ring out in front of me to inspect it. I begin to try it on but Brea clutches my hand, her skin hot against my cold fingers. “No. Do not put that thing anywhere near your finger. This magic is old. Really old. And unstable. That ring holds power that cannot be trusted.”
Her golden-speckled eyes bore into mine, and I realize how little I know of magic and all its facilities. Humans of course know that a certain level of magic exists in the world. That it is a natural occurrence in nature, just as fog is. But humans never understood how it could be wielded or controlled. It just exists of its own accord. Over the years, humans have attempted to somehow capture it for themselves, but it's always been viewed as a futile effort. Magic cannot be taken or controlled, at least not by humans.
"Countless things could happen if anyone tries to put it on without the proper knowledge of how to wield it." As if the ring suddenly burns in my palm, I'm quick to hand it to her, not wanting to test its instability by accident.
Our arrival back to the caves starts a flurry of activity, all for Marina's injury and our return. She’s hauled from our grasp by Kai and Okiro, her limbs limp with exhaustion, and brought to the stone platform near the main waterfall. Kai's face is a pinched mess of worry. Concern claws at him, and my mind snaps back her comment on the island. Don't let me die. Not before I can become a mother. I wonder if Kai and Marina have had that conversation with the curse about to be broken.
As mermaids begin to work on Marina, Brea and I recount our story to Calypso and Lorelei, who has taken over working on Marina's wound. Her hands quick and precise as she works to remove the salt moss and inspect the injury. "Did you pack this?" her cerulean eyes glare at me with an edge that could cut through glass.
"I . . . yes." I stumble though my words, hoping I didn't cause more damage.
"Nice work," she smirks, turning her attention back to Marina. I release the breath I was holding at bay.
Lyla presents us with two opened shells filled with white fish and greens. Brea and I take them to the sandbar within the caves, so we can still keep an eye on Marina. We both dig in with vigorous hunger. After I've gotten half my meal down I stop and look over at Marina, asleep in an old weathered canoe lined with soft green seaweed. How they got it in here is a mystery to me.
"What was it like?" I ask Brea between bites, as we scarf down our first meal in eighteen hours.
"The island? You saw it. Like the Death's paradise." Her response is muffled by the white fish in her mouth.
"No, I mean . . . the gravesite. Where the bodies reside." I pick at my bowl, wondering if I really want to know at all. She stops eating and glances at me with haunted eyes, and I wonder if I asked her too soon to recount the memory of that place.
"As soon as we entered the catacomb at the heart of the island, I could feel it. The lingering magic in the air. Like a heavy mist that clings to your skin. The air sang with it, like an electric current." I think back to the dense fog that covered most of the island's ground and shiver.
"Taper candles were our only source of light. They lined the interior walls." Brea's eyes suddenly seem distant. "The endless flames were kept burning by some ancient spell. They lit the room well enough, but the flickering created shadows that didn't help with the tension in my muscles. The witch’s sarcophagus sat on an altar at the very center. Larger than all the rest, it made her seem like the most powerful being to reside there—infamous for her curse set upon us all those years ago.” She pauses to take a sip of freshwater tea that Lyla brought to us. “It was beautiful though, molded from pure gold and onyx. There were symbols etched around it from an old language long forgotten. Even I couldn't read the symbols and I've studied the ancient tongue. But the lid . . . it was heavy. So heavy to open. Nearly impossible with just the two of us. But we managed. Even if our claws suffered for it, we got the job done." Suddenly, her eyes glaze over, lost in the haunted memory.
"The scent in that catacomb was enough to burn all your senses, even with years of not receiving any new residents. The magic lingering within the dead created a scent that probably won't leave me for days. Ash and sulfur and something . . . wrong. Decay." My meal threatens to reemerge.
"Marina took the liberty of fetching the ring off of that knobby finger. The witch’s hands were crossed over her chest and bound in iron manacles in the event that anyone ever came searching for her wild magic and attempted to use her body as a conduit. As if the iron would do anything against it. Once Marina had the ring, we bolted as quickly as we could, not wanting to spend another minute surrounded by lost souls and unclaimed magic."
I like to think I would have had it in me to endure the inside of the catacomb with courage for the greater good, but something tells me that the haunting feeling wouldn't have left me for weeks. Even just being on the island was enough to haunt my thoughts. Which is why I didn't give much effort to trying to get any sleep for the night.
When Lorelei mentioned running low on taeopaen root, the yellow sea plant known for staving off infection, I jumped at the opportunity to go out and fetch some, knowing it grows abundantly near the mangrove forest. Most of the pod is still asleep, exhausted from the night’s events, but my body won't wind down. My mind refuses to shut off. So I figure I might as well do something useful. Something helpful.
