The Mermaid's Madness

EVEN THROUGH THE WORMWAX plugs, the sound of the cannons made Danielle wince as she climbed over the railing onto the Phillipa. The Hiladi ship was moving away, aided by a strong wind. Captain Hephyra stood by the cannons, shouting at the men to quicken their pace.

Hephyra shoved one of the gunners aside, grabbing a cannonball one-handed and ramming it home. If she could have, Danielle had no doubt Hephyra would have simply thrown the cannonballs at the other ship.

The Phillipa was in far worse condition than the Hiladi ship had been. Sand and splinters littered the deck. One of the cannons had been destroyed, the wooden frame cracked and broken beneath the barrel. The dinghy where Lannadae had slept was in pieces. Several men lay groaning on the deck, and pools of blood darkened the sand.

Danielle dug a finger in her ear, trying to scrape out the worst of the worm goop. “Where did the sand come from? The Hiladi ship was covered in it as well.”

“The crew spreads it across the deck,” Talia said. “To keep the men from losing their footing in the blood.”

Danielle swallowed and moved toward the closest of the wounded crew, a man whose legs had been crushed when the cannon tore free. “Snow?”

Hephyra snatched the linstock from his hand and fired another cannon. The shot fell short, splashing in the water behind the retreating ship. “Get back here, you miserable cowards! I’m not finished with you yet!” Hephyra’s breathing was hoarse, and she limped as she walked toward Danielle. “Seedless bastards came upon us without warning. I hope you found what you were looking for.”

“They hurt my ship.” Hephyra dropped to her knees, pressing her hands to the deck. The contact appeared to bring her strength. “Iron shot tears right through the wood, but we’ll be all right.” She looked up and shouted, “Bring the cutter on board, and get this ship ready to sail! Anyone with nothing better to do can haul themselves down to the bilge pumps.”

Danielle returned to the rail, trying to stay out of the way as the men prepared to bring the boat on board.

Morveren lay sprawled in the bottom of the cutter, her head in Lannadae’s lap. She was still panting for breath, and her skin was flushed. James and Douglas remained in the boat, securing the ropes in preparation for hauling the cutter back on board.

“Morveren needs rest,” Danielle said. After living alone for so long, the mermaid would probably need time to acclimate to so many people. “Somewhere quiet and wet.”

Below, Morveren stirred and pulled herself upright. “Don’t worry about me, Princess. I’m used to sleeping on rock and mud, remember? Tell your crew to sail southwest until you clear the rocks and the mist. Then northwest.”

“My home. If you want to find my granddaughter, there are things I’ll need.” Morveren lay back. “Food would be nice, too.”

The royal cabin in the Phillipa was smaller than Danielle’s chambers back at the palace, but even the closet was more luxurious than anything she had known in her childhood. The room was at the aft of the ship, and it even boasted a glass window looking out at the sea. Stub the cat lay sprawled on a leather-padded bench in front of the window, basking in the sun. Large cots took up both walls, and a trunk sat to one side of the door.

Morveren studied one of the cots. Her body was longer than a human’s, but the amputation of her fins meant she should be able to curl onto the mattress without too much discomfort. She grabbed the side and pulled herself up, bending her tails and tucking the stumps beneath the rumpled covers. For warmth or from shame at her deformity? Danielle wondered.

Morveren settled back with a long, satisfied groan. “I’ll make a new deal with you. I’ll give you anything you want, and in exchange you’ll provide me with one of these beds for my own.”

Lannadae sat beside the head of the cot, her tails tucked beneath the mattress. “Will those Hiladi come after us again?”

“Probably,” said Snow. She waited for Talia to enter, then pulled the door shut behind her. “The captain of that ship was no mercenary.”

“A Hiladi ship with red sails?” Talia asked. “One that attacks without warning, firing upon a ship flying Lorindar’s colors? What else could they be?”

“I was born in Allesandria,” said Snow, digging her little finger into her ear and scraping out a chunk of wormwax. “Our kingdom borders Hilad. In my great-grandfather’s time, we were a part of the Hiladi Empire. I saw the man you fought. The honor of wearing gold is reserved for Hiladi royals. No mercenary would violate that rule.”

