The Surface Breaks(19)

“What?” I say, and the water is ice suddenly, frost chipping into my bones. “What are you talking about?”

He tilts his head to one side, a smirk playing on his lips. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, don’t you? I saw you. I saw you the night of the storm.”

“But, but you never go to the—”

“—dragging that human away from the Salka.”

My hands are trembling so I clasp them together to make them stop, as if in prayer. “That isn’t true. I don’t know what you think you saw, Zale, but—”

“Don’t lie to me,” he barks, and I shut up. “I wanted to keep an eye on you, little one, your mother’s blood is in you. I wanted to make sure that, along with her red hair and her—” he stares at my breasts and I resist the urge to shudder “—form, you had not also inherited other, more displeasing traits. It was such a disappointment to discover the truth, but don’t worry,” he says, and he rubs his tongue against his top teeth as if he’s sharpening it. “I can purify you. I can purify you in ways that you have never imagined. It would be my pleasure.”

“Zale,” I say. I begin to drop down into my room, too weak to stay afloat, and he follows closely. “Zale, I beg you. Please don’t tell my father. There hasn’t been any word from the Sea Witch, no hint of a reprisal. No one need know. This could be forgotten—”

“Oh, I don’t think I’ll be forgetting this in a hurry.”

“What do you want from me?” I say, sinking on to the bed, fear spinning me dizzy.

“Well,” he says, tapping his fingers against his jaw line in an exaggerated pose of thoughtfulness, “there is one thing you could do.”

“What?” I’ll do anything he wants. Anything. So long as my father does not find out.

“You think I don’t see how you flinch when I look at you? How you pull away when I touch you?”

“I don’t—”

“Yes, you do,” he says matter-of-factly. “I don’t mind a bit of reluctance. That can be fun, actually. But in public? It won’t do, not any more. I won’t be made into a laughing stock.” He places his hands on my waist, leaning in to whisper in my ear. “You will be mine soon, little one; you had better get used to it.”

“Are you going to tell my father?”

“I haven’t decided yet. But what fun I am going to have with you in the meantime.” He tightens his grip and claims my lips with his, his cold tongue invading my mouth like a greasy sea slug. “Goodnight.”

As the door closes behind him, I can feel my stomach clenching, propelling something up through my chest and my throat, spewing out of my lips. A dark yellow cloud, a shadow on the waves, floating away from me. And I watch it dance.

That was my first kiss.





CHAPTER SEVEN

Time passes, as it always does in the kingdom. The winter festival comes and goes. The court room is adorned with silver and gold in its honour, and goblets are held in the air to toast the Sea King. “Thank you for your graciousness,” the mer-folk say. “Thank you, Sea King, oh, blessed Sea King.” The chorus maids sing songs celebrating the ice, thanking the winter gods for another year of peace.

Peace. Yet I do not feel relief. I don’t feel very much at all. I have become resigned to my fate: I will never know true love. This is as good as it gets for maids like me, maids who should be content with beauty, wealth, status. Perhaps it is greedy for me to want to be happy too. But I am hungry, so hungry, for something more. My desire is carving a hole in my stomach, leaving me hollow.

“Sing,” my father says to me as the festival celebrations become wilder, his eyes blurring from the drink. “Sing, my darling.” (That’s what Oliver called Viola, my darling.) Thinking of that night, I sing a song of my heart; something strange, full of longing. I sing a song for him. When I am finished, the crowd is quiet, some wiping tears from their eyes. “That was fine,” my father says. “Though a tad melancholic for my tastes. Remember, Muirgen, the winter festival is supposed to be a celebration.”

I am still my father’s favourite; Zale kept his promise and has not told him of my misdeed. And I uphold my side of our bargain as well. He continues to visit, late at night when everyone else sleeps. I envy them that. They still possess an innocence that I will never know again. He does not take my purity – he knows that would be a step too far without my father’s blessing. But he is rough with me. He pulls my hair, his fingers forceful on my skin, leaving discoloured marks that I struggle to explain to my grandmother and sisters in the days following. “You’re hurting me,” I tell him, and he only laughs. “Better get used to it, little one,” he replies.

Spring breaks slowly that year, spilling light through the water. The eggs hatch, the next generation of mer-babies unfurling themselves in a new world. There are more girls born this year than ever before. I want to tell them to be careful. I want to tell them to swim away at first light. I want to hold a pillow over their mewling faces and bury their last breath inside their mouths. They would be safe then, safe from men who watch them all the time. Men who come to your bedroom every night, demanding you pay the toll for their silence.

When Zale leaves, I curl up in a ball, nursing my disgust like I am feeding an infant at my breast. Summer will be here soon, I think. Summer means my sixteenth birthday. It means a bonding ceremony with Zale. This summer will also bring the anniversary of the shipwreck, of the boy in my arms on that beach. Watching as he was re-born and the humans took him, helping him to his feet, helping him walk away from me. He didn’t look back. I’ve stopped going to the surface to try and find him. I spend my days lying in bed, weary, staring at the water-softened sky, jolting at every unfamiliar sound for fear that it is Zale.