It's still early. The sun barely peeks over the horizon, causing the sky to glow in various shades of lavender. Dense fog is still settling over the water from last night’s storm. The ocean is less than pleasant to swim through this morning, which is probably why Lorelei was thrilled at my offer to head out for supplies. She didn't want to venture through the murky, disrupted waters, and I would prefer she stay close to Marina. The storms wrath really churned the ocean up last night, leaving it roiled for my morning swim. I pull another piece of stray seaweed from my hair when I finally enter the mangrove forest and emerge from the water. I bet the palace staff is already clearing debris from what the storm left behind. I imagine the groundskeepers in a tizzy over the state of the gardens.
Everything is so quiet here. Only the sound of the water lapping up the roots of the trees. Not even the birds have made an appearance yet.
I dive below the surface and skim the sea floor, feeling much too large for this community of sea life that reside here, until I find the stark white plant, teeming with tiny blue fish swimming about. As I near, the fish scatter in a thousand directions and I begin to gently dig around the base of the plant, not wanting the roots to tear. When the sand gives way to the mustard yellow of the root, I gently tug, but my hands freeze when I hear the sound.
I release the plant and tuck myself deep into the forest brush when I see it coming.
The Juliette.
Ezera's sailboat.
Of course he would be out here this early in the morning. It seems this man has just as much energy as he had as a child. Never tiring. Which is probably what makes him such a good fisherman with a crew of two. He never stops.
Slowly I rise to the surface and peer through the domed roots of the tree that arch from the water, protecting me from sight. With the sun barely peeking above the horizon, the shadows around me are plenty.
One glace at his sails and I can see he's replaced the worn rope. I wonder how long it took him to return to the water, if it pains him to be away like it pains me to be away from the sea or my willow. I always thought that my love for the tree was due to the solitude I found there, but maybe it was because she drank from the ocean. That small piece of the sea streaming into the center of the island and fueling her with its endless wonder.
I watch as he navigates through the nearly impossible path through the forest, waiting until I can continue my task. For reasons I don't care to explore, I don't want him to go. I want his presence to linger here, trailing through the fog beneath the trees.
Something about him is more wondrous to me than even my own newly-discovered species. Even more alluring than encountering someone from a different world. This isn’t the same story of a mermaid being drawn to a human. No, it has nothing to do with our difference in species because I know what it's like to be human. I know how it feels to live on land. I've done it my entire life.
This pull towards him is something different. And there is no denying it when he turns in my direction and those enchanting blue green eyes stare right into my soul. At me. Shit.
He is looking at me. Not at the forest. Not at the tangled spider web of tree roots, but at me. At my eyes peering above the water.
The look on his face is pure shock, as if I've startled him from his very skin. Like my very presence has just pulled him from the only world he's ever known.
My body freezes as I watch his face go from surprise, to panic, to . . . wonder. Not fear, not rage, but wonder.
Without tearing his gaze from mine, he moves ever so slowly to lower his sail, his hands unhurried as he pulls the rope down. And then I know he's not going anywhere. I'm not getting out of this one. Part of me realizes that I could absolutely dive below the surface and swim away before he could get his sails back up, but the louder part of me, the more stubborn part of me, doesn't want to. And what would be the point. He's already seen me.
Matching his slow pace, I emerge from the safety of the trees. From beneath the tangled roots. I mark the awe on his face as he watches me swim towards him with inhuman grace. He knows I possess no legs. But to my surprise, he's unafraid. He doesn't back away like I might have if our roles were reversed. Instead, he leans closer over the edge of the boat, to get a clearer look at me. To make sure I'm real.
Hesitantly, I emerge from the shadows of the forest, my shredded fin nearly dragging on the shallow sea floor at this depth, and into the light. My skin pricks, and not from the brisk morning after a storm. My tail is on full display beneath the clear blue water at this depth. He can see me for who I am, almost as if I am naked before him. I try my hardest to remember the beauty of a mermaid, and not feel the self-conscious parts of me emerge. I try to remember that I have never felt more me than I do in this form. I peer up at him from below and watch as the breeze blows his sun bleached waves from his face. He drops down to a knee, the boat bobbing from the motion.
"Cealene."
My name on his lips sounds like a song. One I've never heard before. He recognizes me, and I recall the night of the Full Celestia when I helped free his father at the docks. His calloused hands grab the side of his boat as he leans over, white linen shirt hanging open, revealing the taut muscles of his chest. Muscles built from endless amounts of hard labor on the water and at the docks. Hard labor that I've seen firsthand when I ran into him hurrying home for the party. Running to my fate. That day seems like years ago now—like a lifetime ago.
