The Mermaid's Madness

THE PHILLIPA MADE GOOD TIME despite the damage inflicted by the undine. Hephyra had ordered barrels lowered into the water on either side of the ship. By manipulating the ropes to the barrels, they could be tilted up or down. Tilting the barrels on one side of the ship so the water rushed into their open mouths would turn the Phillipa in that direction. It was clumsy and slow, but it worked.

The sun rose above the horizon, turning the waves to flame just as the cliffs of Lorindar came into view. Danielle yawned and rubbed her face as she watched the palace grow.

Snow appeared to be sleeping normally, and neither Talia nor Danielle was willing to wake her. Rest would help her to heal more than anything else they could do.

Danielle glanced around to make sure nobody was watching, then kissed the mirror on her bracelet. Armand soon appeared in the glass.

“She’s still alive.” The image jogged about, presumably while Armand found a more private place to talk. “I’ve tried to reach you, but your friend neglected to tell me how to make this mirror work. Prince Varisto of Hilad arrived in Lorindar last night. He says you invaded his land? Are you all right?”

Snow grimaced and adjusted her hat to block the worst of the sun. She kept one arm around Talia’s shoulders for support. Shadows swelled the skin beneath her eyes, and she hugged a heavy cloak around herself for warmth.

“Down below.” Talia’s words were as stiff as her posture, and she wouldn’t even look at Snow. “Captain Hephyra wanted her locked away for the rest of the journey.”

“I’ll meet you at the docks,” Armand said. “I don’t believe Varisto will try anything here, but I’ll have guards ready just in case.”

“You know how your whole body aches when you get sick?” Snow asked. “It’s kind of like that, with the added pleasure of blurred vision, a cracked skull, and memories that aren’t actually mine.”

Snow started to nod, then winced. “I heard her, Danielle. I heard Bea’s voice. She’s in there. She’s scared, but she’s still . . . still her.”

“I heard . . . I felt Gustan, too. What’s left of him. He’s in bad shape. Fragmented.” Snow closed her eyes. “I watched Lirea kill him. I saw the expression on her face when she realized what she had done.”

“Morveren created the knife to complete her spell and save Lirea’s life. But Lirea refused to use it. She had chosen death rather than kill the man she loved.”

“Young,” Snow corrected. “He was her one true love. Without him life wasn’t worth living, and woe was her. Weren’t you ever young and foolish?”

“I saw her face.” Snow bowed her head. “When she stabbed Gustan, she didn’t know what she was doing. Any more than Talia did when I made her leave the knife behind last night. I could hear Morveren’s song in Gustan’s memories.”

“You’re saying Morveren used magic to force Lirea to kill Prince Gustan.” Talia’s voice was taut as the lines running to the mainmast.

“That’s what destroyed Lirea,” said Snow. “Morveren warned me that struggling to control a mind could damage or even destroy that mind. This was no gentle nudge. Morveren used magic to rape Lirea’s mind. When Lirea regained control and saw Gustan dying in front of her, you could see the horror in her face. She covered her ears and fled, screaming.”

“Morveren wouldn’t allow her granddaughter to die,” Danielle whispered. “All along, she’s wanted to save Lirea. It’s the only thing she seems to care about.”

“That’s why I couldn’t control Lirea.” Snow turned to Talia. “She might not be trained, but some part of her recognizes the touch of that magic and remembers what happened the last time.”

“Not to kill, no. But I did force you. Because I could.” She laughed, though there was little humor in the sound. “You’d think I would have learned better than to trust witches by now.”

“No.” Snow took a slow breath. “I want no more of her help. Leave her locked in the hold, or give her to Varisto. I can help Beatrice on my own.”

Snow pulled away from Talia and turned back toward the cabin. “We’re docking soon, and I’m still wearing the clothes I slept in. I have to change.”

Danielle turned away, watching as Lorindar slowly grew in the distance. She stared at the docks until she spotted the fleck of red that marked Varisto’s ship.

Talia had wanted to kill the crew of that ship. Danielle was the one who ordered them left alive, and now Varisto was threatening war against Lorindar.

Danielle looked down, watching the waves break against the Phillipa’s hull. “If Morveren forced Lirea to kill her prince, that would explain why Lirea attacked Morveren so brutally and why she wouldn’t trust Lannadae, but . . .”