“Fear and honor. But mostly fear.” Snow sat down on the bench and scratched Stub’s neck. “The punishment for impersonating a member of the Hiladi imperial family takes a full month, as various parts of the offender are removed and fed to different sea creatures.”

“Is that where Lirea got the idea to do that?” Lannadae asked, staring at Morveren’s tails. “From her Hiladi prince?”

“Who can say?” Morveren pulled the covers higher. “Lirea is sick. I doubt she even knew what she was doing when she crippled me.”

Stub stretched and stood. His ears flattened when he spotted Morveren and Lannadae. He trotted over and hopped onto the cot, sniffing Morveren’s tails.

“When I was a child, a minor prince of Hilad attacked one of our border towns,” said Snow. “My mother seared the flesh from his body, then used gold wire to lash his bones into a birdcage. She hung the cage in her throne room when the Hiladi ambassador arrived a week later. She even captured a little songbird and cast a geis to make sure he would spend the whole time whistling, just to draw the ambassador’s attention to the cage.”

“This makes no sense,” said Danielle. “Lirea killed a Hiladi prince. Why would another royal help her?”

“His name is Varisto,” Lannadae said, her voice quiet. “I met him once. He was Prince Gustan’s younger brother. It was springtime, and I had gone with Lirea to meet her prince. Varisto was arguing with Gustan. He left when he saw us.”

Danielle silently scolded Stub, stopping him from trying to take a bite out of Morveren’s left tail. She sent him back to his sunbeam on the bench, then asked, “Why would he attack the Phillipa?”

“You wouldn’t ask that if you had been raised noble.” Talia paced along the carpet. “Gustan’s death put him in line to inherit the empire. He might feel indebted to Lirea for helping him toward that goal. Hiladi are fanatical when it comes to repaying debts.”

“But Gustan was his brother.” Danielle knew her protests were naive. She had seen enough squabbling at court to know how far people would go for power, but knowing and understanding were very different things.

“He wants to kill me too, doesn’t he?” asked Lannadae. She had grown quiet, curled at the head of Morveren’s cot. “Lirea killed his brother, so he’ll repay her by killing her sister.”

Morveren reached over to comb her fingers through Lannadae’s hair. “I’ll never let that happen, little one.”

“I hated her for what she did to me.” Lannadae bowed her head. “I hated being trapped in that cave. Having to stay hidden, feeling afraid every time a ship passed by and wondering if each day would be the day Lirea found me. When I went to sleep in the winter, a part of me hoped I wouldn’t wake up. I just didn’t want to be afraid anymore.”

Morveren’s eyes had filled with tears. She wiped them away with one hand. “I’ll find a way to save you both.” She looked at Snow. “But I’ll need help.”

“Sorceress, not witch.” Snow grinned. “I was skilled enough to chase off Lirea’s air spirit, wasn’t I?”

For the first time since returning to the ship, Morveren smiled. “You’ll have to show me what you can do, once I’ve rested. For now I hope you’ll excuse me. That song took a great deal out of me.”

“Let me know if you need anything,” said Danielle, rising to leave. The others followed, even Lannadae, who appeared troubled. “What is it?” Danielle asked.

Lannadae waited until the door was closed behind them. “She wants to save Lirea. I know I should too, but I don’t. She killed Levanna. She killed our father. How am I supposed to feel safe while Lirea still lives?”

Only hours before, Lannadae had been leaping and splashing in the water like a child. Now she appeared lost, haunted by fears and memories no child should have to face. Danielle searched for words of comfort, but found none.

“I fought them,” Danielle said. “And I found friends to help protect me.” She managed a smile for Lannadae’s sake. “The same friends who are protecting you. We’ll keep you safe, Lannadae. I promise.”

Snow sat in the cutter, flirting with James as she finished off a second peach-filled pastry from dinner. One hand rested on the ropes securing the front of the boat to the deck. She smiled at James, then licked the crumbs from her fingers. He was supposed to be swabbing the rest of the sand and water from the ship, but for some reason he appeared to be having trouble concentrating.

