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“If I become human, I’ll never be with my father or sisters again.”
“That’s right, but you’ll have your man. Life’s full of tough choices, isn’t it? Oh, and there is one more thing. We haven’t discussed the subject of payment. You can’t get something for nothing, you know!”
“But I don’t have—” said Ariel.
Before she could finish, Ursula interrupted. “I’m not asking much, just a token, really—a trifle! You’ll never even miss it. What I want from you is…your voice.”
“My voice?”
“You’ve got it, sweet cakes! No more talking, singing…zip.”
“But without my voice, how can I…”
“You’ll have your looks! Your pretty face! And don’t underestimate the importance of body language! The men up there don’t like a lot of blabber. They think a girl who gossips is a bore. Yes, on land, it’s much preferred for ladies not to say a word. And after all, dear, what is idle prattle for? Come on, they’re not all that impressed with conversation. True gentlemen avoid it when they can. But they dote and swoon and fawn on the lady who’s withdrawn. It’s she who holds her tongue who gets a man!
“Come on, you poor unfortunate soul! Go ahead! Make your choice! I’m a very busy woman and I haven’t got all day! It won’t cost much…just…your…voice! You poor unfortunate soul, it’s sad but true: if you want to cross a bridge, my sweet, you’ve got to pay the toll. Take a gulp and take a breath. And go ahead and sign the scroll!”
Ariel closed her eyes and signed the scroll, flinching from Ursula’s power. The moment she finished she knew she had made a mistake.
A terrible mistake.
What have I done?
The scroll was signed and tight in Ursula’s fist and quickly conjured away with her magic. Ariel wondered if she would be able to make the prince fall in love with her, and if she did, would her father ever forgive her? Was this boy she hardly knew worth it, giving up her family, her home…her voice? She felt as if she were floating in a nightmare, in this hideous place, surrounded by revolting creatures and Ursula’s daunting voice as she said the magical words that would bind their contract:
“Beluga, sevruga, come winds of the Caspian Sea!
“Larynxes, glossitis, et max laryngitis, la voce to me!”
Ariel wanted to scream, “No! Stop! I’ve changed my mind!” but where would she go? Home to her father, who had destroyed everything she’d loved when he blasted away her most prized possessions from the surface world? Her father, who had forbidden her ever to see her prince, Eric? No, Ursula was right. She had no other choice.
The sea witch’s cauldron, which she had been filling with ghastly ingredients collected for this purpose, was exploding with blue light that swirled around them like a menacing wall. Ariel’s heart was pounding, thundering in her ears, and she felt a deep sorrow for betraying her family and, worse, for betraying herself. She knew her father would never forgive this. She knew he would never love her again.
Ursula laughed.
He will hate you, as he hates me! He hates all things different from himself, little angelfish. The swirling light transformed into large groping hands greedy for Ariel’s voice.
“Now sing!” Ursula commanded.
The gruesome hands grabbed at Ariel’s throat, starting to take from her the thing that most made her who she was: her voice. The sensation was terrifying. It hadn’t occurred to Ariel that losing her voice would be so painful. It was like a separate entity struggling to remain within her, and Ursula was literally tearing it from her throat, from her soul. The pain was terrible. She tried to let it go willingly, to stop struggling, but she couldn’t. Everything within her fought against the assault. And then it happened.
Her beautiful, beautiful voice—it flowed from her lips involuntarily.
“Keep singing!” Ursula screamed, and her laugh was heard throughout the many kingdoms as her cauldron cast a golden light that surrounded Ariel, ripping her merbody asunder, turning the mermaid into the thing her father hated most: a human.
A human under the sea.
It wasn’t Ursula’s concern that the girl could no longer breathe underwater. She will need to find a way to the surface. Or not.
It had been several weeks since Pflanze had arrived at Morningstar Castle, and everything she’d heard on the day of her arrival was true. She and Tulip were up in the king’s highest tower, looking down on all of Tulip’s “gentlemen callers,” as Nanny liked to say. There were at least five and forty of them, all waiting for the slightest glimpse of Tulip. The guardsmen had gone out more than once to get the young men to stop fighting with each other, reminding them all that the princess would not care for brutish men who brawled like common drunkards at the local tavern.
It didn’t seem to help matters. The men kept vying for Tulip’s attention, some of them in more unique ways than others. One of the men, for example, stood out from the rest. He was wearing a sky-blue velvet frock coat with gold embellishments on his lapels and white lace ruffles at his sleeves and cravat. He played a lute decorated with lovely matching ribbons, which he used to compose songs about Tulip’s beauty.
“Her skin is like honey, her eyes like the sky. Her hair is like sunshine—”
Tulip slammed the window before she could hear the rest of the song.
“This is just too much, Nanny! Really! It’s getting rather ludicrous, don’t you think?” she asked, frustrated with the endless parade of suitors.
