The Mermaid's Madness

LOOKING OUT OVER THE WATER, Danielle understood why Captain Hephyra didn’t dare take the Phillipa further. Rocks jutted into the air, as though the sea had flooded an ancient mountain range and only the peaks still protruded. Some were barely the size of their boat, while others were large enough to support clusters of tight-packed grasses and even trees.

Lannadae sat at the front of the boat, her tails pressed to either side. For this journey, Hephyra had ordered the cutter lowered. This was a larger boat than the dinghy, with room for them all as well as two oarsmen and, if all went well, a second mermaid passenger. James had volunteered to row them out, along with a heavyset bearded man named Douglas. James clung to the rope ladder to hold the boat in place as Snow climbed down.

Talia stepped from the ladder into the rear of the boat, seating herself in front of Danielle. “If we’re hunting giants, I’m going to need to grab a few more weapons.”

James pushed them away from the Phillipa as Douglas fitted the oars into the oarlocks. Though James sat facing Lannadae, he deliberately avoided looking at her.

“I said I’m fine.” He flushed, apparently remembering who he was speaking to. “I’m sorry. The last time I was this close to one of them, they were dragging me under. I thought I was about to die.” He stared out at the waves. “We had over a hundred men on the Branwyn. Why am I the one who survived, Princess?”

It was Talia who answered. “Asking that question is a quick path to madness. There’s no reason. You lived. Use that life.”

Atop the Phillipa, Captain Hephyra leaned over the railing to shout, “I want you back here by nightfall, mermaid or no mermaid. If you spy dark clouds, turn back at once.”

James and Douglas soon settled into a rhythm. Mist sprayed the air as the waves broke upon the rocks. Danielle could see the black shells of barnacles packed together on the rocks near the waterline. Higher up, some of the rocks carried patches of dark green moss.

“I’ve sailed past these parts,” said James. “They say the rocks are graves. Every time a ship is lost, another rock rises from the sea.”

Danielle had donned a long jacket before leaving the ship. She pulled it tight, folding her arms for warmth, but there was no way to avoid the dampness. Only Lannadae seemed unaffected by the wind and the water. The mermaid leaned over the side, trailing her hand through the waves.

Behind them, the Phillipa was little more than a shadow in the mist. “Not exactly the most comfortable place to live,” said Talia.

“I don’t know,” answered Snow. “Strange winds, cold fog . . . my mother would have killed to create this kind of atmosphere.”

Soon the Phillipa had disappeared from sight, and they were alone with the rocks and the waves. Danielle studied each one as they passed, searching for two rocks shaped like giants. Nobody spoke. Even the splashing of the oars grew quieter as the cutter slowed.

“There,” whispered Snow, pointing at two shadows up ahead. A flock of birds exploded from a nearby island at the sound of her voice.

“Kraken bugger us all!” The boat rocked as Douglas stood, yanking his oar from the lock and brandishing it like an enormous staff.

“They’re only birds,” said Danielle, trying not to smile. “Cormorants, like the ones who live in the cliffs back home.”

The cormorants skimmed the water, many coming close enough for Danielle to make out the individual black and white feathers on their wings. Several nabbed fish from just beneath the surface before flying back to the closer of the two islands ahead.

James and Douglas rowed the boat, following the birds. Both rocks were twice as high as a man and almost as long as the Phillipa. The sides were nearly vertical, miniature cliffs of crumbled black rock. As they approached, Danielle could see a submerged path of stone connecting the two.

If so, it was a sickly giant indeed. The nose had fallen into the water, and the cheeks were streaked with bird droppings. Though the moss and barnacles did give the impression of a beard, and the clump of trees up top could be hair.

The second “giant” was easier to discern as they approached, though one “eye” held an enormous nest of woven grasses and leaves.

The wind moaned as it blew past the rocks. Danielle fought a shudder at the sound. It made her think of her father’s breathing during his last days in this world. The long, strained gasps as he fought for air. The groans of pain he fought and failed to suppress, knowing Danielle was listening.

Talia hadn’t spoken. She was staring at her hands, and her eyes were haunted. Danielle reached back to touch her arm.

Snow pointed to the trees which topped the left rock. Talia barely rocked the boat as she stood and drew one of her knives.