Snow sucked a bit of fruit from her index finger. If poor James clutched that mop any more tightly, he would snap the handle. She stretched, then lay back to rest against the canvas folded over half of the boat. When that didn’t work, she crossed her legs on the edge.

“So this is how a sorceress spends her time?” Morveren climbed the chocks and grabbed the edge of the cutter, grunting in pain as she pulled herself inside. She straddled the bench, resting her tails in the puddles on the bottom of the boat.

“Too much time out of water,” Morveren said. “Our bones aren’t as strong as yours. We’re built for the lightness of the sea. Up here, I feel as though my bones have turned to rock.”

“It’s no less than I deserve.” Morveren sank down, resting on the bench. “My magic isn’t what it once was, and I spent most of that strength protecting you and your friends. When we reach my home, I’ll need you to help me unravel the defenses I left behind.”

Snow glanced at James, but Morveren’s arrival had clearly reversed the effects of Snow’s charms. He was hard at work, though his face remained slightly flushed. “What kind of defenses?”

“Nothing as powerful as Lirea’s air spirits,” Morveren said. “What type of magic do you practice?”

Snow reached down to touch the water puddled in the bottom of the boat. She whispered a quick spell, and frost spread across the surface. Morveren yelped and yanked up her tails. Bits of ice rimmed her scales.

“Not bad,” Morveren said, rubbing the ice off. She turned around, searching the ship. “That cat. Can you command him to come to us?”

Stub was trotting along the starboard rail, a bit of fish clutched in his teeth. “Command him?” Snow repeated. “You haven’t known many cats, have you?”

“Magic is about strength of will. If yours is no stronger than that of a ship’s cat, how can you hope to overpower my old spells, let alone subdue my granddaughter?”

“Talia usually does most of the subduing.” Snow brushed her fingertips over her choker. “Mirror, mirror, shining bright. Bring that cat into the light.”

Glimmers of sunlight danced along the railing, guided by her mirrors. Stub’s tail lashed as he watched the lights jump down to the deck. He shifted his weight, then pounced. The lights raced away, Stub in pursuit. Moments later, Stub stood on the side of the cutter. He sat and lifted one paw, then the other, searching for the lights, which had mysteriously vanished.

Snow stopped herself from touching her hair. Her appearance made her look older than most of the people on this ship. “My youth?”

“I’ve been practicing magic for over two centuries,” Morveren replied. “You’ve spent perhaps twenty years? Thirty?”

“You lack subtlety. If your spells were songs, you would be shouting at the top of your voice. I noticed it before, when you wove your shield against my voice.And your mirrors make powerful tools, but you use them as a crutch. Whoever taught you should never have allowed you to become so dependent on—”

Morveren leaned back, studying Snow as if for the first time. When she spoke, the scorn was gone from her voice. “You learned on your own? And you didn’t kill yourself in the process?”

Snow waited. She could hear the waves breaking against the hull. A pair of deckhands walked by, whispering about the Hiladi ship. Pulleys squeaked as the crew trimmed the sails. “You’re not singing.”

“You’re not listening,” Morveren countered. “You’re trying too hard. You’re so tense, like a child who believes she can shit pearls if she pushes hard enough.”

“Easy for you to say.” Snow tugged her earlobes, trying to clear the congested feeling. “You’re not the one with worm goop corking your ears.”

Resting her hands on her thighs, Snow tried again. She had learned at a young age to see things that weren’t there. It was the only way to detect the spies her mother sent to watch her. Imps and minor demons, little more than flickering afterimages. They weren’t invisible, not in the traditional sense. Rather, they hid among the real, blending into their surroundings. The trick was to push the real world out of focus in order to see what lay beyond.

She tried to do the same with the noises around her. Voices faded to a buzz. The waves melted into a steady crash of sound. She could hear the drumbeat of her own heart. Even that sound faded, the thrum of her blood becoming little more than a distant rhythm.

For a moment, she thought she heard it. Humming, faint and fragile as a whispered breath through a flute. Snow stretched out with her senses, but the sound slipped away.

