The Wild Mermaid Read online

  “Is that retirement?” Cora guessed. “Singing your lifeforce away?”

  “It’s one way to retire. The better way.” Sarina cleared her throat. “Now, give me your hand.”

  “My—hand?”

  Before Cora could react, Sarina grabbed her wrist and sliced a sharpened stone against her palm.

  Cora pulled her hand to her chest as it stung and began discoloring the water red. “That hurt!”

  “Sing.”

  “With this?” Cora lifted her hand.

  “It gives you somewhere to focus. Move your lifeforce into your hand. You’ve had enough physic for something simple like this.”

  Cora wasn’t sure that made sense, but Sarina said to sing. It was a place to start.

  “Mari mermaid—” Cora began.

  Sarina slapped Cora’s stomach. “Pull deeper.”

  Cora tried, searching for something within her, seeking whatever it was that Sarina was asking for. But all she could feel was her aching hand.

  “You can do this,” Sarina encouraged. “You have to do this.”

  “What happens if I fail?” It was the question she’d been afraid to ask.

  “If you’re lucky, you’ll join the choir. Most likely, you’ll be retired the hard way. Maestro soon after, apparently.”

  Cora didn’t want to think about that. Her hand was motivation enough. She would learn to do this because she had to. For now, she could act like a survivor.

  She pulled a careful inhale and released a solid tone. She closed her eyes and searched for her strength, the core of who she was.

  Sarina tapped her stomach, and Cora imagined the energy there. And as Sarina pressed her chest, Cora saw her heart as a conduit, turning the lifeforce into something tangible.

  Cora paused a moment to inhale and then sang a new tone. She directed the energy toward her hand. When nothing happened, her fears rose and she kept singing to keep them at bay.

  She stopped after she’d spent all the gathered energy. And when Cora gingerly opened her hand, she found the wound had healed, not even a scar remained.

  And with immediate fatigue, Cora realized she’d lost a part of herself in the process. Her eyelids grew heavy.

  “And that,” Sarina said, “is your first lesson.”

  If she could do that… Cora reached for her cut fin, running her finger against the ruined edge. Could she sing her fin back together too?

  Sarina laughed. “I’ll save you the energy, little fry. It’d cost a lot of lifeforce to heal a clipped fin. You’d kill yourself trying.”

  Cora’s eyes were closing fast.

  “Now get some rest.”

  ✽✽✽

  Cora woke to find Phoebe nearby. She had brought Cora food: a bubblet of warmed dolphin milk and sweet krill wrapped in seaweed.

  She explored her new memories and revisited the times she’d shared with Phoebe, back during the migration.

  “Can we sing together?” Cora asked. “Like we used to? Amphitrite’s Net, if you’d like.” The song had been one of Phoebe’s favorites.

  “But—you’re the soloist!” she said with awe. “Would you really sing with me?”

  Cora didn’t say how lonely she felt, didn’t know how to communicate the idea to Phoebe.

  While she was part of this pod, Cora didn’t belong in it. Couldn’t belong, not now that she knew she’d sing Phoebe’s lifeforce away.

  She imagined Phoebe growing old and tired before her time. As the soloist, she would witness her pod’s deaths, becoming an instrument in them.

  Cora wasn’t so interested in singing with Phoebe anymore.

  Fortunately, when she looked past Phoebe, she saw Maestro and Sarina descending toward the stage. Phoebe saw them too and swam away.

  Cora waited as Maestro settled before her and Sarina sat by her side. Maestro still considered her with his strange curiosity.

  “Sarina said your lesson went well.” Maestro reached for her hand, the one Sarina had cut, and inspected it. “I’m glad. You’re on schedule to sing for the Queen tomorrow.”

  “That’s good.” It had gone better than she expected.

  Maestro reached into his pouch and presented five droplets of physic. “The next day won’t—” He swallowed. “This won’t be easy, and I’m sorry. This will be your biggest dose, and I’ll tell you, honestly, that I’m not sure what will happen.”

