This cannot be happening.
“I can’t believe our parents wanted more offspring after you,” Rayna tells Grom. Even hoarse, she’s still able to infuse her irritation in each forced word. “After birthing an idiot like you, I’d never even think about having more—”
“Quiet, Rayna,” Emma shouts. Emma has obviously learned how to deal with his sister; Rayna leans back against the headboard of the bed and makes her poutiest face. “He’s not finished. Keep going, Grom. We’re listening.”
Grom folds his hands in front of him. “Keep going with what, Emma?”
“The but,” she says.
“The … the but?” Grom throws an inquisitive glare to Galen, but he pretends not to notice. There’s no point. He’s got no idea why Emma’s talking about butts.
“You know,” Emma says, full of polite and calm. “Galen’s in line to become Nalia’s mate, but. That’s where you left off.”
“Ah.” Grom motions for Toraf to move his legs so he can sit on the bed across from Emma. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything to offer after the ‘but’ this time.”
Emma stiffens at Galen’s side, and he instinctively tightens his hold on her. He’s positive he can feel the makings of a temper tantrum rumbling through her. “Oh. So what you’re saying is that you’re out of your freaking mind.”
Grom crosses his arms. This could be bad.
Emma tugs herself from Galen’s grasp and stands. Galen knows he shouldn’t have let her free, because she’s definitely got tantrum all over her face, but he’s too curious to see how Grom will react. After all, Grom fell in love with the very female who pulled a knife on Galen. He figures Grom is due for his own battle.
“Galen is not mating with my mother. My mother is not mating with Galen. So run along to your new bride, and leave us all alone.”
Galen hears Rayna whisper, “What’s a bride?” but he keeps his eyes on Grom, who takes his time standing up, squaring his shoulders. He’s seen Grom do this before. Make himself appear as big as possible by invading the space of whoever he’s trying to intimidate. A challenge. This is the part where the other person backs down.
But the other person has never been Emma. She steps toward the Triton king. “I couldn’t help but notice you’re still here,” she says.
Grom’s face softens into what could be amusement. “You and I don’t know each other, little one. But I think we both know I’m not leaving.”
“You and I seem to disagree on a lot of points,” Emma returns.
“Not as much as you think.” Grom smiles down at her. “For instance, we both agree that Galen mating with your mother is the worst possible outcome imaginable.”
“Is there a ‘but’ to this statement?”
“But, before this gets out of hand, I think we should attempt to fix things the right way.”
“Which is?”
“Which is trying to get my mating with Paca unsealed, to start.”
Emma frowns. “Trying? What’s to try? You’re the king. Call it off.”
Galen stands and puts a hand on Emma’s shoulder. “It’s not that simple. The king can overturn mating bonds for others, but not his own. For that, he has to appeal to the body of Archives. It resembles the checks-and-balance system of some human governments we learned about in school.”
“But this isn’t a problem,” Nalia calls from her seat. “The Archives never go against the wishes of the throne.”
“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” Grom says.
“We’re the firstborn heirs,” Nalia counters. “There is nothing complicated about that. The law is very plain regarding that particular issue. Even you and I couldn’t find a way out of it all those years ago, if you’ll recall.” Her smile is full of meaning and Galen is almost curious enough to ask. He’d always been told Grom and Nalia loved each other since the first time they met. Apparently, that was not the case, if they were looking for a way out of mating with each other.
Grom scowls. “Paca has proven she has the Gift of Poseidon, love. I’m not sure the Archives would unseal me from one who has the Gift. An argument could be made that it goes against the principle of the law, since the law is in place to produce the Gift.”
“And if anyone will make that argument, it will be Jagen,” Galen says. “I’m certain he’s been planning this union for a very long time. That’s why he sent Paca to land to learn the hand signals to control the dolphins. He is a patient enemy.”
Rayna laughs, but it sounds more like the bark of a seal. “Yes, hand signals! Paca does not have the Gift of Poseidon. Emma has the Gift of Poseidon. She can show you what it’s supposed to look like.”
“What?” Grom and Nalia say in unison.
Galen and Emma exchange a look; apparently they’d both forgotten to mention this tiny detail to Grom and Nalia. How could they have overlooked this? Possibly because we were busy convincing each one the other was alive. “That’s how I found Emma,” Galen explains. “Dr. Milligan saw her and recognized what she was and called me. That’s why Rayna and I were so confident that Paca was a fraud. We’d already seen the true Gift.”
“All those years ago in Grandma’s pond,” Nalia whispers at Emma. “Those catfish. You must have been calling for help. They must have understood.”
When Emma was just four years old, she almost drowned in the pond behind her grandmother’s house—except that the fish in the pond noticed her distress and apparently pushed her to the surface. Emma tried to explain this to her parents, but her mother never believed her. Until today. Of course Nalia knows what the Gift of Poseidon is. And by the look on her face, she needs no further proof that Emma has it.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you,” Nalia says. “It never occurred to me that—”
Emma shrugs. “It’s over now. We have bigger things to worry about.”
“Why didn’t you tell me in the diner, when we were spilling our guts about everything?”