“Subtle as an amorous squid, you are,” Morveren said. “You waste more magic searching for my song than I’ve used for the actual spell. You overwhelm it with your clumsiness.”

Snow stuck out her tongue, keeping her eyes closed. Stillness had never come easily to her, but she did her best. Slowly, the humming returned. A simple scale in a minor key, rising and falling again and again.

Snow found Stub sitting on the edge of the boat, head tilted to one side, the tip of his tongue protruding from his mouth. “How did you do that? Your song wasn’t even strong enough to command a butterfly.”

“Lannadae told me what happened when you brought Talia and Danielle down to meet her. Lannadae was afraid, and she attacked them. Lannadae is undine. She’s stronger than any human, but Talia beat her. How?”

“To start with, Talia carries enough weapons to arm a battalion.” Snow raised her hand before Morveren could speak. “Fine, so strength isn’t everything.”

Morveren reached out to tickle Stub’s ear. “It only takes a single thought to direct the mind. Your job is to provide the right thought. Sing with me.”

Snow nodded, humming along with the mermaid. A single scale, reminding her of music lessons when she was young. That tutor’s breath had smelled like old fish too.

Morveren sang lower. Snow matched her. Morveren changed keys in midscale, jumping to a higher pitch. Snow grinned and chased her song. Their voices grew quieter.

She imagined a troll sneaking up to yank Stub’s tail. Between one note and the next, she shoved that vision at the cat.

“You sang louder at the moment of sending,” Morveren said. “I could see that hairy beast as clearly as the cat did.” She pointed to the aft of the ship. “They say a true master will weave a song loud enough to deafen your helmsman there, and she would sing it so precisely that the man next to him would never hear a single note.”

Snow flexed her legs, trying to work the stiffness from her muscles. She glanced at the stumps of Morveren’s tails. “If you’re so skilled, why couldn’t you stop Lirea from doing that to you?”

Morveren bowed her head, staring at the lumps of scars and misshapen scales. “I never claimed to be a master. Her wind spirits took me by surprise, and her madness gave her strength. I was able to stop her from killing me, but that was all. Even if I had the strength to overpower her, I would have destroyed her mind in the process. That’s the other risk of sheer, brute force. You may crush that which you hope to control.”

Morveren lay back and smiled. “Now see if you can persuade that poor beast to bring me some of that fish.”

Morveren had assigned one task after another. She would splash water onto the side of the cutter, telling Snow to freeze a single drop without affecting the rest. When Snow finally managed that, Morveren sent her off to cast an illusion only one person would see. That took most of the evening, but eventually Snow returned, exhausted and exhilarated, leaving behind one very confused chef.

Morveren divided her time between rest, Lannadae, and Snow. Currently she and Lannadae were shut away in Danielle’s cabin, enjoying a morning nap. How much sleep did mermaids need, anyway?

Snow turned her attention back to the carpenter who was working to repair a section of the starboard railing. Morveren hadn’t given her any more lessons, so Snow had been making up her own. She hummed to herself, gathering her magic for another attempt.

“There you are.” Danielle smiled as she approached. Talia followed close behind. Danielle carried Stub in her arms, but the cat hissed and fled when he spotted Snow.

“Can this wait?” Snow asked, still concentrating on the carpenter. “I’m this close to making him pick his nose.”

Snow tried one last time, but the pick turned into a scratch at the last moment, and she gave up. She scowled at the carpenter, then grabbed the biscuit. Her mouth watered at the taste of raisins and cinnamon. “Thank you,” she mumbled between bites. “I’ve been practicing, that’s all.”

“So we’ve noticed,” said Danielle. “You wouldn’t know why Bradley refused to cook this morning, would you? He was saying something about last night’s peas screaming in pain and trying to climb out of the pot when he boiled them.”

“The poor man’s still praying for forgiveness for every legume he’s ever tortured,” Danielle added, lips curled as if she couldn’t decide whether to smile or scold.

“Captain Hephyra says the water ahead grows thick with seaweed.” Talia twisted her hair into a braid as she spoke. “It’s slowing our progress, and it could be dangerous.”