  Cora accepted them, cupping them in her hand. She studied the miraculous, punishing purple pills. Her stomach churned with the thought of taking all of them.

  “And there’s one more thing,” Maestro continued. “Normally, I would give soloists more training sessions, usually with the choir, to help you practice with accepting their life force. But there’s no time. After this dose, you’ll have no spare energy to do that.”

  Cora didn’t question that. She felt tired just looking at the five droplets of physic.

  “So, your first time acting as soloist will be before the Queen.”

  Cora grew cold. If she didn’t impress the Queen, what would happen to her? Would she be forced to retire? Or lose the physic? She didn’t know which was worse.

  While Cora no longer fantasized about the Queen, a desire to please the monarch compelled her. And despite her understanding of how magic had manipulated her, she longed to obey the immortal Atlanteans. Her reverence for immortals was a part of her, like her fishy-half.

  “I won’t compel you to take them,” Maestro said. “This is your choice.”

  Cora lifted one droplet of physic to her lips and into her mouth. She pressed it to the roof of her mouth, savoring the sweet burst.

  She took the whole prescription, one dose at a time, popping and swallowing each with deliberation. Then, when she’d taken all five, she curled into the cushions and prepared for the dreams to begin.

  ✽✽✽

  Kyla had been watching while Cora was awake, witnessing the world through their shared eyes. But Kyla was only an observer, unable to communicate with Cora, incapable of touching reality.

  Now that she was awake on her beach, now that she had autonomy, she pressed herself against the forces keeping her there. She dug a deep hole in the sand and found nothing but earth. She attempted to climb the cliffs, again and again, only to fall when the sandstone crumbled.

  Finally, she collected her courage and decided to run into the water—the ocean that made her sick with dread.

  But even then, by the time she was knee-deep, she hit something. An invisible wall separated her from whatever lay beyond. She banged her fist against it. She roared.

  Kyla’s anger deepened.

  She was already worked raw, had been frustrated ever since Sarina had explained their transformation. Kyla understood the role she’d played in their current situation. Everything was her fault, and she had to do something.

  Maybe Cora couldn’t remember their human life, but Kyla could. But what did it matter—she was trapped here (whatever here was) with no power over anything.

  So Kyla wasted away on the beach, recalling the night Triton had serenaded her. How could she have been that stupid? This was her own damn fault, wasn’t it?

  It had happened on a moonless night. She’d stirred in her slumber and, yet again, she couldn’t fall back asleep. Then, as was her insomnia-driven ritual, she found herself standing on the cold dark beach, her toes inches from the lapping waves.

  The song began, penetrating her body with its demand. Through the notes, she knew what would happen if she touched the water: she would never return.

  But in exchange—in exchange for her life—it promised her everything. A new existence. One filled with flips and spins and joy.

  It wasn’t that she disliked her life, but things weren’t right. School was grating. Between her classes and internship in a marine laboratory, she was busy most of the time. She’d traveled far from her family, and while she’d made friends, she hadn’t grown close to any of them. In time, she’d developed the habit of walking the beach at nig
ht.

  And tonight, the ocean sang.

  The song promised her she could have something more, if only she surrendered to it.

  Opportunities were a commodity, and she had the chance to become…a mermaid.

  She’d curled her toes, gripping the sand between them with the vigor of a final meal. She’d shivered then, weaving earth between her toes. Her resolve wavered.

  That was the moment that now devastated Kyla. Maybe she could’ve resisted, maybe that could’ve been the second when she’d run away.

  But no. The song had grown louder, and she’d sprinted toward the ocean instead.

  She’d crashed into the waves, lunging forward in the shallow sea, plunging onward, desperate for deeper water. She only slowed once the waves reached her hips.

  Kyla dived in.

  Her lungs had burned as they changed, and her legs had cried as muscles merged. But—oh, the relief that filled her when she exhaled the last of her air and began circulating water instead—It was like she had never breathed before.