“Lirea ambushed the Glass Slipper. She’s begun an offensive that could cripple the naval power of every nation around. At the same time, she’s brought new undine into her tribe, expanding her numbers beyond anything we’ve ever seen. Do those sound like the actions of a woman with a broken mind?”

“Princess Whiteshore, is that suspicion I hear in your voice?” Talia shook her head. “I’ve fought Lirea twice. She’s strong, but she has no strategy, no tactics beyond rage and pain.”

Like the Phillipa, the Hiladi vessel still bore the scars of battle. Bright planks had been nailed into place and tarred to cover the worst of the damage. Armed men worked on the deck, replacing lines and mending sails. They had lowered one of their boats into the water at the back of the ship, where two men had been inspecting the rudder. Now they stood watching the Phillipa glide closer. Even from this distance Danielle could feel their anger.

The docks were packed more tightly than Danielle had ever seen. High tide was normally a busy time, but not one of these ships appeared ready to leave. Nor had the Phillipa passed any traffic on their way in, save for a pair of three-masted naval ships patrolling beyond the harbor. The storms had departed Lorindar with the Phillipa . Only fear of the undine kept these ships docked now.

Captain Hephyra stood balanced on the bowsprit, one hand raised in an obscene gesture toward the Hiladi. Glancing over her shoulder, she shouted, “Lower anchors!”

The deck vibrated beneath Danielle’s feet as the anchor chains played out. The Phillipa jerked once before dragging to a halt.

By the time the crew had readied the cutter, Snow had emerged from the cabin wearing a green jacket trimmed with gold cord over a low-cut white shirt. A polished leather belt gleamed at her waist, matching her knee-high boots. She had kept the tricorn hat, though it didn’t really match the rest of her finery.

“I’ll be fine.” Snow waved them away and climbed down the rope ladder into the boat. She moved slowly but reached the cutter without incident. Danielle wondered if anyone else noticed the sheen of sweat on Snow’s face.

Prince Armand waited at the dock, surrounded by a handful of guardsmen. His hair was a rumpled mess, and he seemed a little short of breath. Had he run all the way from the palace rather than waiting for a carriage? No, looking back along the boardwalk, Danielle could see several horses tied near the barracks.

Her stomach tightened as she spotted Captain Varisto standing with her husband. He wore the same red sash as before but had changed into a bright yellow sleeveless tunic which left his muscular arms bare. Gold bracelets shone at his wrists.

The men rowed harder, pulling alongside the dock. They braced the boat as Armand reached down and helped Danielle onto solid footing. She had barely caught her balance when he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed. “I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” Danielle kissed him hard enough to earn an appreciative whistle from Snow. She pulled back, studying Armand more closely. His eyes were red and shadowed, and she could feel the tension in his neck and shoulders.

“Prince Varisto.” Danielle drew herself up the way Beatrice had taught her and did her best to match Varisto’s formal tone. “Welcome to Lorindar. Thank you for not firing on us this time.”

Varisto held up his hand. “Please consider your words carefully, Highness. I have no quarrel with you personally, but if you insult my sister, I’ll be forced to take offense.”

“When my brother married Lirea, she became my sister by Hiladi law.” He turned back to Armand. “Much to the dismay of my parents, I’m afraid. For months I kept his secret, but after his murder, I had no choice. Only my mother’s intervention stopped Father from striking Gustan’s name from the imperial histories.”

Talia moved between them and folded her arms, almost as if she wanted him to attack. Armand cleared his throat, and the guards stepped closer.

Varisto visibly composed himself, then turned to stare at the Phillipa. “I was there when Lirea saved my brother’s life. She swam through the night, holding him against her. The journey would have exhausted even the strongest undine, but Lirea was determined. I remember the infatuation on her face, the way her gaze lingered on him as he stumbled onto shore. She was such an innocent girl, full of joy. I . . . worried that Gustan might take advantage of such love. My brother had his share of conquests, the more exotic the better. But you’ve seen how the wind obeys Lirea’s wishes?”

“The air spirits, yes.” Danielle looked upward. The sky was clouded, but the malevolence of Lirea’s winds was gone. “We’re familiar with them.”

“Those spirits have served my family for generations. My family and no other. No mermaid could command them unless she was joined to that family.” He was still watching the ship. “For the past year I’ve tried to find a way to reach Morveren. I couldn’t protect my brother, but I vowed to see his murderer punished.”