“It is dangerous,” Morveren said, her voice as clear as if she stood beside them. Morveren crawled across the deck, followed closely by her granddaughter. “We’re here.”

Snow joined Morveren at the rail. Up ahead, clumps of dark red plants carpeted the waves. From here, it looked thick enough to stand on.

“That’s the idea.” The muscles in Morveren’s arms were like ropes as she pulled herself higher. “I like my privacy.”

The crew was already trimming the sails, bringing the Phillipa around so she skimmed the edge of the seaweed.

“I’ll need help getting through this mess,” Morveren said. “I enchanted the plants to stop anyone who tries to get too close.”

Morveren looked at Snow. “I’m sure you’ve collected other trinkets over the years, in addition to that mirror you spoke of. Would you let strangers snoop through your things? Unfortunately, the plants have spread in my absence. And there may be . . . other dangers. I never expected to be away so long.”

Snow hoped her eagerness didn’t show. Enchanted plants? She knew the fairy folk used similar magic, but they guarded those secrets closely. “What other dangers?”

“That depends on how much those plants have grown,” said Morveren. “You’ll need to escort me to the bottom. Have you ever tried shapeshifting?”

Her stomach tightened. “I’ve tried, yes.” The books she had inherited from her mother included spells for changing the body. That was how her mother had fooled Snow into taking a poisoned apple. Snow would have seen through mere illusion. Her mother had physically transformed herself to lull Snow’s suspicions. But Snow had never been able to master that trick. She had tried a great many times over the past year, usually with insects. The most she had managed to do was change a living beetle into a dead beetle.

“I should go,” Lannadae said. “There’s no need for more magic. I can help you through the plants.”

Morveren smiled and kissed Lannadae’s hair. “Thank you, Granddaughter. But you lack the skill to help me. Don’t worry about your friend. She will be—”

“Don’t worry?” Talia asked, moving to stand between them, facing Morveren. “Look at what happened to the last person you changed with your magic. If you think you’re going to lay that kind of curse on Snow—”

Morveren scowled at Snow. “How do you tolerate such ignorance?” To Talia, she said, “The spell I cast on Lirea was meant to last forever. Such a change carries a much greater cost. Snow will be undine for less than a day. She can cast that spell herself once she learns how, and with far less exertion than she used against your Hiladi friends.”

“She didn’t mean to,” Snow countered. “Morveren tried to help her. It’s not her fault Gustan betrayed her.”

“My parents tried to use magic to ‘help’ me, too. Remember?” Talia’s voice was cold. “There’s always a cost.”

“I’ve eaten Talia’s blackened nadif chicken. I can handle pain.” Snow grinned at Talia. “Don’t worry. I’ll be careful.”

“She knows.” Snow patted the railing. “This ship is her tree, remember? You think she hasn’t heard every word we’ve spoken?” With that, she handed her hat to Talia, tugged off her shoes, and jumped overboard.

Even here on the edge of the seaweed the plants tangled her legs, slowing her plunge. She could feel Morveren’s enchantment within the ropelike stalks, trying to pull her down, but the magic was weakest here. She kicked to the surface and tugged her feet free just as Morveren dove into the water beside her.

From the rear of the ship, Captain Hephyra waved at them both. “I’ll bring her about and anchor in clearer water, where the chain won’t tangle in the weeds. Try not to get yourselves eaten.”

“That’s the least of our worries,” Morveren called out. She swam to Snow. “Tell me what you know of shapeshifting.”

Snow’s heart pounded. “I know the theory. Runes traced on the skin to shape the desired form, and then—”

“Undine don’t spend a lot of time drawing,” Morveren said dryly. “Runes are only one way of shaping the magic.” She reached down with one hand, flinching as she twisted a chipped scale from her hip. “Unless you want those trousers bonded to your flesh, you should probably be rid of them.”

Snow held her breath and bobbed beneath the waves, kicking her trousers and undergarments free. There was something delightfully wicked about floating half-naked in the sea. She adjusted her belt, tightening it higher over her shirt. The sunlight reflecting off the surface should preserve her modesty from anyone on the ship.