To call the cries of the cormorants a song bent the meaning of the word to the breaking point, but as their squawks grew, the mermaid’s spell lost its hold. Barely audible, a furious voice from the trees shouted, “What are you doing to my birds?”

“Let’s find out!” Snow said brightly. Either the mermaid’s song hadn’t affected her, or else she had thrown off the effects far easier than anyone else. Before Danielle could stop her, Snow jumped overboard and began swimming toward the rocks.

“Cooperative of her to walk into whatever trap Morveren might have waiting, don’t you think?” Talia shook her head and jumped in after Snow.

Danielle cupped her hands to her mouth. “My name is Danielle Whiteshore, princess of Lorindar. I’ve come with your granddaughter Lannadae to ask for your help.”

There was no answer. Danielle stripped off her jacket. “Lannadae, please swim around to the other side and make sure Morveren doesn’t try to escape.”

Lannadae slipped out of the boat. Danielle removed her shoes, but she hesitated to follow. She had never learned to swim as a child. She wouldn’t have learned as an adult either, if not for Beatrice’s insistence. She still remembered her first lesson. The queen’s exact words had been, “Either jump in or I’ll get Talia to throw you in.”

Holding her breath, Danielle jumped into the water. It was colder than she expected, weighing down her clothes and dragging her under before she bobbed to the surface. Coughing and spitting seawater, she paddled after the others.

Snow was already climbing up the side of the rocks. Talia leaned down to haul Danielle from the water. Danielle grabbed a handful of grass with one hand while her feet searched for cracks and outcroppings in the rock.

The first few handholds were tricky, being slick with moss and water. By the time Danielle reached the top, Talia and Snow were already there, crouched in a small clearing among the ferns and trees.

Discarded fish bones covered the ground next to a sunken hollow filled with mud. The trees were no thicker than her arm, but there were dozens of them, their roots climbing over one another for purchase. Water puddled among the roots and in depressions in the rock.

The treetops bent together overhead, where branches and driftwood had been interwoven to create a thick canopy against the sun. Broken bits of twine littered the earth. Snow picked up one of the pieces. “Seaweed fibers.”

Four paces brought Danielle to the opposite side of the rock. The water below wasn’t deep enough to dive into, at least not for a human. An undine might be able to make it without breaking her neck. But she could see Lannadae swimming past, and surely Lannadae would have noticed if Morveren tried to flee.

Snow was investigating a clay bowl which had been shoved beneath a fern. She made a sour face. “Yummy. Drowned worms.”

Danielle stepped into the middle of the clearing. “Morveren, we need your help. Lirea attacked my queen with the knife you made.”

“Then your queen is dead.” The branches overhead quivered. Morveren peered over the edge of a kind of hammock woven between the trees. Thick as the branches were, Danielle hadn’t even noticed her.

“Morveren, your granddaughter is alive,” said Danielle. “She’s here. You can see her swimming through the water below.”

Morveren grabbed the edge of the hammock and tumbled out, dangling in midair. She clutched a braided rope in her hands, which she used to lower herself to the ground. She groaned as she moved, and her upper body was hunched as though her bones struggled to support her weight.

Like her granddaughters, Morveren had two tails. But where Lannadae’s and Lirea’s tails ended in wide fins, Morveren’s were nothing but stumps. The scales at the end of her tails grew in an irregular pattern, poking through lumps of pale scar tissue.

That would explain why she stayed out of the water. The fins running down the sides of her legs would still help her to get about, but without her tails, she would swim little better than a human.

Morveren was nude save for a worn harness. Twigs and bits of leaves were tangled in her black hair. Her scales were rough and filthy. White cracks marred many of the scales, and some had torn away to reveal pale skin. Her skin had the same unhealthy blue tinge as Lannadae’s.

“So is our queen,” said Danielle. “Lirea’s knife ripped her spirit from her body, but her body still lives.”

Morveren moaned and crawled back to the mud pit. She lowered herself into the mud with a grunt of pain. “Do me a kindness and hand me that bowl?”

Snow carried the bowl from beneath the ferns, setting it at the edge of the mud. Tiny wormlike creatures swayed in the water, their tails stuck to the bottom of the bowl. White hairs surrounded the other ends like tiny crowns.

