Part of Your World (Twisted Tales)(9)

Sebastian sighed, sounding old in his exasperation. “I’m sorry for speaking out of turn. I can’t help it. Nothing good comes out of you going up there…nothing ever has. I just…I just don’t want to see you hurt or disappointed again.”

Ariel gave him the tiniest smile and tapped him once on the back fondly. Sometimes it was hard to remember that much of Sebastian’s attitude was only for show. Underneath, he really did have—what he thought were—her best interests at heart.

But she was a grown-up now, and queen, and her best interests were none of his business. She turned to sign to the little seahorse who floated silently at attention, fins quivering, waiting for orders.

Threll, please tell the Queen’s Council that I will be taking this afternoon off. Flounder will be accompanying me. Sebastian is nominally in charge until I return, though no votes or decisions are to be made in my absence.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” The little seahorse bowed and zoomed off into the water.

“My Queen, as thrilled as I am…” Sebastian began.

But Ariel was already turned upward, and kicking hard to the surface.





Mermaid queens didn’t often have a reason to move quickly. There were no wars to direct, no assassination attempts to evade, no crowds of clamoring admirers to avoid among the merfolk. In fact, slowness and calm were expected of royalty.

So Ariel found herself thoroughly enjoying the exercise as she beat her tail against the water—even as it winded her a little. She missed dashing through shipwrecks with Flounder, fleeing sharks, trying to scoot back home before curfew. She loved the feel of her powerful muscles, the way the current cut around her when she twisted her shoulders to go faster.

She hadn’t been this far up in years and gulped as the pressure of the deep faded. She clicked her ears, readying them for the change of environment. Colors faded and transformed around her from the dark, heady slate of the ocean bottom to the soothing azure of the middle depths and finally lightening to the electric, magical periwinkle that heralded the burst into daylight.

She hadn’t planned to break through the surface triumphantly. She wouldn’t give it that power. Her plan was to take it slow and rise like a whale. Casually, unperturbed, like Ooh, here I am.

But somehow her tail kicked in twice as hard the last few feet, and she exploded into the warm sunlit air like she had been drowning.

She gulped again and tasted the breeze—dry in her mouth; salt and pine and far-distant fires and a thousand alien scents…

A small gull sat riding the waves, regarding her curiously.

Ariel composed herself, remembering who she was. Trying not to delight in the way the water streamed down her neck; how it dried from her hair, lightening it. Flounder whirled around her body anxiously before popping up beside her.

She signed: I am told you have a message for me.

But before Flounder could translate, before she could stop herself, Ariel signed again:

Do you know Scuttle? Where is he? Why isn’t Scuttle here?

“Queen Ariel was told you have a message for her,” the fish told the gull solemnly. “However, she was expecting her old friend Scuttle. He is the only bird she has ever been close to.”

“You are correct to assume it was he who sent me out here. Great-Grandfather Scuttle couldn’t make it this far,” the seagull answered. “How are you breathing?”

It took Ariel a moment to fully register the second part of what the bird had said.

What?

She didn’t even have to sign it.

The seagull cocked her head at the mermaid and stared at her, unblinking. “You went from under the water to above water with no trouble at all. Since you live underwater all the time, I assume it’s not that you can just hold your breath forever—like if you were a magical whale, say. And you have no gills like a salamander. So how are you breathing?”

“You do not address the queen of Atlantica that way,” Flounder chastised. Ariel was impressed by how grown-up he sounded, unruffled by the weird conversation.

“Pardon,” the seagull said immediately, dipping her head.

Ariel twirled her trident casually, letting the water fly from it in a hundred sparkling droplets. Although the merfolk accepted her lineage and rights to the crown immediately, there had still been a definite period of adjustment while they still thought of her as the pretty, carefree baby girl of Triton. Some spoke to her far too patronizingly, some spoke to her far too familiarly. And some folk of non-mer persuasion (sharks, mainly) had needed several displays of her anger before they acknowledged her authority.

But she didn’t think that was what was going on with this odd little seagull. There was no judgment in the bird’s expression. Just fascination. She had probably never seen a mermaid before. Ariel could have been a sea slug or a demon and the gull would have asked the same question.

What is your name? Ariel asked.

“Jona,” the bird said with a little bow after Flounder had translated. “But…if you talk to my great-grandfather at all, he may refer to me—incorrectly—as Jonathan. Jonathan Livingston. He’s a little confused sometimes.”

Ariel smiled, thinking that sounded exactly like Scuttle.

“Why don’t you tell the queen everything, starting from the beginning, Jona?” Flounder suggested.

So the gull told the tale of watching the opera with her great-grandfather, and her great-grandfather’s reaction to it. She told of their flight to the castle and spying on Vanessa, and the revelation of the existence of Triton. She told it succinctly and perfectly: no unwanted description, dialogue, or personal observation. Ariel wasn’t sure how exactly she could have been descended from the absentminded Scuttle. Maybe an egg got misplaced from another nest.