Snow bundled her things into a ball and pressed them against the side of the ship. A quick spell spread a patch of ice from her clothes, freezing them to the hull to await her return.

“If you humans weren’t so skinny, maybe you wouldn’t need all those clothes,” Morveren muttered. “It’s a wonder you don’t freeze to death come winter.”

“Stop that.” Morveren pressed the scale into Snow’s hand. “Cut a line down the inside of each leg, deep enough to draw blood. Don’t worry, sharks won’t come anywhere near this place.”

Snow touched the scale’s edge to the inside of her thigh. Gritting her teeth, she pressed until the scale broke the skin, then sliced downward. Blood was a common ingredient for many kinds of magic, but usually she found a less sensitive place from which to acquire it. Breath hissed as she finished the cut. She paddled in place, letting the initial pain pass before starting on the other leg. She studied the scale. The edge was chipped ragged. No wonder it hurt. “My knife would be less painful.”

“The scale gives your body a taste of the form it’s to assume,” Morveren said, swimming around behind Snow. She grabbed the back of Snow’s shirt, supporting her while she recovered. Even with her tails gone, Morveren was a strong swimmer, and the fins along the side of her stumps kept them both afloat. Supported by the water, she moved more easily than she had on board the ship.

The second cut was harder. Now that she knew how much it would sting, she had to force herself to press hard enough to cut the skin. Morveren held her until she finished.

“Press your legs together and try to cast the spell. The pain will help you focus. Concentrate on the shape you wish to assume.”

“Don’t speak,” Morveren said. “Sing. All the spoken words in the world can’t match the power of a single song. Sing for your ears alone, as you sang to the cat. Force your flesh to obey.”

Snow obeyed, improvising a simple melody to match the words. She could feel the skin of her legs tugging together, but it wasn’t enough. Then Morveren joined her voice to Snow’s.

Pain erupted down Snow’s legs. Her body pulled taut, breaking free of Morveren’s grip. Scales pierced her skin in a thousand places. She tried to scream, and seawater flooded her mouth. Her joints popped and her bones smashed together. Muscles tore and re-formed. She bent double, the sea closing over her head.

Tears streamed down her face, blurring her vision. Already the pain was fading. “Why can’t I stop crying?”

Snow lay back and raised her tail out of the water. Her scales were deep red, like Morveren’s own. She laughed, though the sound that emerged was closer to a hiccup. “I did. But why only one tail? Why not two, like you?”

“Because this is the form you imagined,” Morveren said. “I confess, I pushed you toward this shape myself. Swimming with two tails is more complicated, and I don’t have time to teach you to use them.”

Morveren laughed and pushed her away. “Enough of this. Are you going to help me tame this garden or not?”

“You’re healthy,” Morveren said. “Follow me. If we’re lucky, you’ll only need to deal with the plants. Use your magic to calm them. I’ll do what I can to help.”

“Don’t fight unless you have to. The magic around this place has been mostly dormant. Whatever you face, simply lull it back to sleep. And don’t forget to breathe.”

Snow gave her new tail an experimental kick. Long fins rippled along the sides, but she wasn’t sure how to control them. She dove beneath the surface. Her body felt buoyant, dragging her toward the surface. She kicked harder, paddling with her arms to steer herself after Morveren.

Water filled her lungs, and the coughing slowed. Cautiously, she tried to exhale. The skin on either side of her neck parted, and cool water flowed from her gills. She tried again, fighting the instinct to drink rather than breathe. Eventually she managed to take another breath of water.

Her chest felt stiff and heavy. She had an easier time swimming now that she had expelled most of the air from her body. She could still feel a small bubble trapped in her chest. She belched it out and drew a full breath.

She pressed her fingers to her gills. Three long gashes stretched along each side of her neck, following the curve of her jawline. She plucked off one of her mirrors and held it out, trying to see the red gills beneath the flaps of skin.

A soft, two-toned call drew her attention to Morveren, who had grabbed one of the stalks. Thin red fronds clung to her skin. Morveren sang to the plant, a gentle song with a thread of magic woven through the notes. Slowly, the fronds released their grip.