“Thank you.” Morveren plucked out a worm the size of her smallest finger. Danielle grimaced, wondering if she meant to eat it, but instead she squeezed the worm until greenish goo seeped from the back end. Morveren smeared the goo onto a bloody scratch on her arm, then tossed the worm back into the water. “The secretions of the flowerworm are as good as a second skin. It keeps the blood scent from spreading through the water.” She pointed to Danielle. “You scraped yourself climbing up here. Would you like me to tend the cuts?”

“This dry air is torture. Weakens the scales and the bones and cracks the skin.” Morveren used two more worms to treat various cuts, then crawled out of the pit toward her granddaughter.

Morveren hesitated, then turned away. Her expression was difficult to read, but Danielle thought she looked ashamed. “Through the knife. For a time, I could hear fragments of her thoughts. Back when my magic was stronger.” She bowed her head. “My son?”

“Lirea wanted to die.” Morveren dug at one of the scales by the edge of her scar, scratching and pulling until it finally came free. “She was so young. You can’t blame her for what happened. Blame me, if you must. Lirea begged me for a spell that would allow her to be with her human prince. She said he loved her, and I believed her. Once I learned the truth, it was too late.”

“So instead of removing the spell, you gave Lirea a knife that rips the soul from its victims,” said Talia. “That makes sense.”

Morveren flicked the scale at Talia. “You think removing a spell is as easy as changing those ridiculous clothes you wear? Spells like the one I cast on Lirea can be woven in two ways. One is temporary, lasting less than a day before wearing off. Lirea wanted to be human forever. She insisted on it, pleading and begging until I gave in. She was in love, charmed by a man she thought she knew. I should have insisted she wait, but I’ve never been able to refuse my granddaughters. Lirea told me her prince wanted to marry her. I thought that bond would be enough to sustain the spell.”

“Since he’s human, that connection would help to define and maintain her form as well,” Snow said, nodding. “When his body died, the spirit still sustained her, but she lost that clarity of form. She’s trapped between human and undine.”

One of the cormorants swooped down, wings pounding. The bird seemed on the verge of panic. A fish tail protruded from his beak, and his head convulsed as he tried to swallow. Danielle started toward him, but Morveren was faster.

Morveren sang a low, warbling note, and the cormorant hopped toward her. The mermaid grabbed him gently behind the head. She slipped the fingers of her other hand into the beak, slowly working the fish free. The fish still flopped weakly, so she slapped it against a rock.

Morveren picked up a sharpened flake of stone and used it to cut a loop of twine from the cormorant’s neck. The bird fluffed its feathers, then flew up into the trees. “I trained them to fish for me. The string stops them from swallowing their prey, so they have to come back to me to remove it.” She bit into the fish, scales and all, then spat the meat into her hand. The cormorant cried out, and Morveren threw the meat, smiling faintly as the bird flew after it. “They’re not terribly smart creatures, but I can’t hunt as well as I used to.”

“What about your magic?” Danielle watched the cormorant disappear into the mist. “Why do you need birds to hunt for you? Can’t your spells take you away from here?”

“My magic . . . isn’t what it once was,” Morveren said. “I used most of my strength helping Lirea. Trying to help her. Even if there was a way to completely restore her to what she was, I no longer have the power to do it. Nor, I think, would she allow me to do so.”

“Lirea has turned the undine against us,” Danielle said. “She demands tribute in exchange for safe passage through the sea. Gold and other treasures.”

Morveren crawled to the edge of the rock and lay flat, staring down at Lannadae. “There are stories of a time, thousands of years ago, when the undine were one tribe. They say the first undine were more like you, able to walk and live on land as well as the sea. We were one family, enslaved to the humans. We ruled the sea in their name, and all paid tribute to our masters.”

“Some believe we turned against our rulers, wrecking their ships and stealing their treasures until they were too weak to protect themselves. It may be Lirea hopes to do the same. To unite the tribes and regain our former glory. And perhaps to punish your kind for what was done to her.”

Morveren sat up to face Danielle. Despite her filth, there was something regal in her bearing, a strength that hadn’t been there before. “Your queen’s soul is trapped within the knife, along with Gustan’s. I will help you retrieve the knife and save your queen.” Morveren tugged a leaf from her hair and flicked it away. “In return, you must help me save Lirea.”