“I know Lirea’s sisters were no more pleased with her love for a human than my family would have been. I know they conspired with Morveren to end that relationship, and that it was Morveren who used her magic to force Lirea to kill my brother.” He sighed and turned back to face Danielle, stepping just close enough to make her aware of his greater size and strength. “Lirea would see her sisters dead for that betrayal, but I won’t ask for Lannadae. Just give me Morveren.”

Varisto bowed slightly. “No offense was intended, Prince Armand. But I must point out that it was your wife who invaded Hiladi waters and attempted to murder my sister. Were my father to learn of this, he would be far more . . . demanding . . . than I.”

Now it was Snow’s turn to stare at Varisto. “The northern coast of Hilad is a wasteland. How would you know about any invasion?”

Danielle put a hand on Snow’s shoulder. “Our queen is dying, Prince Varisto. Morveren’s knowledge might save her life. I will not sacrifice Beatrice so that you can have your revenge. Now please step aside.”

“Yet you delayed your return in order to invade my country and attack my sister?” His bracelets rang together as he hammered a fist into his palm. “If you continue to conspire with this murderer, you will—”

“You attacked the Phillipa without warning.” Danielle’s voice broke, thinking of the bodies they had lowered into the sea. Between the Hiladi and the undine, almost thirty people had died since they left Lorindar. James had been one of the last. Hephyra had given them all a burial at sea. Danielle could still see his pale form sinking into the water, rejoining the rest of his crew.

She moved closer to Armand, drawing strength from his presence. “I expect you to answer for the deaths you caused. But not today. Queen Beatrice is dying, and you are preventing us from bringing her the help that could save her life. So you will either stand aside of your own will, or you will be thrown aside.”

Armand winced, but said nothing. The guards were holding their breath, watching Varisto. Danielle could see Talia shifting her weight, lowering her body as she prepared to make good on Danielle’s threat.

Varisto laced his fingers together, bringing his hands to his mouth as he glared fire at Danielle. He took several deep breaths before saying, “I will have the mermaid who took my brother from me. If you try to protect her—”

“That’s enough,” said Armand. “I understand your grief, Highness. There will be time to talk later. You and your crew are welcome to stay as guests—”

“Forgive me if I mistrust the hospitality of liars and murderers. I will stay with my ship.” With that, Varisto backed away, never taking his gaze from Danielle. “I have spent a year of my life hunting that mermaid. Do not test my patience.”

“I wouldn’t worry,” said Talia. “Captain Hephyra will be watching them, and I’m sure she’s just waiting for an excuse to play with the people who hurt her ship.”

Armand took Danielle’s hand in his as they walked toward the horses. “Remind me to have Ambassador Trittibar talk to you about diplomacy. Did you really invade Hilad?”

“Only the very edge,” said Snow. “And it was only the three of us. There was no looting or pillaging or anything like that.”

Danielle quickened her step. After so many days at sea, it was strange to feel solid ground beneath her feet. She had finally grown accustomed to the rocking motion of the Phillipa. “We’ll need a carriage for Snow. She’s hurt, and riding wouldn’t be good for her injuries.”

Danielle pointed to the barracks. “If you can tell me how many horses are tied there, you can ride whichever you please.”

Snow adjusted her hat and squinted, her lips moving silently. She closed one eye, then switched to the other. “I think . . . it looks like there are . . . oh, go fondle a dragon.”

Armand ordered one of the guards to prepare a carriage. To Snow, he said, “I’ll have Tymalous look to you as soon as we reach the palace. Will your injuries keep you from being able to help my mother?”

From the way Talia’s brow wrinkled, she didn’t like that answer any more than Danielle. They had both heard Snow express such determination before. She would do whatever she had to in order to save Beatrice . . . no matter the cost to herself.

The queen had never been a large woman, but this was the first time Danielle had ever thought of her as fragile. Her face was taut, the cheekbones protruding beneath sunken eyes, but it was her hands that chilled Danielle’s heart. Beatrice’s hands were clasped over her stomach. Her fingers were like interwoven sticks. The skin was dry, sagging from the bones beneath. She wore no jewelry save her wedding band, which was so loose it could have fallen off.

A pair of silver incense burners hung on the walls to either side of the altar. The smoke was heavily perfumed, making Danielle’s eyes water.

“Tymalous and I have been able to protect the wound, keeping it from turning gangrenous,” Father Isaac said without looking up. “In the beginning, she appeared to be healing, albeit slowly. But being unable to swallow means her body has lost the strength to repair itself.”