A tendril of seaweed brushed across Snow’s stomach. She tried to push it aside, but the plant was stiffer than it appeared. A second reached toward her arm.

Snow replaced her mirror and did her best to mimic Morveren’s song. By the time she mastered the trick of singing underwater, the seaweed had begun to pull her down. But the leaves relaxed as soon as she switched to a lullaby she had heard Danielle sing to Jakob.

Commanding the plants was actually easier than controlling animals or humans. She grinned like a child as the seaweed fell away.

She passed Morveren, clearing a path. As they swam deeper, she activated the magic of her choker, surrounding herself in soft, blue-tinged light. She floated in an endless forest of undulating plants, which concealed both sky and seabed. Small yellow fish flitted through the leaves.

A clump of seaweed looped around her tail. Snow turned her song on the weeds, but nothing happened. Twisting about, Snow saw another tangle of red reaching past her toward Morveren. The leaves and vines twined together, their form almost human.

Snow grabbed her knife from her belt and slashed at the vines. The figure held its shape, squeezing Snow’s tail while it stretched to grab Morveren. This would be one of the other dangers Morveren had mentioned, then.

Snow stabbed her blade into the center of the form and flicked a tiny catch on the cross guard. A metal plate in the center of the guard swiveled aside, revealing a small mirror. Snow sang again, using the mirror to carry her song into the heart of her attacker.

The seaweed shuddered, then relaxed. Leaves began to drift away. The vines Snow had cut before fell through the water.

Morveren swam down and plunged her hands into the figure from behind. Snow caught a hint of something cold and hungry, and then the seaweed unraveled completely, becoming simple plants again.

Snow continued to sing a path through the seaweed. Twice more they were attacked by the strange figures. Her scales protected her tail, but her arms burned where the leaves cut her skin. Each time she used her knife to enhance her song, stilling the attackers long enough for Morveren to destroy them.

Eventually the plants began to thin. Snow’s light broke through the forest to illuminate a wrecked ship on the rocks below. Debris covered the seabed: old barrels, a length of chain, even the bones of the former crew. Mollusks covered the ship’s hull. Both masts were broken near the base, and a large gash tore through the port side, near the back.

The shape and size of the hull marked it as a Lyskaran cargo ship. From the position and rakish angle of the foremast, this ship had to be close to a hundred years old. Nothing grew around the wrecked ship, and as Snow swam closer, she could see where Morveren had set white stones in a ring, a magical fence to keep her plants from devouring her home.

The water was colder here, and it tasted of silt. Snow followed Morveren through the broken hull into what would have been the main hold.

Morveren was already racing about like an oversized minnow, shooing away an eel, wiping silt and sand from crude shelves, and inspecting every bit of her former home.

The lay of the ship meant the starboard side of the hull served as the floor. Shelves made from broken planks lined the walls, nailed into place wherever the structure of the ship was still strong enough to support them. Jars and bowls lined the shelves. Dark algae covered most of the wood, making the water taste thick and sour. A white patch on the walls and floor near the far corner turned out to be an overgrown bed of those flowering worms Morveren liked. Several of the jars had apparently fallen, their remains broken and half buried.

Morveren turned to Snow, her hands and fingers dancing. She hummed a quick-paced tune with no consistent melody.

Morveren swam to a nearby shelf and grabbed a small, sealed jar. She scraped away a layer of algae with her thumbnail, then held the jar to Snow’s light. Apparently satisfied, she turned and smashed the jar against the wall.

Bubbles of air exploded from the jar. Morveren poked a finger into the largest. Slowly, the bubble expanded until it filled the upper part of the hold.

Morveren spat great lungfuls of water, then gasped for breath. “I apologize. I forgot you wouldn’t know how to speak.”

Snow was too busy coughing to answer. Water exploded from her mouth and nose. She felt as if she were vomiting up half the sea.

Morveren chuckled and swam toward the back of the hold, where strands of blue ropes formed a crude curtain. Snow felt the tickle of magic as Morveren passed through the ropes.