Before Danielle could answer, Talia stepped around to the mermaid. “Lirea attacked our queen. She threatened Princess Danielle. She killed your son and one granddaughter and still hopes to kill your other granddaughter.”

“None of which would have happened if not for me.” Morveren turned to Danielle. “The knife wasn’t meant to cure her. It was meant to keep Lirea alive until I could complete the spell. I fear the knife has trapped her in the moment of Gustan’s death. A part of her is always reliving what she did to save herself. I’ve condemned her to torment enough to drive anyone to madness and hatred. Please let me try to undo the damage I’ve caused her.”

A thunderclap echoed over the water. Danielle’s first thought was that the storms had returned, but the sky was clear.

Talia shook her head. “The Phillipa’s guns are smaller. That’s another ship.” She tensed as a second explosion followed, slightly higher in pitch than the first. “That was the Phillipa.”

“Please,” said Morveren. “Lirea’s actions aren’t her own. Let me try to make amends for what I’ve done to my family and to yours.”

Danielle searched for the Phillipa as she climbed down from Morveren’s island, but the mist was too thick. She dropped into the shallow water with a splash, biting back a gasp at the cold.

“Princess!” James shouted. He and Douglas brought the cutter alongside and helped Danielle climb on board. Lannadae was already there, dripping puddles into the front of the boat.

Morveren followed them down, a woven sack looped over one arm. She gripped the tree roots and grasses to control her slide, then dropped into the deeper water at the back of the island. She circled around to the boat, reaching it just after Snow.

Morveren and Lannadae sat in the front, holding one another and crying together. Morveren sang softly, though there didn’t appear to be any magic in the sound. It reminded Danielle of the crooning, meaningless sounds she sometimes made to comfort Jakob.

Several more cannons fired in quick succession. “Who are they fighting?” Danielle asked, knowing the question was a foolish one. They could no more see the Phillipa from here than she could.

She counted six more shots before the mist thinned enough to make out the shape of the Phillipa and a larger ship with red sails.

It was Morveren who answered. “He was, but why his people would help Lirea, I couldn’t say. They see our kind as little better than animals. Given what she did to him, they should be the last to come to her aid.”

“That’s a galleon.” Talia swore. “She shouldn’t have been fast enough to catch the Phillipa with a broadside.”

“They’re riding Lirea’s winds.” Morveren had taken the remains of her fish from her sack. She chewed as she spoke. “They speed the Hiladi ship while slowing your own.”

“She inherited them,” Morveren corrected. She picked a piece of fin from her teeth and tossed it into the water. “Nine spirits of the air. They were Gustan’s guardians. When he died, they remained with Lirea. She doesn’t control them, exactly. She may not even understand what they are. But they serve her.”

“After Lirea killed Gustan, I tried to help her. I used magic to calm Lirea, but her spirits attacked before I could complete my spells.” Morveren jabbed her half-eaten fish back toward the clouds. “I could feel Lirea’s fear and rage through the winds.”

“So it’s an empathic bond rather than true mastery,” Snow said. “Less precise, but harder to break. No wonder I had such a hard time fighting them.”

“You fought Lirea’s spirits?” Morveren sounded impressed. “One of them remained behind to guard my island. I meant to ask how you had gotten through.”

Lannadae beamed. “Snow White is a powerful sorceress. She’s done many amazing things, Grandmother. I can tell you some of the stories. How she fled to the woods to escape her mother, or how she fought her mother to avenge the death of her lover.”

“I’m more interested in how you beat those spirits,” Morveren said. “I was never able to destroy them. It was all I could do to stop them from killing me.”

“Mirror magic.” Snow raised her chin, showing off her choker. “I didn’t try to destroy the spirit. Instead I used one of the mirrors to capture the spiritual emanations from the crew. When we sent the mirror away, the winds followed.”

Snow beamed. “These aren’t the true mirrors. Each one is clear glass, bound to a much more powerful mirror at the palace. There’s plenty of magic in that one to—”

Douglas spat over the side. “She’s outgunned. The Phillipa’s a tough old bitch, but she can’t take on a Hiladi galleon with the winds against her.”

More shots thundered over the water. Screams followed, making Danielle flinch. “Snow, can your magic affect the Hiladi ship?”

