The Surface Breaks(64)

“All mermaids used to have powers, Muirgen.” Ceto hands me a towel to wrap around my feet. I hadn’t even noticed the wounds had re-opened, spilling their guts on to the floor. I look at them in disgust. What I would give to have my tail back. “The powers would develop the day we came of age, when our bodies decided that we were women now. But we were told such powers weren’t mermaid-like. We were told that no mer-man would want to be bonded with us if we were more powerful than they were. They warned us that our powers made us too loud. Too shrill. And so women became quiet because we were promised that we would be happier that way. And our powers were lost. And it happened so quickly too. That which we take for granted can so easily be taken away from us, if we do not remain vigilant.”

I reach out for something to steady myself, shooting stars bursting bright in my chest. But not yours, Ceto? Your powers remained.

She laughs, showing perfect teeth. “No, not mine. I was too stubborn for that.”

And my mother? I feel a growing sense of pride, something I have never associated with my mother. My mother didn’t give up either?

“Muireann was stubborn too, but she was better at hiding it than I was. No one even knew about her powers, especially not the Sea King. He would never have married her if he had been aware. But she only had enough powers for herself; she couldn’t ensure the safety of all you six girls as well. That’s why she came to me, begging for help again. She wanted to flee from your father and take you with her, onto land. But I could not perform that spell without extracting a price, like I did with you,” Ceto says. “The magic is too deep for that. Muireann would not allow my blade to touch your flesh, nor that of your sisters. And so, she let Alexander go. And she returned to the kingdom. She wanted to be home in time for her baby’s birthday, she said.”

But we were told that—

“I see your sisters brought you the blade,” she interrupts my thoughts. The knife is still clasped in my right hand. I hadn’t even noticed. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to do what was needed of you. You are too soft.”

If you thought I was soft, why did you perform the magic? If you were so keen to appease my mother’s memory, why did you do the one thing to me that she didn’t want you to do?

“Your mother did not realize how desperate her youngest daughter would become.” The Sea Witch bends her neck to one side, then the other, and I listen to the cracking joints. “I believe she would have approved of my decision, or understood it, at the very least. And I hoped that Oliver would fall for you, I really did, but I told myself that if he did not, I would come back for you. I would offer you another way.”

Another way? I am too tired to do more than stare at her sullenly. I will die when the sun rises. You have doomed me to my death.

“No,” she says. “You have a choice.”

What choice? I am not used to choices.

“You can go to the deck,” she says, brightening at my flicker of interest, however reluctant. “As the sun begins to rise – and it will rise very soon, little mermaid, do not be mistaken, my powers cannot stop the day from turning over – you can take the dagger and pierce your own heart with it.”

No. I feel winded, as if she has sucked all the breath out of me and left me panting for air.

“Your body will fall into the sea,” she says. “Where my Salkas will be waiting for you. They will take you to the Shadowlands. I will make the necessary preparations there.” She bends down to where I am sitting on the floor and puts a hand on my hair with such tenderness that something unspools inside of me, softly. “I will confess that it seems a shame to see this red hair turned green.”

I shove her away from me. I could never be a Salka.

“And why not?”

(The Salkas are different to you and I, my father said, they are not of royal birth. Do not mistake them for anything less than pathetic and vicious creatures that must be controlled at all costs. My sisters and I nodding in agreement.)

I look at her directly to emphasize my argument. The Salkas are ugly and angry and—

“And don’t they have something to be angry about?” Ceto says, her lip curling in disgust. “You think your life has been difficult, Princess Muirgen. You don’t know the meaning of the word.”

I try and stand, my hand reached out to her. Begging for leniency. But the Salkas—

“The Salkas are the jilted, the victims, the orphans, and the abused.” Ceto’s eyes flash in irritation. “They deserve your sympathy. It is a hard thing to be a woman in this world, whether beneath the sea or if you break the surface. You had a taste of that tonight, did you not?” (Rupert’s hand around my throat, the other pulling at my undergarments, seeking his pleasure without permission. I don’t think he would have enjoyed it as much if I hadn’t struggled.) “The Salkas have endured much worse than that,” Ceto continues. “There was no one there to hear them scream no. Or maybe there was; but that no wasn’t deemed worthy of being heard. Maybe they heard it and they didn’t care. A woman’s no can so easily be turned into a yes by men who do not want to listen.”

I picture myself up on the deck, raising the knife, stabbing it deep, vomiting blood through my teeth. My sisters screaming. I can’t do that to my own body. I cannot inflict any more harm upon myself.

“Gaia,” she says, using my real name for the first time. “I am not sure a return to your father’s kingdom is a good idea. I told Muireann the same, when she came to me on your birthday. I warned her. Go to Alexander, I said, and I will find a way of getting the children to you afterwards. I promised her that I would find a way, and yet she went back to the kingdom’s nursery anyway. She couldn’t bear the thought of missing your birthday, I would wager. That was her mistake.” Ceto takes a deep breath. “It was her last mistake. My brother made sure of that.”