Snow had retrieved Lirea’s knife from Talia. She carried it in both hands as she approached the altar. Her movements were stiff from pain, but she said nothing.

Isaac stared at the knife, his expression a mix of curiosity and revulsion. “She’s trapped in that thing, along with another. Can you free them?”

Snow glanced back at Danielle. “Beatrice is so weak ... I don’t know what will happen when both souls are released. There’s a chance Gustan might try to take her body. I had hoped Beatrice would be strong enough to help fight him off. I could try to enter the knife myself, to restrain Gustan until Beatrice is able to—”

“No!” Danielle wasn’t sure who spoke first—herself, Talia, or Father Isaac. She hurried to Snow’s side. “Talia, will you stay with Snow to make sure she doesn’t try any more experiments?”

Snow rolled her eyes and gave a melodramatic sigh. “Fine. I’ll find another way. Father Isaac, could you come with me to help—”

“He’s protecting her.” Snow pointed to the incense burners. “He’s mixed a potion into the incense. No, two potions.” She sniffed again. “One to ward off certain demons, and another to . . .” She turned to Father Isaac. “Is that a sleeping potion?”

Both Snow and Danielle turned to look at Talia, who scowled. Either her anger had eased, or else her curse protected her from the effects of Isaac’s potion.

“The windows are warded as well,” said Snow. “They block out external magic and suppress spells cast within the church. Even if I could work here, our spells would interfere with each other.”

“It’s necessary,” said Isaac. He tipped his spoon, allowing several drops of broth to fall past the queen’s lips. Perhaps he hoped such a small amount might make its way down Beatrice’s throat, even if she couldn’t swallow to help it along. “Man was not meant to stand on the border of life and death. In this state, your mother is highly vulnerable. I must remain here to protect her.”

“So summon Trittibar,” Armand snapped. “Call every witch and conjurer from the city and put them to work on this knife.”

“Trittibar is a fairy,” said Snow. “His magic comes to him through the hill in Fairytown. His spells are too different from Morveren’s.” She bent down to kiss Beatrice’s forehead, then stepped back from the altar. “As for witches, you’ve heard the expression about too many cooks?”

“Too many spellcasters is worse.” Snow’s smile held no humor. “Worse as in smoking craters and charred corpses.”

“I can give her life.” Snow left without another word. Talia started to follow, turning back when Danielle called her name.

Though she never would have admitted it to Talia, Snow knew she was in no condition to climb down the ladder hidden in Danielle’s room. Fortunately, there were other ways to reach the secret chambers beneath the palace. Ways that would have been far more convenient without the two servant girls making up the bed in the king and queen’s bedchamber.

Snow cleared her throat as she entered the room. She tried to remember the servants’ names, then gave up. “The prince sent us to find you. He wants—” She glanced around the room, searching for a plausible excuse.

This room was similar in shape and size to the one Danielle shared with Armand. Both rooms were tiled in black and white, with soft carpet covering most of the floor. Tapestries covered the outer walls. One showed the Lorindar navy at sunrise, while another depicted a young girl in a field, surrounded by six white swans.

The first tapestry had been made here in Lorindar. Snow could tell from the gold and burgundy border, as well as the knots used on the white tassels. But she had never been able to identify the second. The violet star-shaped flowers in the field were like none she had ever seen, nor did she recognize the stylized flames that bordered the piece.

Talia cleared her throat. Snow turned to see both of the servants staring at her, making no effort to hide their amusement or disdain. Right . . . Snow’s mind was wandering. The throbbing in her head made it difficult to concentrate on anything.

“The prince is hungry,” she said. “Run to the kitchen and fetch him something to eat. You’ll find him in the chapel.”

“Just ’cause you’re the queen’s favorite doesn’t make you head of this household,” muttered one. Miriam, that was her name.

Snow smiled. “That’s all right. I’ll tell the prince you were too busy to answer his summons.” She turned to go.

“The prince asked for wine as well,” Talia said, turning to the second girl. “Could you please find him something from the cellar?” Once they were gone, Talia shook her head. “You’re as bad as Danielle. She still thinks she’s a serving girl, and you still think you’re a princess.”

Snow stuck out her tongue. “I tried being nice back when I first arrived. They all hated me anyway.” She had quickly learned not to bother trying to befriend the servants. The girls were jealous of her beauty, and the boys . . . well, they were boys. Add to that Snow’s closeness to the queen, and she was shunned by most of the staff. Not that she minded, much. Snow had spent most of her life alone and preferred it that way.