“I can’t do much from here.” Snow stood up in the boat. “If I can reach the ship, I might be able to stop them. The smoke should cover my approach.”

“No,” said Talia. “The wind is too strong. It sweeps the smoke away between shots. If even one person spots you, you’re dead.”

“So what?” James snapped. “We wait here in the cutter and watch Captain Hephyra go down with her ship? I’m not watching another ship sink! We’ve got to do something.”

Danielle leaned toward Morveren. “When we came to your island, you sang to us. Can you do the same to the Hiladi? Frighten them off, or at least lull them into stopping their assault?”

Morveren’s smile revealed missing teeth and a fish scale stuck in her gumline. “That’s one of the few powers left to me. My voice isn’t what it once was, and I can’t sing to them without affecting your friends on the ship as well, but I’ll do what I can. You’ll want to seal your ears.”

“With what?” Danielle glanced at the boat’s contents, finding nothing beyond an extra oar, a small barrel of fresh water, a length of old rope, and a sodden mouse nest.

“Oh, that’s right. Humans can’t close their ears at will.” Morveren reached into her sack and pulled out a small basket. Inside was a flat black stone. A cluster of flowerworms clung to the surface of the stone, their bodies limp. “These might work.”

“No, of course not.” Morveren cradled the stone in her lap. “Just their secretions. The paste should muffle my song enough for you to resist. You don’t have to use them, but if you refuse, don’t hold me responsible. The song of the undine is known to have a powerful effect on men. A few find themselves irresistibly drawn to the singer.” She lay back and winked. Beside her, Lannadae muffled a giggle.

Morveren smiled and plucked one of the worms from the rock. “Don’t know what I’ll use for my poor skin,” she muttered. “Who’s first?”

“Me.” Danielle held the side of the boat for balance as she crawled closer to Morveren. She sat down and tilted her head to the side, pushing her hair back. “How do we clean this stuff out when we’re finished?”

The slime was cool, trickling into Danielle’s ear like syrup. She swallowed, trying to relieve the sense of pressure inside her head. It felt as though she had jammed a finger deep into her ear.

Morveren gently turned Danielle’s head and repeated the process on the other ear. She squeezed the rest of the slime out of the first worm and grabbed a second before pronouncing Danielle done.

She moved to the side to make room for Snow. She could still hear the others talking, but their voices were muffled. She could hear the cannons as well, and the screams of the wounded. “Please hurry.”

Lannadae plucked two worms from the stone and helped, squeezing the paste into James’ ears while Morveren tended to Snow. Even with both undine working together, it seemed to take forever before they were finished with everyone.

Morveren began to sing. There were no words, only a deep, mournful melody. Even Danielle could feel the longing behind the song, the sorrow and the despair. She touched the mirror on her wrist, thinking of Jakob and Armand. Tears filled her eyes.

If things went badly, she might never make it home to Lorindar. She would never see her son or husband again. She would die here, alone and forgotten. Abandoned, as Morveren had been.

Morveren. This was her song, her sorrow and grief. Danielle was too close. Even with her ears plugged, the song overpowered her. She struggled to climb out of the boat, but her muscles wouldn’t obey.

“Morveren, stop.” Either Danielle’s words were too weak or Morveren couldn’t hear over her song. Danielle fell to the side, banging her shoulder on the bench before toppling into the bottom of the boat.

Snow closed her eyes, feeling the magic of Morveren’s song as it swept past her. In some respects, it reminded Snow of a trick her mother used to use, forcing power into her voice in order to command obedience. Morveren’s power was both broader and more focused. Even with her ears plugged, Snow could feel the song tightening its grip on her.

Snow smiled and set about crafting her own magic. As a child, she had learned to resist her mother’s commands. She had concealed that power, obeying at all times so her mother wouldn’t learn of her rebellion. But she obeyed by choice, not because she was forced to. It might have been a meaningless distinction, but to a little girl, it was an important one.

She whispered one of her earliest shielding spells, repeating the simple singsong rhymes she had devised as a young child.

“Gray stones, gray stones,
hear my call.
Gray stones build a
great big wall.
Build it high as the clouds I see.
Build it strong as strong can be.”

