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I need to escape the ocean’s voice for a while. I make my way through the arched doorway that leads to my common room, a spacious chamber with mosaic-covered walls and comfortable lounge seats woven from kelp. I don’t linger. Instead, I swim upward to the opening in one corner of the ceiling, which leads to my private chamber. Dim evening light shimmers through the water. A few stone ledges jut out from the wall in this corner, forming a small staircase that leads into the air-filled room above.
As I reach the steps, I call my magic to life and shift into my land-dwelling form. In the space of a few heartbeats, the flesh and bones of my tail transform, becoming a pair of legs with smooth, pale skin. My pearl-white scales change their hue and meld together, transforming into the misty gray fabric of the knee-length wrap skirt I was wearing last time I took this form. The slender white fins along my forearms retract and vanish. My head breaks through into the open air. I gasp in a breath with lungs newly returned to life, as the gills on the sides of my neck smooth over with skin. My bare feet come to rest on the ledges of the staircase, then I step up into the room beyond.
I exhale deeply as the serenity of my sanctuary floods over me. The space is a simple, airy room, with pale gray walls and many tall windows with lattice shutters. The window frames are adorned with mosaics of colorful stones which I’ve pieced together over the years. A row of plush sitting cushions lines one side of the room, which serve as a bed on nights when I wish to sleep above water. The wall beside them is covered with a mural depicting a sprawling maraseya tree—one of the many paintings Lirana has done to take her mind off the war.
In one corner stands my bookcase, which I carved with runes that protect my collection of leather-bound tomes from moisture and sea salt. As far as I know, I’m the only Atathari who bothers with books. The knowledge of the merroc tribes is passed down in songs and dances and spoken histories, not written on pages that would disintegrate in water. But the books remind me of happier times when I traveled throughout Tandith and had friends among many peoples besides my own.
I unfasten my armored breastplate and gauntlets, leaving only the simple gray wrap top I wear underneath. The armor falls to the floor. I’ll tend to it later. Closing my eyes for a moment, I lose myself in the scent of salt air and the cry of passing seabirds.
When I open my eyes again, I catch sight of a swath of crimson silk that lies across my sitting cushions. I grimace. These must be the garments my mother wants me to wear tonight. Walking closer, I scrutinize the jewel-encrusted top and matching skirt. The low neckline and tapered hem of the corset-like bodice are edged with embroidery in motifs of spearheads and crashing waves. The skirt falls to the floor in flowing layers, slit nearly to the waistband either side of my hips. The effect is both regal and ruthless. I try to envision walking into the grand hall of the palace wearing it—then drop the garment as bile rises in my throat.
Of course the dress is red. The only appropriate color for a warrior bride. Red like all the blood that fills these waters. Even draped in silk and pearls and surrounded by pomp, I’m still a battle-weary fighter about to bind my soul to a man who is likely just as scarred and vicious as I am.
A man I will probably never love.
I turn my back on the dress and cross the room to one of the west-facing windows. With quick movements, I unfasten the lattice shutters and throw them open. Sea wind brushes my face, carrying the chill of the coming night. The sun is just sinking below the horizon, turning the waters to gold while the first stars blink to life overhead. I lean against the windowsill and breathe out a long sigh, trying to ease the tension that grips my body and darkens my mind.
I have no reason to fear this night. As the daughter of a chieftain, I accepted long ago that my mate would be chosen by such a challenge, even if I never anticipated it taking place in the midst of a war. I only want what is best for my tribe. They need me to go through with this marriage.
I repeat these thoughts in my mind, even as my eyes burn with unshed tears. An ache spreads through me. My shoulders heave with a silent sob. I will do my duty, just as I always do. Still, everything about this seems wrong.
A sound resonates around me. I freeze.
It comes again—a single note, long and lingering. Then a string of notes, forming a scrap of melody.
It’s the dream-singer. My heart leaps. I’ve never heard him sing so early in the evening, but I would recognize his voice anywhere. The notes come slow and soft, yet each one shakes me to my core. I grip the edge of the windowsill, straining to hear the voice and let it fill me.
The dream-singer’s songs always carry pictures to my mind. Images of peaceful times, of beautiful things my war-weary soul has nearly forgotten. But I’m not close enough to catch the fullness of the melody or comprehend the visions it carries. I think his song is coming from one of the western beaches, though it is difficult to tell from this far away. He goes there often to sing in the secluded alcoves where scouts and patrols are less likely to intrude. My heart beats faster, spurring me to go to him, to listen without letting a single note escape.
Before I quite realize what I’m doing, I place one foot on the windowsill and then hoist myself up so that I’m standing on the ledge. White-capped waves dance a few feet below me, and the wind whips my loose blonde hair around me.
My heart beats fast as I envision diving into the water and letting the currents carry me closer to the singer. I dig my fingers into the window frame to hold myself back. Swimming to him would be foolish, especially tonight.
My heart clenches with agony. This might be my last chance to be near the dream-singer. For the next ten days I’ll be embroiled in the festivities surrounding the challenge—and after that, I will be someone’s mate. I might not have the freedom to slip away to listen to the song of an elf.
Another fragment of melody wafts around me, piercing my soul. The tears I’ve been holding back finally spill over. If ever I needed the comfort and courage his songs bring, it’s now.
Before I can think better of it, I dive.
As I plunge into the water, my legs meld together and lengthen into a long tail once again. Powerful strokes of my fins carry me far from the palace within moments. The ceremony won’t begin until all the moons have risen, which gives me about an hour to spare. I can still make it back to the palace in time to prepare for tonight.
If I hurry.
I break the surface after a few moments, pausing to listen for his song so I can swim in the right direction. Just as I thought, his voice echoes from the western portion of the shore. The notes are clearer now, and I recognize the melody he’s singing. My heartbeat quickens at the sound, my fears and sorrows pushed aside by a new burst of adrenaline.
As I near the shore, the currents shift. I lurch as a swell lifts me high and then sends me plummeting. I struggle out of the grasp of the powerful wave, only to be caught in another.
You should not be here, Seamother’s daughter.The ocean’s voice fills my mind with a deep thrum.There is nothing here but danger. Nothing but sorrow.
I will be careful,I reply.Be at peace. Let me swim.
The ocean answers with a deep drone that shakes every sinew of my body. I feel the ceaseless anger and fear that pervade the waters, and it calls to mind every desperate, brutal fight of the past five years. The waves rise higher around me, pulling me under and tossing me upward like driftwood.
When my head finally breaks the surface again, the scent of ash burns my nose. The waves are driving me toward the shore, but it’s not the secluded strand of beach I was aiming for. I’ve veered too far north. I can see the aftermath of today’s battle from here, the smoldering ruins of our devastated stronghold still tainting the air with black smoke. My chest constricts with panic at the sight.
I quickly turn back toward the open sea and propel myself against the driving waves, swimming parallel to the shore to reach the singer. The water is murky with ash and debris. Scenes of battle flash in my mind as I swim—not my own memories, but those of the sea. The shattering of ancient stone walls as the dragon riders rained down destruction from the skies. My mother’s screams as her towering waves caught the invaders out of the sky and tore them limb from limb.
I break through the surface of the water. The song fills my ears again, beating back the dark memories.
