Verse XVI

  It was the start of their seventh morning in the Mere Sangolia. Dawn had broken, spilling golden light across the firmament, and for a wonder Rhiela was awake to see it. She had risen early every day that week, a fact which she attributed to not having her usual, comfortable hammock to sleep in.

  Nor her usual, comfortable Marai to share it with. She greeted the morning light with a sigh. Marai would be proud of how the princess spent her waking hours. With nothing better to do, Rhiela had no choice but to study like she had never studied before. At stake was her entire purpose and place within this little school of theirs, and she had no doubt that the sour-faced mer with the red scales would dump her at the first convenient spot if she did not give a reason not to. So every morning she would wake up, greet Ardenne as the green mer left to hunt, and practice her rune-craft.

  This morning, she had a specific task in mind. Rhiela checked the notes on the scallop in her hands, fingers following the sharply etched runes with the ease of frequent practice. Handing the shell over to Rook, the princess held her hands straight out with the palms up, and opened her mind. Her imagination drew the runes above each outstretched finger, and as she sang them in turn they spread to form a perfect circle around her hands. Delicate lines of light linked the runes in their mystic grammar, forming the lattice of the spell. Finally, the trigger word shot from her mouth, passing through the center of the imagined pattern and making it quite real. Tiny currents curved around her limbs as the twin kinetic forces of ebb and flow reached a new harmony, as dictated by her words, and a circular plane formed in the morning waters.

  It was described as a defensive spell in the rune library, a shield to deflect physical weapons or runic attacks. It was also, she could see now, quite serviceable as a mirror. Her face was reflected in its still surface, a little thinner than she remembered--but then again, she was not eating as well as she was accustomed. Rhiela stroked back a span from the mirror so that she could see herself better, only to have the shock of her life.

  "Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaugh!"

  *

  "Okay, okay." Sera was fighting a losing battle to contain the giggles within her chest. "Didn't quite catch that. You said the problem was what?"

  "My hair!" wailed Her Wobbliness. Rhiela pulled on one golden tress for emphasis. About halfway along, the color began to mellow and darken, until by the roots it was a decent, if ordinary, brown. "What's happening?"

  She delighted in the princess's panic, Sera did. Little chum was sending herself into such a frothing fit, and it was a shame they had to burst the bubble on such entertainment.

  "Had your hair done recently, princess? Binding it with weeds, perhaps? Once a week or so?"

  "Twice a week, but yes. What of it? It's just to keep my hair healthy and prevent the ends from splitting. The palace servants took care of all that. It's not easy to take care of at this length, you know. The last time was, oh, two days before the big ceremony."

  Sera couldn't help herself now. Barely repressed giggles were unleashed upon the waters as full-throated guffaws. The sight of the princess, caught halfway between shock and outrage, only spurred her on.

  "What's the ruckus?" Jumilla called to them.

  "This... this... little chum--oh, this is too rich!--been living a lie, all these years, and, and she never-ever realized!" Now the rogue was clutching at her sides from laughter. "The... the... --ha! ha!-- the royal family's so depths-taken proud of, of their golden hair and scales and... and...--ha ha ha ha..." She needed to stop laughing, even as she knew that she could not. Too much air had escaped her bladders, bubbling up towards the firmament until she risked complete deflation. But it was just so hilarious! "They've, they've colored her up all her life, just to-to-to keep up the pretense!"

  Oh deary day, what her friends in Mezzeret would say when they heard! This would keep everyone chortling for weeks. Even now, as she completely lost buoyancy and drifted to the sandy bottom, she was giggling like a mad mer. Everyone stared at her like she was one, too, which only proved that they couldn't appreciate good humor if it were thrust wobblies-first in their faces.

  Once she'd settled down a bit, Jumilla helped reinflate her air bladders. Perhaps it was because she was in a better mood, or because there was no immediate threat to her life, but this time Sera definitely enjoyed the process more. Maybe the twin was simply a better kisser than Ardenne? The rogue decided she might need to investigate this possibility again sometime... but not now. The others were waiting for an explanation.

  "So, ahem, continuing on..." Sera massaged the sides of her chest and winked to Jumilla. The twin blushed, and she had to contain another giggle. "Okay. Simple enough. Royals always claimed a special connection to the Goddess, right?"

  "We are the descendants of Branduin, First of the First Daughters below the firmament!"

  "Save it for another time, little chum. Anyways, that bright yellow mess of hair they all have, it's supposed to look like the Goddess's own. How we can know this is true when all the statues are based on royals to begin with, I dunno, but!" Sera held up her hands to forestall the princess, and maybe to cop a feel if the royal wobblies came too close. "But, the problem is that daughters don't always take after their mothers as much as they'd like. Usually do, but not always. Ardenne being a prime example."

  Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

  The all nodded at that. The hunter--and where had that idiot swum off to this morning, she wondered--had her mother's face and build, or at least the shadow of it, but that hair...

  "Guessing that the royal ministry saw your hair getting darker early on, and kept treating it regular-like so's none would notice you don't look the part all through and through."

  "But, but, Mother has to do it, too!" cried the princess.

  "She does? Nice to see the fraud flows through the whole house like that."

  Oooooh... that hit a nerve, it did. Sera could get a good look at the royal roots now, as the princess's hair about stood on end, so angry was the little chum. She was tempted to take a knife and chop it all off, right her and right now. That would serve the twit right, and make her easier to hide at the same time.

  "I am only going to say this once, you ill-bred, lobster-headed ingrate," the princess declared in her huffiest, wobbliest, hauteur.