The stones of the spell were from her bedroom; the clouds were her only view through the high, narrow window in her wall. On those nights her mother worked magic, Snow would lie awake, fighting off the nightmare sensations of that power. She hadn’t understood what it was she felt, only that it was dark and wrong and hungry and that it would consume her if she dropped her guard.

As when she was a child, she imagined those stones leaping forth in rows, stacking one upon the other until they formed a barrier between herself and Morveren. She opened her eyes to find Lannadae staring at her, so close their noses almost touched.

“If she stops singing now, the Hiladi will come after us,” Lannadae shouted. “They know we’re here, but they shouldn’t be able to do anything so long as the song continues.”

“I understand.” Snow considered trying to expand her spell to protect Talia and Danielle, but that would require too much time. With a grin, she grabbed Danielle beneath the arms and hauled her up onto the bench. The cutter rocked dangerously, nearly dumping them both overboard, but she managed to recover.

Oh, good. She had hoped the water would muffle Morveren’s song enough to weaken the spell. To Lannadae, she said, “Help me with Talia?”

Talia had been grouchy ever since learning Snow had hidden Lannadae’s existence. So it was with a certain degree of pleasure that Snow dumped her overboard after Danielle.

“Help them swim,” Snow said. Danielle wasn’t a terribly strong swimmer, and every time she and Talia surfaced, they had to fight Morveren’s song.

Lannadae slipped into the water, grabbing Danielle’s left hand and Talia’s right. Her gills flared open, and her powerful tails propelled them toward the Hiladi ship, leaving Snow struggling to catch up. By the time they passed the Phillipa, Danielle and Talia seemed free of Morveren’s spell. Snow risked lowering her own shield. She could still feel Morveren’s magic, but the wormwax blocked enough of the sound for her to ignore it.

The air spirits were also unaffected. They continued to blow, rotating the Phillipa away from the Hiladi ship. The wind made swimming much more difficult, as the waves battered Snow back toward the Phillipa. Lannadae helped the others to reach the Hiladi ship, then returned to pull Snow along.

Talia had drawn two of her knives. Where did she keep them all, anyway? Talia slammed one into the side of the ship, pulled herself up, then drove the other home. She shifted her weight and pried the first knife free. Hand over hand, she scaled the side of the ship.

Snow turned around to study the damage to the Phillipa . The railing had been shattered in three places, and one of the cannons was gone. Several holes punctured the side of the hull. They had torn some of the rigging as well.

“What about the rope from the cutter?” Danielle shouted, cupping her hands to her mouth. “Could we use that to climb?”

Lannadae bent double. Her tails kicked air, and then she disappeared into the darkness of the water. Snow searched to see where she had gone.

Moments later, Lannadae shot up from the waves. She didn’t clear the side of the ship as Lirea had done, but she flew high enough to catch hold of the railing. She swung from side to side until she hooked a tail over the rail. From there, it was a simple matter to pull herself onto the ship. A rope soon tumbled down into the water.

Snow smiled and began to climb. She stopped beside Talia to say, “Don’t take too long. Morveren can’t sing forever.”

Danielle was next up, and then Talia reached over to take the rope. She yanked her knives from the ship with a scowl, tucking them back into their sheaths before scrambling up the side.

The crew weren’t moving. Many sat on the deck their heads bowed, weeping. A smaller group stood at the edge of the ship, peering longingly toward Morveren. They wore typical Hiladi garb in fiery colors. Beaded black cords secured billowing sleeves at the elbows and wrists. Broad, flat hats protected them from the sun. Snow grabbed one and tried it on, then tossed it aside. Too sweaty, and far less stylish than her tricorn back on the Phillipa.

Snow turned slowly, fingers brushing her choker as she drew on the mirrors to enhance her vision. There was magic on this ship. Not as strong as the enchantments on the Phillipa, but still respectable. There . . . a spell carved into the mainmast to protect it. Another woven into the wheel to enhance the strength of the helmsman.

Talia and Danielle were arguing about what to do first, but Snow was more interested in the ship’s spells. She had never studied Hiladi magic before. Most appeared to be runic in nature, like the characters embroidered along the edge of the sheets to give them strength. To undo the spell would require hours of careful work, but there were alternatives.