I settle a few feet from him, not daring to go any closer. Not allowing the invisible thread between us tug to pull me nearer.
"Ezera," I say, my voice barely a whisper on the wind. A voice I barely recognize as it leaves my lips. He visibly shudders, like I've sent a cool chill down his spine. His deep eyes widen, but narrow to meet mine, a hint of a smile on his lips, weathered by the sun and the sea.
"You're . . ."
"Different. I know," I say, swaying my glimmering tail beneath the surface, still trying not to feel like an oddity.
"How did you—"
"That night, with your father. I never made it back to the palace." I explain, without delving into the entire events of that night again. The transformation, when I plunged into the black sea, that memory is mine and mine alone.
"You've been here, in the sea, since that night?"
"I have."
"Your parents must be worried sick." His comment is laced with sarcasm, not really concerned with how my parents might be faring, but with it, anger boils up in me, threatening to spill over.
"Oh, they know where I am. I'm sure of it." Before he can ask, I continue, "They knew this was a part of me but chose to keep it from me. Until I figured it out on my own." Unintended anger lines my words as he absorbs this information for a moment. Mulls it over. Digests it.
"Well this form . . .” he finally says, looking me over “ . . . suits you.” His smirk undoes something within me, and his eyes dazzle with mischief as he says this, not trying to hide the compliment one bit. I blush like a young maiden, instead of the predatory sea creature I am.Before I know it, I'm close enough to smell him on the breeze. Cedar and sunshine, and something more . . . something I can't quite identify. He leans over the boat a bit more.
"It seems you have an affinity for sea creatures," I muse, swaying closer to him, noting the irony of the fisherman meeting a half-fish half-human. We are now mere inches away. If I reached out my hand, I could touch the muscle that flutters at his jaw.
"It seems I do." The inches between us shrink as he leans in, and suddenly the world falls around us. There is only him and me and we are trapped in this vortex of make-believe where boundaries don't exist and enchantments do. I can feel his breath at my neck, sending electric heat down my spine. My hands tingle with the need to grab him by the shirt and pull him into the sea with me. He reaches a hand up towards my face, slowly, and my breath catches in my throat. Frozen in place. My heart rams in its cage with anticipation and—
I hear it before I have time to turn around but know from the creek and groan of splintering wood that it's coming, sending the hairs on the back of my arms to rise. A giant mangrove damaged by the storm is losing a battle with gravity. Without even a thought I gather my strength from within, holding the water surrounding the boat with my mind. Before I have time to speak, I shove the boat out of the way by manipulating the water it sits in, sending Ezera tumbling forward from the jerk of the wave, almost into the water. We both turn in time to watch the tree crash into the sea. Its leaves flutter as they sail through the air and hit the water with a smack, spraying seawater into the air. The tree bobs for a moment before slowly settling into the water. I look back to Ezera and he's already staring at me, face speckled with drops of sea water from the splash. Our enchanted moment long gone.
"That was—"
"Incredible," he finishes. I was going to say close, but incredible works too. His face is bright with amazement, causing my mouth to quirk up in a smile. "You saved Juliette." He brushes a hand down one of the sails. "It seems my debt to you has now doubled." It takes me a moment before I know he is referring to his father, that night at the docks.
"How is your father?"
"If you asked him, he would tell you he's back and ready for action, but I know it will still be a few more weeks before he is fully recovered, if that." I nod, remembering the day I saw him sitting at the front of their fishing boat.
"I'm glad he's okay."
"As am I." His eyes gloss, shining in the morning light. "Truly, if there is ever any way that I could repay you . . ." He trails on.
"Actually . . . there is something you could do for me. If you're up for it." I wait to hear if he trusts me enough to oblige.
"What did you have in mind?"
“Have you noticed the missing posters lining the docks lately?” Recognition fills his eyes.
“I have. They seem to be more frequent as of late.” It’s refreshing to finally speak to someone about this that doesn’t immediately dismiss me or roll their eyes in exasperation.
“Those are my thoughts too. Something about them seems…different than the others. More frequent, but also—they seem to be females around similar ages?” I watch as he mulls it over.
“You know, now that you say it, the posters do seem to be of young women more than men lately. Which is odd, considering men typically sail the seas.”
“Exactly! If you see any more flyers, would you bring them to me?” I hesitate, worried I’ll get the same reaction from him as everyone else. “I’ve been keeping an eye on them trying to figure out a pattern or something that could help find them.”
I watch him as the sea breeze blows through his hair and he looks at me like I’ve captivated him.