“I didn’t think you’d believe me. You were so convinced that Galen was lying and just trying to trick us, that I thought mentioning the Gift wouldn’t matter to you. That you’d think it was part of the ruse.”
Nalia nods. “I’ll believe you from now on. No matter what. I promise. I’m so sorry, sweetie.”
This time a juicy tear does manage to spill down Emma’s cheek, but she quickly wipes it away. Galen fights the urge to pull her to him. “Let’s just get on with this.”
He knows she doesn’t feel as nonchalant as she’s letting on. She’s been harboring some resentment about the whole thing since she was a small child—for her to let it go this easily seems unlikely. When she gives him a tight-lipped smile, he’s certain they’ll discuss her true feelings later. He winks at her.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Grom says. “How is it possible that Emma has the Gift of Poseidon? Her father was human. The Gift can only be produced when—”
“The law is wrong,” Nalia says. It seems as if even the walls of the room stiffen with her accusation. “The Gift is genetic.”
Galen is suddenly glad that Nalia has been a nurse to humans all these years. She would know how to explain all of Dr. Milligan’s logic in a way that Grom would understand. It’s not that the principle of genetics is foreign to the Syrena, it’s just that humans have taken their study of the subject a bit further—and he’s not sure his brother will grasp it.
“Genetic?” Grom says.
“It means that traits from parents are passed down to their fingerlings,” Nalia says. “Traits like the shape of their noses, the way they swim, things like that. We already know fingerlings inherit these traits from their parents. But obviously the Gifts of the Generals are also passed down through genetics. Emma is proof of that.”
“Then why bother with all the restrictions on the Royals?” Grom asks, unconvinced. “If the Gift can be passed to anyone through their parents, like noses and fins, then why require the Royals to make a sacrifice every third generation?”
/> “I’ve thought about that,” Galen says. “I’m not sure if the Generals knew about genetics. But if they did, I think they had an ulterior motive for the mating tradition. The arrangement is obviously meant to keep the Syrena united. Having both houses come together every third generation is a way to force us to rely on each other. Instead of the humans.”
Nalia nods. “I would have to agree. Emma’s father and I discussed it several times. That thought had crossed our minds as well.”
Grom looks at Galen. “Is there anything else I should know? Anything at all?”
Galen feels it’s a bit hypocritical of his brother to point an accusing finger at him. After all, Grom did travel half the big land with him in the search for Emma and Nalia without once mentioning that he’d already been sealed to Paca.
Galen shakes his head. “I think that about covers it. What about you? Do you and Paca have any fingerlings on the way we should know about? Anything that could make this even more interesting?”
“Fingerlings?” Nalia sputters. “Grom, tell me you didn’t—”
“We didn’t,” Grom says. “Triton’s trident, there was no time for that, now was there? Galen and Toraf arrived right after the ceremony. Before we left for the island.”
“Well, what am I supposed to think? You’ve gone and mated yourself to—”
“Knock it off!” Emma is standing on the bed now, shoes and all, staring down at the rest of them like they’ve all been drinking salt water. “Do we have the luxury of arguing about every little thing? Or is this meeting with the Archives kind of a time-sensitive deal?”
Grom nods. “Emma is right. We’re wasting time.”
“So let’s get on with this. Go make the appeal,” Emma says. Galen knows she’s not overly excited to see her mother mated with Grom. But the only way to ensure that Galen isn’t the one to mate with her is to unseal Grom from Paca.
Not that Galen would ever take Nalia as his mate. He’d live on land and eat cheesecake for the rest of his life before that happened. But if there is a way to fix this without breaking any more laws, if there is a way to resolve this without leaving behind his heritage, Galen is in favor of at least trying.
Grom takes Emma’s hand in his and guides her back to the floor. Galen can tell she wants to recoil, but he’s proud of her when she doesn’t. He can only imagine what could be going through her mind right now, seeing the intimacy between Grom and Nalia. Even he is surprised by his brother’s sentimental behavior toward Nalia. Galen wonders if he’s getting a glimpse of Grom’s youth, of how he used to be before Nalia “died.”
Grom smiles down at Emma. “There is a matter you and I need to discuss, little one. Your mother would have to come with me. She will need to be present to prove that I have a basis for the unsealing. To prove that she’s alive. And I want to make sure that is agreeable to you.”
Galen sucks in a breath. Emma couldn’t possibly know the significance of what Grom is doing. It’s more than asking for her permission. More than taking into consideration her feelings. More, even, than respecting her opinion or whatever argument she could propose. This is not for Emma’s benefit at all. In doing all these things, Grom is showing Galen—and Nalia—that he approves of Emma. That her Half-Breed status is not something detestable to him personally. That his opinion, even as Triton king, does not necessarily agree with the law.
Which is no small thing, in Galen’s eyes. It gives him true hope that someday he will have Emma without betraying everything he’s ever known.
Galen glances at Nalia. She’s watching Grom and Emma with eyes brimming in tears. Nalia knows, too. She knows what Grom is saying between words.
Emma swallows. “The thing is, I don’t understand why any of this matters. Why is this even a discussion? Galen and Mom don’t want to mate with each other, so they won’t. They don’t ever have to go back. They could all stay all land. Even … even you could.”