“Playing.” Snow smiled as she traced new symbols in the air. Painting them directly onto the sails would have been better. Casting with only her fingers meant the spell would be easy to remove . . . but first they would have to find it. How long would it take for the Hiladi to realize their sails had a flavor, one the rats should find particularly appetizing?

Having reached the ship, Danielle wasn’t sure how to best disable their attackers. Talia had no such problems. Knife in hand, Talia approached the closest sailor.

Either the plugs of wormwax in Talia’s ears kept her from hearing, or else she simply chose not to. Danielle hurried to catch her arm.

Between the wormwax and Morveren’s song, Danielle had to watch the shape of Talia’s mouth to make out what she was saying. “Not like this. We can cut the ropes and disable the cannons.”

Snow had already wandered off. She appeared to be casting some sort of spell on the mainsail. So far, the crew hadn’t even acknowledged their presence. A few glanced up, but not one managed so much as a frown before Morveren’s voice lured them back under the mermaid’s spell. Some were barely more than children, the soft fuzz on their chins the closest they could come to the beards worn by the older men.

“And if you start killing them, that might be enough to break Morveren’s hold.” Danielle drew her sword. The enchanted glass blade cut easily through the ropes behind her. A few more swings sent lines snapping back across the ship. She crossed the deck and raised her sword.

“Do you even know what you’re destroying?” Talia pointed upward to a yard that now hung at a dangerous angle. “Cut those ties, and you’ll likely kill us both when the topsail yard comes crashing down.”

Danielle stood, her heart pounding. She brushed black sand from her palms and clothes. The sand covered most of the deck. “Thank you.”

Talia was already storming toward the ladder to the gundeck. A man stood enthralled beside the ladder. Talia knocked him out of the way, bloodying his nose before dropping him to the deck, unconscious.

Talia had never been a cheerful woman, but Danielle had never seen her like this. She was hurting, that much anyone could see. She was still punishing herself for what had happened to Beatrice. But any time Danielle had tried to talk to her, Talia brushed her aside. Beatrice was the only one who could get through to Talia when she was this upset.

What would happen to them if Beatrice didn’t recover? Officially, both Snow and Talia were personal servants of the queen. Danielle could have them reassigned to herself, but she could never take Bea’s place.

Pushing such thoughts aside, Danielle hurried to the back of the ship and cut the ropes that connected the wheel to the rudder. She hacked through the wheel itself for good measure, then followed Talia below.

The Hiladi kept their cannons in a lower deck. Dust shimmered in the sunbeams coming through the open gunports. Small pyramids of cannonballs sat in triangular brass frames beside each one. Danielle had to hunch to keep from banging her head on low-hanging beams.

Talia was already assaulting one of the cannons on the port side with a large hammer, driving an iron nail into the touchhole. Two men stood beside her, leaning out the gunport to better hear Morveren’s song.

Danielle moved to the starboard side. If the ship came about, she didn’t want them to be able to fire another broadside. Low partitions separated each cannon from the next. She grabbed one of the ramrods and tossed it out through the gunport. If they couldn’t load their guns, they could hardly continue their attack. She threw out the linstocks as well. The iron rods with their slow-burning matches left thin lines of smoke as they arched down into the water.

At the last gun, as she tugged the ramrod from the man’s hands, he blinked and pulled back. One hand grabbed her wrist. His eyes slowly focused on hers.

Danielle stomped on his foot. He shouted and swung the ramrod into her arm, knocking her down. He appeared disoriented, still fighting to shake off the effects of Morveren’s spell, but it was clear that the spell was weakening.

Danielle pulled out her sword and swung two-handed, knocking the ramrod from his hands. On the other side of the ship, two men stumbled toward Talia as she finished spiking another cannon. One raised a club overhead.

Talia jammed a nail into his gut, grabbed his shirt, and shoved him headfirst into the cannon. The second man wrapped his arms around her from behind, but Talia snapped her head back into his face. He let go, blood dripping from his lip.

“Time to go,” Talia shouted. She swung her hammer at the nearest stack of cannonballs, sending them rolling across the deck.

Danielle’s sword was too long a weapon for the cramped gundeck, but most of the crew were still too confused to put up much of a fight. She knocked several men aside with the flat of her blade. Talia cleared two more with well-placed kicks.