“You are going to make one hell of a queen someday.” His words catch me off guard as I was anticipating scrutiny. That may just the kindest thing anyone’s ever said to me, and I’m not even sure if it’s well deserved. Ezera sees what I’m trying to do here, and he doesn’t think it’s a waste of time. He thinks it makes me a better leader. He sees me.
“Thank you.” Emotion swells in my throat so unexpectedly I nearly choke on it. But I push it down, not wanting him see me break down over a simple comment. But to me, it was so much more than simple. More than he could ever know.
“And one more thing,” I continue, not wanting to forget an important part.
I ask Ezera if he would be my eyes and ears in the castle while I’m out here. At least until the curse is broken and I can make my decision before the upcoming full moon. I tell him about how he can enter the castle undetected and get to the third floor, where the living quarters are as well as where he will find the most gossip. The kitchens. They’ve always been a kind of hang out for the staff to gather and converse.
Without hesitation, he agrees to my request, no questions asked. I ask him to keep close to the kitchens and staff areas to listen for any gossip of the upcoming Full Celestia celebration, any talk of mermaids, or where the heir to the throne has been. I ask him to listen for talk of my parents’ well-being as well as the rest of the royal family.
As I explain a bit about the castle's layout and what to keep an eye out for, he silently listens and nods with understanding, his feathered locks falling into his eyes. We agree to meet in the mornings, right here in the mangrove forest, before he has to be at the docks with his father.
Understandably, he asks a few questions about our kind and what it's like to live in the sea. I tell him about my ancestor and the pod, about the world that exists below the surface and of the Sea Wars, which he has never heard of. He asks how I feel about what happened, and I truly don't have a straight answer for him because I simply don't know.
Talking to Ezera comes so naturally for me. I'm not sure if it's because I’ve known him for so long or because he’s the only human I’ve spoken to in weeks, but it's comforting to tell him what's been on my mind these past days. I wonder if he feels the same.
"Ezera . . . about that night. Your father was badly injured, and it didn't appear to be accidental." I watch again as the wheels turn in his head, trying to find a way to explain. Trying to think of a good lie to spew.
"Please don't insult me by telling me I've mistaken the situation. I know an assault when I see one. I've been to the palace dungeons too many times to count. Your father was attacked. Why?"
It's possible I've overstepped. It's possible he doesn't feel as comfortable delving into his secrets with me. It's possible he will lie to me regardless. But I need to know the truth. I need to know what is happening in my own lands. But as my words strike him, I see his shoulders deflate, his head bow. He will not lie to me.
"Hollow Bones."
I shudder at the name of the southern pirate clan notorious for their lethal dealings. The group my father has been trying to end for years. It has been said that if you cross them, they'll suck the marrow from your bones, leaving nothing left for the crows. They're a ruthless group to tangle with, and if Ezera and his father are somehow caught up with them, I'm surprised they left his father alive that night.
Fear grips at my throat as I think of all the ways the Hollow Bones could be torturing this man and his father. Whatever the case, there is no doubt in my mind that Ezera and his father didn't come to this predicament lightly.
"I'm paying off a debt that was long ago paid." His eyes are hollow with grief. They must have something on him or his father. Something that is forcing his hand in a game he has no business playing. I can see it written all over his sun kissed face. He's ashamed to tell me this secret. But I also see the fury simmering beneath the surface. He despises these pirates and with good reason. They are nothing but parasites, feeding off others with no regard for anything or anyone. They take advantage of people who are pressed between a rock and a hard place, seeing no way out. That's how they thrive—off of other’s misfortunes.
I wouldn’t be surprised if they had a hand in most of these missing person disappearances.
And then I remember the marked symbol on his calf, the one I saw when he saved the manatee pup. "Your calf . . . they did that to you." He nods in submission, as he rubs the scarred skin and I realize now what the symbol is. It's the symbol of the pirate clan that rules the southern seas. How despicable must you be to maim another's body? To mark them as your property?
On more than one occasion, I've seen the guards haul a member of their clan into the dungeons for one reason or another. Their inked faces slicked with sweat, their mouths spewing profanities as they're tossed behind an iron gate. But my father has never been able to squash their existence completely. Whenever we cut off a piece of the clan, another limb grows in its place, continuing the vicious cycle.
"You don't seem like the type to cross paths with such heathens." I search his face for answers, but I can see him struggle again to put his shortcomings into words.
"I'm not." His words sound defensive like he doesn't want me to change my view of him. And I understand fear that someone might think differently of you for something that is out of your control. But I was raised with compassion for my people, and I know the world is never black and white. The gray areas always hide between a question and an answer—a problem and a solution. It hides in places that people cannot always see, but it's there. It's always there painting our world with depth and uncertainty.