Grom nods, thoughtful. Galen recognizes his brother’s diplomatic expression. “That’s true, Emma. I can’t force them back into the water, and I wouldn’t want it to come to that. And I think we all know there’s not much your mother can be forced to do.” Grom glances pointedly at Nalia, his eyes full of meaning. “But if I know anything about my brother, it’s that he’s loyal to his kind. To our legacy. If I know him at all, he’ll want to at least try to do this the right way first. Because he loves you enough to go through the trouble of setting things straight.”
Grom is more observant than Galen ever gave him credit for. Galen does want to do it the right way. It’s not a small thing to give up everything you’ve ever known. But it’s not a small thing to give up Emma, either. If there is even a slight possibility he can have them both—Emma and his heritage—then it’s certainly worth fighting for.
The small hope in him swells even bigger.
Grom looks at Galen, an obvious request for support. Galen nods down at her. “I think we should try, angelfish. It would mean a lot to me if we could try.”
“And then what?” she says, pulling her hand from Grom’s grasp. “Then Grom will mate with Mom and live happily ever after twenty thousand leagues under the sea? And what about you and me, Galen? How’s that going to work? What about college and—”
“Emma,” Nalia says softly. “These are all decisions that don’t need to be made right now. These are all decisions that shouldn’t be made right now.”
Grom nods. “Your mother is right. We need to do what we can now so we have the freedom to make these decisions later, when the time comes to make them. Would you not agree, Emma?”
Emma bites her lip. “I guess so.”
Nalia stands. “Let’s hit the road. I have some arrangements that need to be made before we can leave. I’ll change Rachel’s bandage before we go. We can set her up in the back of Galen’s SUV with some pillows.”
9
IT’S ONE of those moments where life seems to pause, and the universe opens its mouth and vomits comprehension on you. It’s not knowledge, not cold hard facts that you can talk about in casual conversation, like we did in the motel room, surrounded by Galen and Rayna and Toraf. People who I’d already accepted could sprout a fin. Sure we’d talked about Mom being one of those people, too. But until now, until this, I guess I didn’t really believe it.
Even when Galen had stood there in my kitchen and accused my mom of being a dead fish monarch, I thought we’d be having an awkward conversation right now. Maybe trying to explain some inside joke he’d been telling. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, Nalia.” Chuckle, chuckle.
Talk is talk is talk. Talk is what we did before true realization hit. Realization that there had been an inside joke, and I was the butt of it. For eighteen freaking years. Hardy. Har. Har.
But those were just facts. Knowledge. Like knowing how many feet are in a mile or knowing which city is the capital of China. Facts with no emotion attached. I’d even heard her on the phone a while ago, calling her employer to arrange a leave of absence, paying all the utilities way ahead, droning on about all the things I shouldn’t forget to do at the house. It was like planning a vacation or something.
But this? Watching my mom’s long silver fin move her through the water behind our house with none of the clumsiness of Natalie McIntosh, the wife-mother-nurse, and every bit the grace and precision you’d expect from Nalia, the long-lost Poseidon princess … This is slap-you-in-the-face comprehension.
And all I can do is watch.
Stretching and twisting, Mom seems relieved to ditch her human legs, the corners of her mouth pulling up in satisfaction. Watching her face, it’s easy to believe the transition feels as good as Galen describes. Her tail flits in controlled elegance, in a way that makes Galen’s and Rayna’s somehow look immature and unseasoned. But the grandeur of the scene seems cheapened by the fact that she’s still wearing her tank top—the same one she’d worn on the car ride home, when I still felt, in spite of everything that had happened, that she was just my mo
m.
She swims toward me now where I wait with my feet anchored into the sand in the shallow water to keep me floating to topside. As she approaches, I study everything about her, taking it all in and trying to process it, but it’s her face that gets me more than anything else; she doesn’t even have the decency to look apologetic. Guilty would be best, but I’d settle for apologetic. Because she’s about to use this tail, this secret extension of herself, this thing she kept hidden from me for eighteen years, to propel herself away, toward the open Atlantic.
And she seems okay with it.
“Surprise,” Mom whispers when she reaches me.
“You think?” Of all the anticlimactic ways to begin this farewell. I mean, we’re in the water behind the house where I grew up. Where she and my dad deposited me after birth, where she fixed me garbage eggs, where she grounded me for reasons valid and invalid.
She looks down at my legs. “So, you don’t have a fin.”
I shake my head. This seems to confirm something she already suspected. Her eyes get that serious, listen-to-your-mother glaze in them. “Emma.” She grabs my shoulders and pulls me close.
I wrest from her grasp. “I don’t hug strangers.”
I must sound like a traumatized three-year-old, because Galen darts over to us. Mom waves away a stray piece of seaweed between us and puts her arm around me again. Galen has that look on his face, the one where he intends to drop everything and hold me. Normally that’s my favorite look.
But I don’t want to be tended to right now. More than that, I don’t want anyone to feel the need to tend to me right now. I need to keep all these bratty feelings to myself. My dad always told me that holding a grudge is like swallowing poison and expecting the other person to die. I don’t want to hold any more grudges. I don’t want to swallow poison.