Snow knew they had given Talia a hard time in the beginning as well, but that hadn’t lasted long. Two weeks after her arrival, Talia had found herself alone in a hallway with a blacksmith’s assistant named Brendan who had been known to harass the girls. Nobody knew exactly what Brendan had said or done, but Talia had broken both of his arms, blackened his eye, and might have killed him if the queen hadn’t come running. Nobody bothered Talia after that.

Once both servants were gone, Snow shut the door and walked to the fireplace. She picked up an iron poker, then crouched down, flinching at the heat. The fire had died down, but the embers still glowed in the ashes. She wrinkled her nose and held her breath. Given the pain in her head, a single sneeze would probably knock her unconscious.

The wall beside the fireplace slid open, revealing steps spiraling downward. The staircase was so narrow Snow had to walk sideways, but it was much easier and safer than the ladder in Danielle’s room. She whispered a spell, casting candlelight from the mirrors of her choker.

The stairs circled around, following the contours of the tower wall until they reached another hidden doorway. The door was as narrow as the passage, opening through the side of the archway connecting the armory and the library. Talia slipped past her, checking the darkness as she always did.

By the time they reached the bottom of the stairs, Snow’s vision was flashing with each drumbeat in her skull. She did her best to ignore the pain as she lit the lamps and made her way into her study.

Snow brushed her hands over the platinum frame of her mirror, whispering words Trittibar had taught her. Slowly, the vines cast into the metal twisted and peeled away from the glass, reaching down to the floor. Snow stepped back, smiling as the vines lifted the mirror from the wall, tilting it until the mirror stood flat like a table.

“I tried, but there’s too much power in the mirror. It ran off and tried to mount the queen’s leg. She made me stop experimenting after that.” She smiled and set the knife on the glass, then went to the bookshelves. Running her finger along the spines, she selected four tomes.

“The mirror helps me to see the weave of Morveren’s magic.” She set the books on one end of the mirror, then waved a hand over the glass. The light in the room brightened. “Mirror, mirror, on the floor. Show me now the mermaid’s lore.”

“You really need to talk to a bard about those rhymes,” said Talia. “Someone to tutor you in matters of word choice and rhythm.”

The reflection of the knife remained behind. Snow bent over the mirror and willed the image to expand. The colors in the mirror brightened as the reflection grew, from the rainbow shimmer of the abalone blade to the cracks of purple where Lirea’s scales peeked between layers of hair.

Snow glanced up, then groaned. Squinting, she addressed the Talia on the left. That one appeared slightly more solid than the other. “His magic and mine don’t obey the same rules.” She rapped her knuckles on the metal vines beneath the table. “I spent three weeks translating his spells to make this trick work for me. Even if Beatrice had that kind of time, Trittibar doesn’t know anything about binding or releasing spirits. I asked him about it last year after we returned from Fairytown.”

Snow turned her attention back to the knife. Working with the mirror was a tremendous relief. Like her smaller mirrors, its magic didn’t seem affected by her blurred and doubled vision. She brushed her fingers over the reflection, wiping away the likeness of the knife and leaving only the image of Morveren’s magic.

The binding spell was clearest: loops of green light where the hilt had been. Inside those loops, two shadows moved about like bottled smoke.

Snow rested her cheek on the glass, trying to see into the end of the loops. She expected a cap of some sort, a symbolic net to keep the souls from escaping. Instead, spokes of light crossed through the entire length of the hilt.

“Morveren’s spell.” Snow rubbed her eyes, but the images didn’t change. She grabbed the soul jar she had stolen from Morveren and set that on the mirror. When she moved the jar away to study the magic, the differences were obvious. The jar’s spells formed a hollow prison, as she had expected. She looked back at the knife, with its tendrils of magic that pierced both souls.

“The knife doesn’t just trap souls.” Snow blinked back tears and pressed a finger to the glass, trying to reach through to Beatrice. She could hear Talia moving closer. “It’s feeding on them.”

Talia whispered an Arathean curse. Snow was already grabbing the top book from her pile, a treatise on ghosts written sixty years ago by a dwarven priest. She flipped pages, searching for the chapter that talked about binding spirits, but the words blurred and swam together. She had hoped her vision would have improved by now, but instead it seemed to be getting worse. The dwarf’s handwriting didn’t help matters either. Gritting her teeth, she squinted and tried to force the words into focus.