Topside, Snow stood with Lannadae, knife in hand as she tried to fight her way toward the edge of the deck. Talia jumped into the sunlight and threw her hammer. It spun past Snow’s shoulder and dropped one of her attackers. Snow cut a second while he was recovering from the surprise of Talia’s attack.

Danielle wasn’t sure exactly when Morveren had stopped singing, but the air was strangely quiet.The plugs in her ears muffled the shouts of the crew as they tried to rally against both the intruders and the Phillipa.

Light flashed from Snow’s chokers, driving the rest back long enough for her and Lannadae to break away. Lannadae leaped overboard, but Snow waited at the rail for Talia and Danielle.

An explosion cut through the silence, and the ship shuddered beneath Danielle’s feet. The Phillipa had resumed her attack.

A man in a red sash moved to intercept Danielle. Where some of the crew had decorated the cords on their sleeves with beads and other trinkets, this one wore gold coins with square holes in the center. A sparse beard shadowed his jawline.

He drew a short, curved saber, which he pointed at Danielle. Though his blade was shorter, his size made his reach a match for her own. His broad shoulders suggested greater strength as well.

“Surrender the mermaid and you may live.” Between his heavy, rolling accent and Danielle’s blocked ears, he repeated himself twice before she understood.

Danielle answered by raising her own sword. She had worked with Talia over the past year, but she was no match for a trained swordsman. She tried to circle past him, but there was no clear path. The rest of the crew were shaking off the effects of Morveren’s song. Some hurried to their posts, trying to respond to the Phillipa. Others spread out to fight Danielle and her friends.

“Talia?” Danielle called, keeping her back to the mainmast. Talia still stood at the ladder from the gundeck, keeping the men below from following while fighting anyone who approached too closely. She almost appeared to be dancing with the Hiladi crew, but each time she spun, another man fell back.

Danielle’s opponent swung, trying to beat her sword aside. The steel blade rang against the glass, jarring her wrist and forearm. Danielle sidestepped and blocked a second swing. He was trying to disarm her, not kill her. Some Hiladi men had strong beliefs against striking women. Hopefully this was a fervent believer.

Danielle pursed her lips, concentrating on his sword and his stance. She allowed her guard to fall slightly, as though she were growing tired.

He took the bait, slashing at her blade. Danielle released her grip a moment before he struck. Her sword spun away, stabbing the deck. Expecting resistance, he stumbled forward, off-balance. Danielle grabbed his sword arm and slammed her knee into his stomach. He doubled over, and she pushed him headfirst into the mast.

Snow pulled a sharpened steel snowflake from a hidden pocket on her shirt, flinging it at the next man who tried to intercept Danielle. He went down howling and clutching his leg. A wide swing of Danielle’s blade tore a bloody gash in another man’s shirt, driving him back. Talia dispatched a third, and then they were leaping overboard.

The impact of the water stunned her, and her sword slipped from her grasp. Danielle ducked beneath the surface, salt water stinging her eyes as she searched. There! She spotted the glass blade sinking through the water. She kicked as hard as she could, but the sword was already beneath her, falling faster than she could swim. Her chest ached, but she continued downward, even as the sword shrank away.

Lannadae shot past her. The mermaid snatched the sword and doubled back. Her other hand caught Danielle’s wrist, pulling her up and away from the Hiladi ship.

They reached the surface a short distance ahead of Talia and Snow. Behind them, the crew of the Hiladi ship appeared to be more worried about escape than pursuit. As Danielle watched, the Phillipa put another hole through the hull near the bow.

“Thank you.” Danielle’s hands shook as she took back her sword. “This is . . . it’s all I have left of my mother.”

“It’s beautiful,” said Lannadae. “I saw you fight. Would you—” She dipped beneath the water, then tried again, apparently overcoming her shyness. “Would you mind if I composed a story about it?”

“Hiladi captain, actually,” said Snow, swimming alongside. “The red sash is a symbol of rank. He’s young for the rank, but those gold coins also mark him as a noble.”

Danielle sheathed her sword and took Lannadae’s hand, allowing the mermaid to tow her toward the boat. “Is everyone all right?”

The water swallowed Talia’s response, but she appeared unharmed. As for Snow, she merely grinned and said, “That was fun!”