Talia pulled her knife free and flicked it at Morveren. It thudded through one of her fins, pinning it to the deck.
Morveren squealed. The sound made Talia flinch, but if there was any magic to the sound, Snow’s circle and the plugs in Talia’s ears blocked it. Talia had aimed for one of the smaller fins near the end of her left tail. There didn’t seem to be any blood, but the wound obviously hurt. Morveren grabbed the knife with both hands, trying to work it free.
“I have more knives,” Talia said. “Explain yourself, mermaid. Lirea asked to be human. You twisted her into something else.”
“She
can’t
be human.” Morveren gave up on the knife and sagged backward. “None of us can.”
“Why not?”
“To be human requires a soul.”
Lannadae grabbed Morveren’s arm. “Grandmother, you can’t believe those horrible tales.”
Morveren slapped Lannadae’s hand. “They’re more than tales, you silly child. We were created incomplete. More animal than human. I’ve studied souls for two centuries. You could stab Lirea’s abalone blade into my chest, and it would kill me as dead as anyone else, but I would not join Gustan and your queen. Nothing of our people survives beyond our death. We are monstrosities, formed of seafoam and magic, but we
can
be more. Through Lirea.”
There was an intensity to her words that made Talia take a step back. If not for Snow’s circle, she would have believed Morveren’s words carried magic. “So you wanted to give Lirea a soul. Gustan’s soul.”
“Not only Lirea,” Morveren said, lunging forward until her chains and the knife in her fin stopped her. “Her children. And her children’s children. A new line of undine, one with the ability to live on land or sea. She will unite the tribes and save our race.”
“And her war against humans?” Talia asked.
“That was unplanned,” Morveren admitted. “Gustan was both aggressive and ambitious. Traits Lirea needed. That’s one of the reasons I pushed them together. I suspect it’s his influence turning her against the humans.”
Trying to reclaim the glory of the Hiladi Empire, Talia guessed. If not for Beatrice, she would have killed Morveren right then.
Lannadae was shaking. “No wonder Lirea hates me. She thinks I helped you to murder Gustan.”
“You didn’t know.” Talia crouched in front of Morveren. “Tell me about the storm that drove Gustan’s ship against the rocks.”
“I was stronger back then. I managed to influence his pet spirits long enough to arrange matters.” Morveren lay back. “I don’t care about your people. Give me the knife. Let me complete my work and save my granddaughter. I’ll make sure she leaves Lorindar in peace.”
“That’s why Snow said the magic in the knife was incomplete.” Talia reached down to tug the knife loose. “Killing Gustan trapped his soul and sustained Lirea, but you weren’t finished. You need to force that soul into her body.”
“I can save your queen and my granddaughter both.”
“I have a better idea. You’ll help Snow to save Beatrice, and then I’ll let Danielle decide whether or not to let you live.”
Morveren spat. “Why should I agree to that?”
Without looking, Talia sent the knife into the meat of Morveren’s tail, near the stump. Morveren’s scream hurt her ears even through the beeswax. Raising her voice, Talia said, “Because Danielle has an overblown streak of mercy, whereas I take a very dark view of people using magic to ‘improve’ their children.”
“My people will remember you as a devil,” Morveren said, clutching her tail. “One who damned us all.”
Talia’s smile was cold enough to make both mermaids flinch. “I’ve been called worse. And anything has to be better than that silly Sleeping Beauty tale.”
Tiny feet dug into Danielle’s ribs. She groaned and rolled over, trying to make room for a child who, despite his size, had somehow managed to claim well over half the bed for himself. She rubbed her eyes and sat up, balancing on the edge of the mattress. Armand lay on the opposite side, his position equally precarious. Danielle dimly remembered carrying Jakob into the room late last night, but she couldn’t recall when Armand had finally come to bed.
Sleep was a losing battle, but she tried again. Moments later, she heard the privy door creaking open. “She stole it!”
