I am drawn up short by this. The thought had not occurred to me, and I cannot picture it. I try to imagine her, the Bride of the Sea, in a white beaded dress, pearls and shells like Amphitrite, but I see only myself, glancing over a shoulder for a sharp paternal word or a mother’s guidance. Stumbling, hoping to be caught by Phineus’ large, clever hands.
‘And what if she, the Nereid, does not believe me to be beautiful? Grandmama is right, it is not a thing so easily decided. Not everyone agrees, tastes differ.’
‘Everyone who sees you agrees that you are the most beautiful girl they have ever seen.’
‘They might be lying to please you.’
‘They are not, I know such things.’
‘But she, the Cetus, she is noteveryone. She is a Nereid and a shifter and a monster. We do not know that her eyes see the world the same as ours. What if she says no and we … and you …’ I cannot speak it. It is too awful.
But my mother reaches to braid my hair. ‘I will be fine. I am not wrong.’ She is resolved and I cannot hope to sway her. ‘You will thank me, when you are Queen of the Sea.’
I settle between her legs and bow my head. It is easier, always, to do as she says. ‘Yes, Mama. I will be Queen of the Sea. And I will thank you.’
‘Irresponsible, conniving, arrogant in the extreme!’ My grandmother is rarely so animated, but my parents, as is often the case, are the targets of her ire. ‘They have noideawhat they have brought upon themselves, upon you!’
‘Mama is sure the Cetus will acquiesce.’
‘So am I!’ The river churns about her. ‘He will make you immortal, mylittle queen. You will be his forever.’ My grandmother has had other children, Aegyptus and Danaus, old kings of old stories. She watched them striving to forge a lasting legacy. She does not wish to do it again. I believe she loves me the most, myself and Phineus, because for us she wants a mortal life, prosperous and peaceful and together. Only she can comprehend the life I might lead, who the Wife of the Sea might be, how an eternity will grind me into her.
‘I will think of something.’ She turns. ‘I will seek out Athena, plead her counsel. I will speak to my father. I will think of something.’ She vanishes into the water, swimming against the currents.
And now I can feel an arrival. I trail my hand through the river as if wishing to calm it, but it does not work. It recognizes a new presence, distant but familiar. I straighten mykalasiris, another my mother picked out, the linen dyed the colour of my future kingdom, I assume, to flatter my future husband. But all I can see are my grandmother’s lilies, bruising the marble of our entrance hall.
I think of last night’s words and resentment shakes me out until I stand tall.Justa face. Those are my sentiments, not hers. She must believe that it is the greatest face in the world. The best ofallthe faces. This face is the future of everything, and she, spoiled by Poseidon’s praise, flighty and loose with her two ugly faces, could never understand. How easy it is for her to deride me. Beauty draws eyes, it attracts jealousy and wanting and rage like flames attract moths, but these moths are giant, thrashing things capable of snuffing me out. I must sidestep Amphitrite’s jealous gaze, dodge the reaching hands of men, I must not stumble into the light and yet I must alsobe the light and it is a light I did not choose – and yet now here it is, it is mine, it is swimming up the river of my kin towards me. I fear that it is too bright. But it does not matter. The path is cleaved before me.
She rises from the river. It does not reject her, she belongs to some part of it, but I can feel the foreignness of her. The water does not cling to her as it does us, running in rivulets across our skin, never wishing to leave. She is immediately dry, crystals leaving glittering trails. Yesterday, standing next to the strange washes of her sister and master, she had seemed as rich in pigment as shining brass lanterns. But here she seems as though she has spent too long away from the sun.
The river breathes a sigh of relief when she is clear, and we say nothing to each other in the exhale. I had been ready with sharp pincers to bite, but she is better at this game than me. So much better that she does not seem as though she is playing. Her expression is cool, almost bored, her lip twisted in mild contempt.
She says, ‘You wore silver.’ Here, away from the indomitable will of the sea god, I can see that she really is not much older than me at all. There are ways of telling, a kind of glimmering control that nymphs gain as they age, a depth to the glow of their ichor. She does not have this at all; she is young in her immortality.
‘So?’ I say.
‘Silver is rare in these lands.’
‘I am a princess.’
She makes a noise in her throat, and I feel immediately embarrassed. I hear the words as she must have heard them, petulant and thin,I am a princess.
‘Silver is prized by my lord.’
I swallow. ‘The Fates must wish our union, then.’ The words are bitter on my tongue.
That noise again. ‘I believed the Fates to be three crones sharing an eye. Not a queen on a throne dressed in red and gold.’
I blink at her implication. I think of my mother, teaching me to wear modesty as an accessory and then declaring me to be insultingly beautiful. I think of her careful instructions, her cool mask, the loud challenge of her voice.
I scowl. ‘My mother declared me beautiful because she believes me to be beautiful. Perhaps your mother only compliments you for political strategy.’
Her jaw sets and her eyes glint, jet catching the sun and holding it fast. ‘When my mother compliments me, she speaks of my strength and speed and quick wit. What can anyone say of you beyond the shape of your nose?’
She terrifies me. But there is something else there too, something I have not felt before. It is sharp, forked like a tongue or lightning. It thrills me.
‘No one would have very much to say ofyournose. It is utterly unremarkable, just like the rest of your appearance.’
She raises an eyebrow. ‘Not only is your face all anyone can discuss, but apparently faces are allyoucan discuss. Gods. How tiresome this shall be.’