Snow floated on her back and waited for her stomach to stop spasming. Eventually, she felt well enough to look around. She could still feel water in her chest, but so long as she didn’t think about it too hard, it didn’t seem to bother her in this body. She just couldn’t inhale as deeply as she was used to doing.

She pushed toward the shelves and brushed her fingers over a slender green jar. The magic worked into the glass made her jump. She could feel—no, hear—the presence of life within the jar, though it appeared empty. She picked it up and inspected the lid, which was sealed in place with some sort of wax.

“Don’t open that,” Morveren said as she returned. Her voice was stronger than before, and her face was flushed. She appeared almost euphoric. She set a small sack on the floor and swam over to join Snow.

“Some of the ship’s crew refused to abandon their ship after passing on. Nasty, vindictive men who did everything they could to interfere with my work and drive me away. I hate to think what they were like in life.” She took the jar from Snow’s hand and returned it to the shelf. “That’s what tried to kill us out there. A few of them must have escaped since the last time I was here.”

“I’ve never felt magic like this.” Snow had fought spirits before. The last time had cost her seven years of her life. Yet Morveren had dozens of such jars, not counting any that might be hidden in other parts of the ship. A vessel this size could have carried a crew of a hundred.

“The soul jars keep them from mischief until they’re ready to move on,” Morveren said. “These spells are the basis for the knife I made for Lirea.”

Morveren laughed. “Not all. Some are ingredients for various spells. Others are more mundane.” She grabbed a clay pot and offered it to Snow. “Dried snails. They’re delicious.”

“No, thank you.” Snow was still studying the soul jar. She could see bits of hair or string pressed into the wax. “How do you know when the souls are ready to move on?”

“So many questions.” Morveren dragged a metal chest from just beyond the curtain. “I promise I’ll teach you what I can. But not here. Your friends are waiting, and you don’t want to be trapped this far from the surface when your spell wears off.”

“What’s in there?” Snow asked, pointing to the chest. When Morveren turned away, Snow grabbed another soul jar and tucked it into the front of her shirt. The jar pressed uncomfortably against her chest, but the added fat of her mermaid form provided some cushioning.

“Memories.” Morveren ran a finger over the pitted metal, then opened the lid. She pulled out a tiny necklace of yellow and green stones. “This was Lannadae’s. I made it for her when she was born, but she kept trying to swallow it.”

She looped the necklace around her wrist. Next she retrieved a tiny doll. The upper torso appeared to be made of woven seaweed. The lower portion was covered in tiny purple scales, ending in a thin shell carved into the shape of the tail fin. “These were the first scales Lirea shed. Her mother collected them, and I sewed them into this doll. Baby scales are softer and much easier to work with.”

“My sewing was no match for Lirea’s teething phase. I never got around to fixing this.” Morveren smiled as she shut the chest. “She was such a sweet child. So loving, with such potential. Her voice held incredible power. I’m afraid she took advantage of that gift. Her parents spoiled her shamelessly. Even I had a hard time resisting her.”

“I tried.” Morveren brought the doll to her mouth, using her teeth to tighten a loose thread. “Lirea had talent, even more than her sisters, but she lacked the desire. Magic requires more than mere skill. It requires love. I hoped she would change her mind as she grew older. There was so much I wanted to pass along.”

“I wish my mother had felt the same way. She would have killed me if she knew I was sneaking in to read her spellbooks.” There were times Snow wondered if that discovery was what had first led to her mother’s attempts on Snow’s life. The stories claimed she was jealous of Snow’s beauty, and that was certainly true. But had jealousy of her daughter’s power played an even greater role?

“My mother didn’t like to share.” Pushing those memories aside, Snow reached out to touch the doll. “If these are Lirea’s scales, we should be able to use them to find her.”

“That’s right.” Morveren released the doll. The carved fin sent it spiraling through the water to the floor. “But the scales are old, and the connection is weak.”

“Blood creates false life,” Snow said. “That should strengthen the bond long enough for us to cast our spell.”

“No mirrors.” Morveren yanked Snow’s hand away from her choker. “You’re too strong for such shortcuts.”