  "All ears, little chum."

  "I have never--"

  They did not get to hear whatever it was that the princess had never done. For the life of her, Sera could not imagine much that Rhiela might not have done, up to and including kissing a grouper on the mouth, but she was willing to overlook such little foibles when they were so entertaining.

  No one could ignore the interruption, however. It was a low, loud moan, lofted upon a current of pain and ache. Messra Diana would cry out once or twice an hour, but this time was different. This time, it ended on something intelligible.

  "...mmm... oh... where! Where am I?"

  Suddenly, the matter of Rhiela's roots did not seem so important.

  Verse XVII

  Hunting had been good that morning. A school of bream here, a few groupers there, and little clams up in the shallow heights--the reef was full of sustenance when one knew where to look. Ardenne had even found a patch of pearl root plants in a little stretch of silt, far from where they usually grew. She had taken a few but left the rest to grow strong. They would make a wonderful gift for Lyrika that afternoon, when the two of them had next planned to meet. Thoughts of the mottled brown mer's warmest thanks, expressed in quick little kisses, kept her warm all the way back to camp, where the others awaited their lunch.

  It was a routine, and one that Ardenne was already comfortable with. The late morning water made for a calm passage between the warm waters of the heights and the cool tensions of the campsite.

  Those same senses that served her so well on the reefs told her that something was wrong as soon as she swam into camp. No one was out in the open, and the waters were hushed, but the sand around the big tent had been disturbed by the strokes of many flukes.

  "Ardy!" Rook's head poked out from the kelpen canvas, and a freckled arm waved her over. "Yer mom's awake!"

  That energized her like nothing else. Ardenne was across the sand and at the entrance before the orange mer's words could fade from the waters. She pulled the flaps wide, but could go no further for all the mers already crowded within.

  "About time you got here," said Sera. The red mer was feeling Mother's forehead and checking her eyes. "Busy time fishing? Or just avoiding us all some more?"

  "Oh, don't be like that!" And now the princess was adding her words to the already crowded waters. "We all need to eat, after all."

  A snort cut through. "The way you tuck in, I'm surprised you're not even more top-heavy, brownie."

  "How dare you! I ought to--"

  Diana's body shook with violent coughs, and the noise brought silence to the tent. "Who... who are you all..." The question was hard-won, and the words almost too pained to flow from the older mer's mouth.

  "We're friends, Messra Diana," the princess said in a soothing voice. The words flowed easily, as if from long practice. "My name is Rhiela."

  As Ardenne watched the conversation unfold, she heard Rook's whisper arrive on quiet bubbles: "She keeps forgetting. Done introduced ourselves five times now. Say!" the orange mer continued in a louder voice. "Don't'cher forget li'l Rook over here! And we got Ardy with us now!"

  The twins slipped out of the way to let her move forward. Jumella gave her an encouraging pat on the back that knocked bubbles from her air bladders. For a week now, she'd been afraid of this moment, even as much as she hoped it would come. She could hardly bear to look at Mother now, so frail and gaunt from the past week of illness. The mer was the barest shadow of the mother she remembered, with only a ghost of the strength and vitality of a reef hunter. Even the eyes were duller and darker than before.

  "M-mother?" Her voice betrayed her. All of the nerves and stress sunnk deep inside found a way out in those simple syllables. Why fight it? Her body trembled as she embraced her mother, then went stiff with shock when the older hunter did not return it in kind.

  Mother was staring at Ardenne's face, and a spark of something passed behind her eyes. "What..." The first word was the barest of whispers. The words which followed it were not. "What are you doing here? Have you not done enough?"

  "Mother, what...?"

  "Who are you calling mother, you... you... I do not even know what you are! Teasing me away from safer waters, out almost to the abyss! Doing... doing..." For a beat, Mother was at a loss for words. Fingers grasped for bubbles as her mind grasped for words. "You know what you did, better than I! And to leave me after that, and with a child..."

  "But Mother, it's me! Ardenne!" the hunter cried. No one else in the tent dared speak, though they all nodded to confirm her words.

  "Do not think you can trick me with foolishness. Ardenne is but an infant! Where is she?" Mother wailed, pulling at Sera and Rhiela as they tried to hold her down. "Where is my baby daughter? Oh! Cythera curse you..." A hiccupy giggle followed. "But... but she already has, hasn't she..."

  "Messra Diana," Rhiela asked carefully. "How old is Ardenne?"

  "Not yet two years old, and in no shape to take care of herself. Do you know where she is? Is she with my mother?"

  Ardenne shared an uneasy glance with the red mer and the golden. "Grandmother Na?da passed away eight years ago," she murmured. Mother did not seem to notice.

  "Ma'am," said Sera. "You've been through a lot recently, and you're a mite confused. That there's your daughter."

  "No, she is not! That's... that's... Depths take it! What was your name?" Mother cried again. "The fat mer wanted to know that, too. And the ring... the ring!" She clutched at her chest. "Where is it?"

  "It's right here, Mother." Ardenne held out her hand to show, only for it to be slapped away.

  "Stop calling me that! Only my daughter can call me that. Oh, where is she?"

  "Mother--"

  "You are not my daughter!" From somewhere, Mother found the strength to scream the words. "You are a liar and a fake and... and... and... an abomination. That is what you are! Get out! Get out of my sight!"

  Her flukes were only too happy to oblige. They carried her out of the tent as fast as they could, tearing away from her mother, fleeing from the words that made no sense and yet hurt so badly. And so, like every other day in the camp, Ardenne made her escape, and this time she did not care if she never returned.