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The two-story circular door rolls into place, and we step into a crystal-clear tunnel until lights illuminate the ocean. Neither the sky nor the ocean floor is visible. Colorful fish dart around, like I’ve seen in the Boston aquarium. Only now I’m in the aquarium and they’re the ones outside looking at me. A large octopus floats by, its tentacles grabbing at the curved outer walls. The sides of its suckers move along the glass, and I want to stop and watch. So fluid, yet articulated. I loved going to the aquarium during my first years in Boston. I’d drag anyone I could. Mostly it was my freshman roommate, and she was scared of the glass breaking and all the animals floating down around us—mostly the sharks. She was scared to death of the sharks. But the eels too. No amount of my logical math and theories of volume helped; the fish would be left without any water, too busy gasping for oxygen to menace us. I suppose now I understand. Kind of. I can breathe underwater now. Still, I hope this glass doesn’t go anywhere.
Castor’s hand rests at the base of my back, gently guiding me along the tunnel. Everyone who passes him greets him or inclines their head. One mermaid we pass stops to curtsy and gives him a ridiculous giggle when she says hello.
Castor is not stopping, though. He deftly guides me through the crowd and out of the tunnel, into a room even larger than the one for the docking. But here, instead of the dark opulence of the docking dome, the atmosphere is light and airy. It’s enormous, the size of two stadiums built side by side. The soaring ceiling is taller than anything I’ve ever imagined, with stalagmites jutting up around the space reaching for ones dripping from the ceiling. Everything is glass. It’s like we’ve stepped inside a grand cavern made of ice. I’m not cold, but I’m shivering. It is beautiful in its own way.
“Are you warm enough? It’s only a little longer, but you can have my coat.”
“I can make it.” While I wouldn’t mind his coat, he’s already putting himself out by being seen with me. If I’ve learned anything in the last few days, it’s that the Veiled City likes their appearances. And I’m not going to do anything to jeopardize his future. “What is this place?”
“This is one of the showcase domes. Our form of art.” Castor craned his neck around. “We’ve got a moment.” He veers us off to the side of the dome to look out the window.
Beyond the glass, fish swim around but also mermen. No, not mermen, children... five, no six. They swirl above the large stalagmites, their hands trailing along the glass as they dart in and out chasing fish, chasing each other’s tails.
“Children.” I laugh. The sight of them playing brings me such joy.
“We call them podlets. It’s a playground like you have in your human schools.”
“They’re all boys.” I cock my head at Castor.
“In my mother’s generation, there was one mermaid for every seven born a male. In mine, it was one female for every ten males. Now, it’s one for every fifteen. We won’t last long if we don’t solve our problem.”
I nod, watching a boy, a podlet with a long green fluke, chase another with a deep blue fluke. “Do the colors of their flukes”—I pause because everything is still so new to me—“mean anything?”
“No, nothing really. The folktales say that a great royal will have a purple fluke. Which isn’t a color that’s been born in a long time. Most have green.”
I saw him dive into the bubbler. His was a dark gray-blue. “Yours isn’t purple.” More swimmers have arrived.
“No. I’m not concerned. It’s just an old tale for the elders to spew on about.”
People mill about, and as long as we stand next to the window watching the podlets play, no one grabs for Castor’s attention. The young ones are so graceful in their games, doing flips and floating between the rocks.
Castor laughs and nods his head at a group near the corner. “They remind me of me and my friends as kids.”
I smile and watch them. They’re tossing a ball of sorts back and forth. Until a slow fish gets in the middle of their circle and one male scoops it up, taking it outside their play zone.
Castor laughs again. “That would be Holter. Always taking care of everyone.”
I nod. “That makes sense.”
“The one who’s pointing at things? Atlas. The one who just cheated—did you see that? He totally cheated.”
I shrug because I don’t know what the rules are.
“That’s Eros.”
“Which one are you?”
“The one who scored, of course.”
“And Nico?”
“He’s the one doing the real work.” Castor inclines his head to a male in the back.
I would have thought he’d call him something else, like the grumpy one or the one with no social skills, but no. Castor really does love Nico. I glance up at him.
“Don’t worry. I’m going to save him. We’ll get your mate back.”
“It’s crazy, but I believe you.”