  The water flowing through her lungs, the flip of her fin, everything about her new body had calmed her.

  She had spun on the spot, admiring the light sparkles in her midnight-blue fin. She’d combed her fingers through her golden hair, adoring the way it bounced back into place. Her new body practically glowed with health and beauty.

  In the distance, she saw a merman, the one she now knew as Triton. His green tail swayed with his song, his eyes piercing, beckoning her despite the distance.

  She had wanted to be his from the moment she’d heard his song. And once he saw her, he’d lifted his arms, inviting her to him.

  The pace of his song grew faster, as did her desperation. She needed him.

  She’d raced into the merman’s arms, pushing him back with the force of her impact. But even that didn’t stop his singing, and the sound entered the core of her being.

  Triton had wrapped his arms around her, allowing his voice to settle within her. She’d swayed her fin, matching his rhythm.

  Finally, he’d ended the serenade with a long hum. And once the soft vibration finished, she’d dropped into his arms, exhausted.

  Then Cora was shaking, sobbing with unexplainable grief. All that she knew was that everything was gone.

  Kyla was gone. She understood that now.

  Regardless, she’d made that choice, and trapped on the shore of a timeless beach, she had no one to blame but herself. When she’d been human, she wasn’t prone to fits of anger; she had learned to contain her fury.

  But now, Kyla allowed her rage to storm against the sand.

  Chapter Five:

  A Recital Fit for a Queen

  It seemed impossible, but Queen Mari’s recital hall was more extravagant than her throne room. Cora peeked at it from behind drooping eyelids.

  Cora had been seated, practically arranged, on a cushion at the center of the stage. The choir waited patiently on the risers behind her. They tittered, anticipating their great Queen’s arrival.

  The sound of their excitement made the tightness in Cora’s stomach grow. She was anxious again, the only thing she seemed capable of feeling other than exhaustion.

  She was barely conscious, barely able to stop from swaying on the stage. Sarina had said to stay still, to be perfect. Otherwise, she risked shifting her adornments.

  Cora was decorated in many ways.

  There was the cuff on her bicep that complemented the bands at her wrists. A lariat necklace held a large sapphire between her breasts. Golden netting made her tail sparkle, and she was crowned with a headdress that mingled jewels into her hair.

  Sarina had talked as the jewelers had worked. She explained how every piece had a purpose, how every gem played a part in amplifying, purifying, and strengthening this spell.

  Cora had been woken that afternoon, forced into wakefulness after a long stupor. She knew her dreams had been vivid and exhausting, but none of the details remained. Regardless, Sarina had taken her to the stage where she’d overseen the jewelers before disappearing off stage.

  Her preparations hadn’t stopped with the jewelry.

  Next, Cora’s skin had been painted, not with makeup, but with fine dark ink. The artists had drawn unfamiliar symbols on her skin, and some of her scales had been painted gold. Everything, like the jewelry, expanded the magic.

  The artists applauded, exclaiming how Cora would sparkle in the spotlight, and then swam away. Everyone left Cora to fend off exhaustion alone. The worry too.

  It had been done with such expertise. What would happen to her if she failed?

  The Queen had made her threats, and while Cora didn’t quite understand the political undercurrents involved… The futures of others depended on her performance.

  Her anxiety welled up again, and Cora distracted herself, scanning the auditorium before her.

  She understood this to be the hilltop arena she’d seen when they’d first approached Atlantis. No other structure could be this large, for Sarina said it was big enough for all citizens to attend her debut.

  But it wasn’t the size of it that captivated her. Instead, she looked to the open ocean. There was no ceiling to the recital hall, and unlike everywhere else in the fortress, there was a way to leave.

  Not that she’d get far, not with her clipped fin and overwhelmed body. But that couldn’t stop her from dreaming.

  The common Atlanteans swam into the auditorium from above. They lingered lazily in the seaweed-beds, greeting friends, and finding places to lounge. Sarina said everyone would come. After all, this ritual was what made them immortal—this was Queen Mari’s great gift to her people.