"It started a few years after my mother passed, when my father spent all of our money on tonics to heal her. Nothing worked, of course. But we couldn't just sit back and do nothing while she withered away. So we paid for any and every treatment we heard of to try and save her. But nothing ever did.
"When she was gone, we were left with a hole in our hearts and a debt we couldn't manage. One night my father comes home battered and bloody. Says we got a side job now. Something that will keep us afloat for a while. Just a while he assured me." He shakes his head in disbelief. "Turns out just a while can mean anything when you're at the mercy of the Hollow Bones." He looks out over the horizon, not meeting my eyes as he recalls the story of what brought him here. I hold my breath as I wait for him to continue. To reveal what has him so unnerved.
"They have us smuggling blue somnia into the city for them. Once a week I dive for the plant and bring it back in our crates with the day’s catch to be dispersed amongst the city. So the Hollow Bones can fill their pockets with coin while leaving the people hungry for more." My heart sinks at his admission. Pilfering blue somnia is illegal. The plant is dangerous and highly addictive. It can be ingested fresh or dried and ground into a powder. What Ezera and his father are doing could ruin an entire ecosystem, not to mention feeding a monster we have a hard enough time stopping. The plant can be unpredictable when ingested, sometimes resulting in paralysis, heart attack, or even death. It all depends on the potency and the person. It affects every individual differently. With all the variables of such a plant, I doubt it could ever be deemed safe for anyone. Even the way and location of how it develops in the sea can alter its effects.
"Every time we think we might have our heads above water, the clan finds a way to keep us down for another month. And then another. And another. The night you helped us, was the night they sent a message for my stupidity." A breeze catches his golden hair, pulling it across his forehead.
"You see, I was sick and tired of working ourselves to the bone for those heathens. Sick of being controlled by them. So I did something about it. I realize that it wasn't the smartest plan, but it was more of a reaction than anything. That day instead of delivering the marked crates to the drop off, I delivered my fists instead. And my father paid the price. I should have known it would come to that. But I just couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't be responsible for poisoning our people anymore. For lining the pockets of the Hollow Bones and making them stronger." The shame that covers his face is enough to make me want to tear out the throats of the Hollow Bones. Not only for what they've done to Ezera and his father, but what they've done to countless others on Aqualasia.
"Ezera . . ." I know if I tell him that what happened to his father was not his fault, it will fall on deaf ears.
"I've tried to find other ways. I lie awake at night thinking of a way to free ourselves of them, to keep my father safe, to stop polluting our lands with drugs. But every time I come up short." He drags his hand through his hair and down his neck. "So I fought back the only way I could. In a language they're fluent in." Something tells me that if I offer my help, he won't take it. But I don't plan to let this arrangement continue. How can I when it is my duty to protect our people?
They know where to find Ezera and his father and any members we capture will only result in another taking their place. So there's only one way to end this.
"Here's what you're gonna do." I straighten my shoulders, showing him that I mean business and that he will take my help, whether it wounds his ego or not. "We are going to get your boat marked with the Royal Insignia so your daily catch will be inspected by the guards before being delivered to the palace. That way, the pirates will see they can no longer use you to smuggle, knowing your boat has been compromised, now that your catch is specifically sent to the palace instead of sold in the town markets." I know this isn't a fix to the bigger problem, but it is the best I can do from here.
I tell him who to speak to at the docks, and how to get his boat marked for palace deliveries. He will tell the head of Catch and Deliveries that Cealene sent him.
I write a curt letter on some spare parchment stowed away on Ezera's boat, the webbing of my hand making it difficult to grip the pen. But I sign the bottom with my signature hoping it will be enough. I tell him that his payment per crate will increase and he will make close friends with the cooks that work in the kitchens of Pearle Castle, knowing Chef has a very specific list when it comes to his raw ingredients. Once the pirates see Ezera's boat marked with our Royal Crest, they will steer clear of them, not wanting to risk their operation further. The rest can be dealt with when I set foot on land . . . if I set foot on land.
Before he goes, Ezera guides his boat to the edge of the fallen tree and frees it from its tangled roots, cutting away the attached section with an axe. Not because the fallen tree was blocking his path back home, but because it might block someone else's.
I try not to gawk as his muscled body at work under the sun. Once he hauls the tree into the forest, we say our goodbyes with a promise to meet here tomorrow morning. When I turn to go, before diving beneath the surface for the taeopaen root I promised Lorelei, he stops me.
"Cealene," again, the sound of my name on his lips like a melody, "thank you . . . for coming into the light." I smile as I look away from the intensity of his gaze, knowing exactly what he means. I look back to him and nod, before diving beneath the surface, tail fluking on full display.