Part of Your World (Twisted Tales)(8)

Or, far more importantly, a reef suddenly turned white and died for no apparent cause. Or the diamondback terrapins couldn’t make it to their favorite nesting place because there were houses there now. Or the humans had managed to catch—and eat—an entire delegation from the northern seas. Or the number of fishing vessels was getting too large to ignore, to relegate to the unwritten and ancient Dry World–Sea World laws of yore.

Yet despite these much more pressing concerns, cousin Yerena still complained about the branzinos and her garden and “their ugly faces.”

It made Ariel irritable just thinking about it.

Besides general grumpiness, there was another more serious similarity between the king and his daughter. Any joy Triton had taken in life, even with his daughters, was constantly shadowed by sorrow over his dead wife.

Any respite Ariel took in her new life was constantly shadowed by her sorrow and guilt over her dead father.

And so she ruled, firmly and well, but silently and with much melancholy.

She cleared her throat, one of the few noises she could still make, and was leaning forward to give the little crab a piece of her mind when Flounder came swimming up.

Her old friend was larger and happily fatter than when they had first set out to the surface years ago. He had a medallion around his neck to show rank; the imprint of the trident meant he was in the innermost ring of the royal circle. But unlike the adorable little helper fish and servant seahorses, he didn’t turn his chest into the light or waggle to make the golden disk extra obvious. He remained, despite the years and accumulated wisdom, likable, down-to-seafloor Flounder.

“My Queen!”

He swooped in front of her, ignoring Sebastian, and gave the low bow that was required of all but Ariel usually tried to stop—at least from him and Sebastian.

Ariel cocked her head at him: go on.

“I’ve just had some strange—really, really strange—news from a plaice, who heard it from a turtle, who heard it from a dolphin….Wait, I think it was the plaice from the turtle. There might have been another messenger in between. A bluefish, maybe?”

He felt Ariel’s impatience before she even displayed it.

“There is a seagull on the surface who claims to have news for your ears only.”

Ariel’s eyes widened.

She signed carefully, spelling out the name.

Is it Scuttle?

“No, My Queen,” Flounder said, trying not to show his own disappointment. “It was hard to make out through all of the…parties involved, but I believe it is a younger one, and a female.”

Ariel practically wilted.

Seagulls were useless. Scuttle was a rare bird. Scattered but goodhearted, prone to flights of exaggeration, but a true friend. It should have been him coming to visit.

For several years after the day she lost her father, Ariel had tried to return to the land to see Eric and to take revenge on Ursula. But the wily sea witch had used her now very prosaic powers as a human princess to set guards all along the coast—officially, in “case of an enemy kingdom attack, or pirates.” In some cases, close to the castle, guards were literally stationed in the water, up to their calves.

With Scuttle’s help Ariel had tried to evade the guards, sneaking in while the gull whipped up a distraction. But it was never enough, and the men were all on high alert for strange, witchy red-haired girls.

After a while, and after much insistence from Sebastian and her sisters, Ariel gave up and returned to her life under the sea permanently. At the very least she could respect the memory of her father by devoting herself to her duties as queen. She had vowed to forget the Dry World forever.

Even Scuttle.

“But…it’s a seagull. So doesn’t that mean Scuttle has to be involved somehow?” Flounder pointed out, trying to cheer her up. “It would be really, really bizarre if some random gull came to talk to you. But I didn’t double-check on the origin of the story. I didn’t want to break your ban on going to the surface.”

Ariel swished her tail thoughtfully.

“Don’t even think about it,” Sebastian growled. “I know what you’re thinking. It’s just a silly seabird. Don’t even consider it, young lady.”

Ariel raised an eyebrow at him incredulously. Young lady? In the years that had passed since the duel with the sea witch, she had aged. Not dramatically, but far more than a mostly immortal mermaid should have. There was something about her eyes—they were deeper, wiser, and wearier than when she was a young mer who had never been on dry land. Her cheeks weren’t quite as plump anymore; the angles of her face were more pronounced. Sometimes she wondered if she looked like her mother…aside from her own unreliable memories, the only physical evidence of the former queen was a statue in the castle of her and Triton dancing together. But it was all pale milky marble, no colors at all. Dead.

Ariel’s hair no longer flowed behind her as it once had; handmaidens and decorator crabs kept it braided and coiffed, snug and businesslike under the great golden crown that sat on her temples, like the gods wore. Small gold and aquamarine earrings sparkled regally but didn’t tinkle; they were quite understated and professional. Her only real nod to youth was the golden ring in the upper part of her left ear.

“Young lady,” indeed.

She didn’t even have to sign, You cannot talk to me that way anymore, little crab. I am queen now.