The indignation in Snow’s voice brought Danielle fully awake. Stifling a yawn, she climbed out of bed and crossed to the doorway. “What?”
“The knife. Talia took it.” Snow waved a crumpled piece of paper in Danielle’s face. Her clothes were rumpled. She hadn’t even taken the time to change before coming to see Danielle. Her eyes were shadowed, and she still tended to squint.
Danielle pried the note from Snow’s hand and held it to the light of Snow’s choker. “She says to meet her in the chapel when you wake up.”
“That’s another thing! She put me to sleep!”
Danielle glanced back, but neither Jakob nor Armand had stirred. Taking Snow by the hand, she dragged her out into the hallway and shut the door. “She should have made you sleep longer. You’re grumpy.”
Snow drew herself up. “I am not! I’m trying to save Beatrice’s life.”
“So am I.” Danielle waited a heartbeat, watching Snow’s eyes narrow with suspicion. “Talia took the knife because I told her to.”
“I told you I could—”
“You were exhausted,” Danielle said. “You’re still hurt. I’m amazed you made it up that ladder.”
“I stopped to rest a lot,” Snow admitted. She snatched the note back and crumpled it into a pouch on her belt. “Where did she go?”
“To get Morveren.” Danielle peeked back into the room while Snow fumed. Armand and Jakob were both still asleep. “Wait here.”
She stepped inside and dressed as hastily as she could, while Snow fumed.
“I’ll get her for this,” Snow was muttering when Danielle returned. “The next time she smokes that pipe of hers, I’m changing it into a newt.”
“Aren’t you the one who used magic on Talia to get that knife in the first place?” Danielle asked.
“That’s right, tease the cranky sorceress. Don’t think I’m letting you off the hook either. It’s going to be newts for everyone.”
Danielle fastened the clasp of her cloak as they walked outside. Dew covered the grass of the courtyard. She waved to the gardener, who was already up and pulling slugs from the young shoots.
“Slugs might work, too,” Snow said thoughtfully.
“Tell me the truth. Could you even read those books you had out, or were you too exhausted?”
Snow stuck out her tongue.
Incense made Danielle’s eyes water as she stepped into the chapel. She spotted Talia at the front of the church. Beside her, Morveren rested on the steps which led up to the altar. Lannadae was here as well, curled up next to her grandmother.
“She shouldn’t be here with Queen Bea,” said Snow.
“Father Isaac agreed it was safe.” Talia pointed to one of the incense burners. “The potion should work on undine as well as humans, so she can’t use her magic against us. This place is as safe as her prison on the
Phillipa
. Safer, really. Even if she tried to escape, where is she going to go?”
Danielle frowned. There was a fresh bandage on one of Morveren’s tails. “What did it take to persuade her?”
“Talia and I have already spoken of her ‘persuasion, ’ ” said Father Isaac, emerging from the vestibule at the back of the chapel. He carried Lirea’s knife in both hands. “While I can understand her urgency, I fear her passion will lead her down dark paths.”
“You have no idea,” said Talia.
Snow stomped through the church and snatched the knife before whirling on Talia. “How did you trick me into falling asleep, anyway? I don’t remember drinking anything.”
“Magic.” Talia waved her fingers. “Now sit down. If you’re going to break Morveren’s spells, you need to know the truth about what she tried to do.”
Danielle walked slowly through the palace, Armand at her side. She was still trying to process everything Talia had shared. How many people had died because of Morveren’s quest to “improve” her race? “Do you believe her? That the undine have no souls?”
Armand shrugged. “There are some who say the same of the fairy folk. I’m told there was a time women were thought to be soulless as well, and children weren’t named or accepted as human until their fourth birthday.”
“But Morveren’s magic lets her manipulate souls. Wouldn’t she know the truth?”
“Perhaps,” he admitted. “Or perhaps the undine are simply different.”
They had just reached the kitchen when a page came running. “Princess Whiteshore,” he gasped. “Captain Varisto demands you meet with him.”
