Before he passed, Nik would visit me sometimes, walking the cove’s edge, fancy boots marked by my black water. Then he’d tell me stories of the world above, trusting the tide to carry his tale. Maybe he knew I was alive too. A friend, a love, to the end.
I hold the girl’s stare. Her eyes are no longer fearful, determination and need filling them in a rush. It is impressive, I suppose—no one has ever braved my lair with such a request. She wants this, more than anything.
More than anything she can promise me.
But I will need something more in return. The magic may no longer require a life, but it still demands a sacrifice.In the years since, I have learned this, and much else.
And I know what I must take.
“I must know that you will only tell the truth above,” I say finally.
The little mermaid is so surprised that it takes her a moment to understand what I mean: that I will help her. When she does, her reply is immediate.
“I will—”
“Do not answer so quickly. What you ask is a serious request.” The girl concedes, her lips drawing shut, thoughtfulness sewn tightly into her skin. Good. “Once you have become a human, you can never become a mermaid again. You can never see the palace again. Your father. Your mother. Your sisters. Everything you know and love—save for this prince—will no longer be yours.”
The girl blanches. Her blue eyes fade to the middle distance. For all the time she spent thinking before making her request, plucking those flowers from her garden, summoning the courage to swim past the polypi and above the turfmoor, this is something that never crossed her mind. I had heard that the sea king had destroyed the ledgers with the story of Queen Mette, hiding history so that it could not become the future. This girl proves that. If she could have researched more, she would have.
After several moments, her eyes return to my face. Resolute.
“I will do it.”
“Very well. But I must be paid also—and it is not a trifle that I ask.”
The girl lights up. “I can give you whatever you want,” she says. “Gems, jewelry, the finest pearls—please.” Privilege andthingsdefine the life she hopes to leave.
I don’t need pearls. The one from long ago had held enough false promises for a lifetime.
“I only ask for one thing: your voice.”
The girl’s fingers immediately fly to her throat. “My voice?”
“It is imperative that you do not tell a lie above.”
“I won’t lie.”
I cock a brow at her. “You won’t without a voice, will you? And if you write a lie while above, your fingers shall fall off.”
The girl swallows hard. “If the price is my voice—though I shall not tell a lie—how... how... ?”
“You’ll have your beautiful form, your graceful walk, and your expressive eyes,” I say, lowering my intonation in the way of Tante Hansa so long ago. “Surely, if you are willing to brave my dark magic and leave your family and friends without a word, you can communicate to your true love without a word as well.”
The little mermaid’s lips snap shut, her mind working furiously for another way.
My brow arches higher. “Unless you fear his love is not true?”
“It is! It is. He is my true love. Take my voice! Take it! It is worth the cost!”
I slither a tentacle to her face and tip up her chin. There is something else in her eyes—not just fear or longing or love. “Do you really love him or do you love the idea of being human?”
The girl’s pupils bloom and her jaw stiffens. Finally, brave thing, she speaks without looking away. “What is it like—to be human?”
I won’t give her a bag of saltlakrids and tell her a magnificent story—I am not her grandmother.
If I were, I could tell her that it’s like the tang of summer wine and the ring of voices as a new ship docks. Like the scent of salt and limes and the twinkle of a boy’s eyes just before a kiss in the moonlight.
But I don’t say that. I can’t.