  Meanwhile, the courtiers with their glittery jewelry sat in box seats in a second tier, raised above the commoners. Despite the distance, Cora saw they were rigid and poised, only occasionally turning to their neighbor for conversation.

  All in all, there were hundreds of them. More immortals than Cora could’ve imagined, not that she had ever dreamed of anything like this.

  And they were there for her. Many looked to her now.

  That made her feel claustrophobic. A fish in a bowl. She’d felt that way for days, even if she couldn’t identify it until now. The dungeons and the castle halls, then the choir room’s den—Everything was closing in on her.

  She looked up again, studying the open water. The rise and fall of the waves swept her imagination, and she dreamed of swimming away…

  Her headdress shifted, and she forced herself back to wakefulness.

  She shifted her gaze toward the Queen’s box: a single seashell as big as a bed. Silver and gold mosaics made the shell glitter, and plush pillows filled its interior. The shell must have been held in place by magic, for it appeared to float in the center of the hall, ensuring that the Queen was the focus of the spell.

  The mers in the crowd began to settle. And yet, the hushed chatter grew louder, tense with excitement. It wasn’t just the sounds of the crowd rising in volume, but the choir too.

  The choir. Cora’s skin tensed with goosebumps.

  She hated to do this—to drain their lifeforce—but she hadn’t come up with a better way.

  She realized she was holding her breath and released it. She’d made her choice and would see this through, at least, that was her plan.

  Trumpets sounded, and everyone stopped talking. Cora sat taller. Queen Mari was coming.

  Cora wanted to hate the Queen, but as the goddess-like mermaid dove vigorously into the auditorium, all she felt was awe. Dolphins, sea turtles, and fish swam around the Queen, adding to her aura of glory.

  The Queen wore no extra jewels, for they were unnecessary on anyone as luminous as the Atlantean monarch.

  Cora couldn’t lift her gaze from her. She wanted the Queen’s approval with hungry desperation. Even as she understood that the desire rose from her fishy body, the need was impossible to shake.

  The Queen swam a lap around the recital hall, looking upon her citizens, waving and blowi
ng kisses. She was their divine monarch, and they loved her.

  Finally, once she settled into her box, the trumpets blew again.

  “Presenting Her Majesty’s honored guest: Triton of Augmon.”

  Triton. Only now did Cora’s heart begin to flutter.

  She hadn’t seen him since that day in the throne room, but she still thought of him. Often. She wondered where he was and if he ever thought of her.

  Then he was there, descending into the hall. He looked wonderful, polished as he had never been during their travels. If he had been handsome during the migration, he was devilish now.

  The people clapped and others cheered as Triton waved and descended into the Queen’s special seashell. Cora watched, torn between jealousy and awe, as Triton cozied into the cushions beside the Queen.

  “Welcome, people of Atlantis,” Queen Mari’s voice boomed, resonating through the recital hall. “Tonight, we honor Triton for his contribution to the mortal population.”

  Applause and cheers erupted, taking a moment to calm down.

  “We celebrate him tonight with the debut performance of our newest soloist.”

  Short applause. It was over by the time Cora realized it was for her.

  “Without further ado, let this inaugural recital begin!” Queen Mari raised her hand in the air, and the trumpets responded, sounding for the third time.

  Maestro swam onto the stage, appearing from backstage. He looked better than before, more glorious now that he’d been scrutinized by jewelers and artists. The crowd applauded their love of him.

  But Cora could see exhaustion behind his dark eyes.

  She extended her hand as she had been instructed, and he lowered himself to kiss it. He held her hand tight as he locked his gaze onto hers.

  “Be strong, little one,” he said. “You’ve inspired me for reasons you cannot understand, reasons beyond your control. But know I’m different because of you. If you survive this, I promise to protect you.”

  His words confused Cora, and she looked away. By the mortal Melusine, what did he mean?

  But there was no time to linger on it. The moment passed, and Maestro descended into the conductor’s pit.