“Thank you, Fenton.” Danielle stared longingly through the kitchen door, inhaling the smell of fresh-baked bread and cinnamon. “I suppose I should be grateful he waited this long.”
“I’ll grab something for you,” Armand promised. “You go get ready.”
“What do you mean?”
Armand’s eyebrow quirked. “You’re going to be meeting with a prince of Hilad. You might want to run a brush through that hair, and maybe even grab that crown you love so much.”
Danielle groaned and turned back toward her room.
Two handmaidens were already waiting when she arrived. Before she could protest, they began stuffing her into a formal forest green gown, cinching the waist tightly enough to interfere with her breathing.
“What have you done to yourself?” asked the older girl, Aimee. She grabbed a hank of Danielle’s hair and tugged a comb through the ends. “Did you spend your entire time at sea standing in the wind, just to make our jobs more difficult?”
Danielle grimaced, but didn’t struggle. She had learned a long time ago that fighting only made it worse. “If I’d had to endure this to attend the ball, I think I would have left Armand to my stepsisters.”
The other girl, Sandra, pressed a hand to her mouth to cover a giggle. She turned away to pull out a drawer at the base of the wardrobe, retrieving a pair of glass slippers.
Danielle shook her head hard enough to yank the comb from Aimee’s hands. “I haven’t been able to fit into those since before I had Jakob.”
Armand returned a while later, bearing a cinnamon-topped pastry in one hand. He pressed it into Danielle’s hand, then retrieved her sword from beside the bed where she had left it the night before.
“Bless you,” Danielle said, taking an enormous bite of the pastry. Armand stepped around behind her, strapping the sword belt to her waist despite Aimee’s protests.
“She’s meeting a Hiladi prince,” Armand said. “If she goes unarmed, he’ll believe her weak. Given that they’ve already faced one another in battle, he’ll likely take it as an insult.” He stepped back and gave Danielle an appraising look. “You shouldn’t need to use it, as long as you refrain from any further insults. But carrying a weapon means you respect him as a threat.”
Aimee stood on her toes to set Danielle’s crown onto her brow. The braided circlet of silver and gold was heavier than it looked. The metal felt cold against her forehead. She closed her eyes as Sandra dabbed an eye-watering scent onto her neck.
“How did he find out about our . . . visit to Hilad?” she asked.
Armand shook his head. “I don’t see how the undine could have reached him so quickly, and I can’t imagine he sailed close enough to spy on you. Not without Hephyra noticing. That woman has eyes like a hawk.”
“I’ve never seen eyes so green,” Danielle said.
Armand snorted. “You should see her in the fall. They change with the seasons, turning the most amazing shade of hazel.”
Danielle stood as her handmaidens adjusted her hair, her gown, and even tugged her sword belt around so the hilt rested at a more attractive, if less practical angle. “The gem in the pommel doesn’t really match the gown,” Aimee said. “Sandra, get the ocean-blue gown with the gold—”
“Don’t make me use this,” Danielle said, laying a hand on her sword.
Armand smiled and offered an arm. “Are you ready?”
Danielle’s throat went dry as it sank in. She was about to meet with a foreign prince. A prince who had the might of the Hiladi Empire behind him. A single misspoken word and history would remember Cinderella not as a filthy girl who won a prince but as a foolish princess who helped plunge Lorindar into war. “Is it all right if I throw up first?”
He lowered his voice. “The first time my father presented me at court, I was so nervous I forgot to relieve myself beforehand. By the time I was introduced to the last baron, it was a miracle I wasn’t standing in a puddle.”
“Are you sure you or the king wouldn’t be better off—”
“My father has enough to worry about.”
“Of course,” Danielle said, guilt rushing through her. “I’m sorry.”
“I’d talk to Varisto if I could.” Armand shook his head. “His grievance is with you. I’ll be there, but you have to face him.” He led her toward the door. “He’s waiting in the courtyard, by the fountain.”