sister, she’s probably trying to eliminate her competition.”

Beatrice had known. She had been searching for Posannes, and she had recognized the danger Lirea posed. “Did Beatrice ever say anything to you about Lannadae?”

“No.” Talia snorted. “But it wouldn’t surprise me. You know Queen Bea. She had a thing for taking in frightened princesses.”

“Prince Armand is writing a note for the king,” Snow continued, turning to Danielle. “He would like you to talk to the bird and stress the urgency of the message. Tell it to fly as swiftly as possible.”

Snow sat down on the cot. She looked tired. Tired and old. For an instant, Danielle feared she had sacrificed a part of her life to save Beatrice’s. Twice now, Snow had summoned dark powers to protect her. Each time, the price had been seven years of her life. The first time, those powers had killed Snow’s mother, saving Snow’s life. The second time had been last year, when they saved Danielle and Talia.

Since that day, Snow’s night-black hair had been mixed with strands of white. Faint wrinkles marked the corners of her eyes. Danielle looked closely, but saw no new signs of age. Snow was simply exhausted.

“The blade was abalone,” said Talia. “About as long as my hands, two fingers wide. Double-edged and thin. Not a fighting weapon. It would likely snap if you tried to stab an armored enemy, or even if the blade struck bone.”

“No, it wouldn’t.” Snow clasped her hands together. The skin was red, scrubbed raw. Blood stained the cuffs of her shirt.

“I’ve done what I can to help her body heal. Hoffman is stitching the wound, and I’ve medicines that will speed her recovery. But healing is as much a matter of spirit as flesh.”

“Beatrice is the strongest woman I’ve ever met,” Danielle said. “She’s the only person I know who can outstubborn Talia. Her spirit—”

“Her heart beats. Her body breathes. But Beatrice—” Snow reached up to take Danielle’s hand. “Beatrice is gone.”