The Surface Breaks

  I grit my teeth, wrapping my arms around the rock to hold steady. I shall stay here until the sun sets and then I will return to the kingdom, spinning pretty stories the likes of which my sisters have never heard. I shall not be shamed.

  “There. Over there.” A male voice, calling out. I cannot tell where it is coming from, the sun blinding me. The voice is harsh, the air refusing to lull its tone as the water does. “I definitely saw something, I’m telling you.”

  I clamp a hand over my mouth in horror. Those are human voices, and they sound close to me. Too close, Gaia, they are dangerous. Be careful. I should duck beneath the sea, return immediately to my father’s kingdom, but I do not. Perhaps I am too curious. These are the creatures my mother loved, that she risked so much to be near. And so, despite myself, I stay quiet behind my rock, my breath coming fast and shallow. The humans will see you, I try and convince myself, they will cut your tail off and stuff you; display your body above their fireplaces. They will slit your throat without a thought, just to see what colour your blood is. I should swim away as quickly as I can. But I find myself unable to move. I want to see them, I realize. They might know what happened to my mother.

  “Oh, Oli,” comes another voice. A girl’s this time. “It was probably just a seal.”

  “I could have sworn…” The first voice stops. There is bewilderment in his tone. Where are they? The voices are close but they cannot be swimming, not this far out to sea.

  “Sworn what?” A different boy, laughing. “Did you see a monster? A mermaid?”

  “What’s the difference?” the girl asks. I take a deep breath and, so cautiously, peek around the rock.

  I find a large boat there, painted white, with three balconies at the back and a flat open surface to the front. Thick sticks are growing out of the panelled wood, a cream canvas on top, like a kind of flatfish. There are about a dozen humans on the boat, of different shapes and sizes, their bodies a variety of shades from the palest white to the darkest black. Most of them are lying on the beds made of the same cream material as the canvas, dozing with an indolence that seems strange, given how ferocious they are reputed to be.

  “Time for another drink, mate,” the second boy says, and there is a smashing noise, glass against wood, the sun setting the shards on fire, dazzle-white.

  “Geoffrey Gupta, why are you such a dolt?”

  “Shut up, Viola.”

  “You shut up, or I’ll tell Mum that you were drinking too much again. And call Mabel to clean up this mess. Someone will cut their feet to absolute shreds.”

  Feet. Feet are what the humans call the stumps they walk upon. The humans will cut their feet on the broken glass and it would hurt them, as the coral slices our tails in the kingdom if we are not careful. These creatures are not impervious to injury, it seems.

  “Shall we drop anchor here?” Viola says. “Seems as good a spot as any, doesn’t it, Oli? Oliver? Are you listening to me?”

  A boy walks to the side of the boat and stares at the rock that I’m hiding behind. And I see him.

  Oh.

  A sharp intake of breath that seems so loud, almost a gasp really, and I realize that it is coming from my own mouth. I stare at him, this boy. He is tall, his hair and skin dark, and he is more beautiful than I have ever dreamed a boy could be. Who is he? I want to know. I need to know. I would happily spend the rest of my life finding out everything about him.

  “A girl,” he says, a hand cupped over his eyes. A strange heat flashes through me, a heat that has nothing to do with the sun. “I thought I saw a girl.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I remain behind that rock for the rest of the day. I no longer want to flee; all I want to do is watch the humans. Watch him.

  We have been told often how evil they are, how depraved. These are the people who are responsible for my childhood, for nights spent searching in the darkness for a comforting hand that would never come.

  But they seem so innocent now they are before me. I count them, seven girls and eight boys, on the precipice of adulthood with their awkward limbs, the material they swathe around their hips and chests so they are not naked. “I love your swimsuit, Lizzie,” one girl said, sticking a finger down her throat when the human called Lizzie turned away. They seem oddly ashamed of their bodies, particularly the girls. They tug at stomachs and rub thighs, pulling down the edges of their suits to conceal more flesh, refusing offers of food because “I’ve eaten so much today, I’m disgusting”. It appears as if the humans, boys and girls, have come to sea to celebrate a birthday. His birthday.

  “To Oliver on his twenty-first,” they shout, demanding that Mabel bring more champagne, whatever that might be. Oliver keeps walking to the side of the boat, staring out to sea. He is searching for me.

  “Oli.” Viola’s arms around his waist, resting her head against his back. Her hair is cut to her chin and she has very long, brown legs. “You’re missing all the fun.” Oliver kisses her, and my throat feels as if it is made of teeth while I watch them. Are they betrothed, Oliver and this Viola? Keep looking for me, I urge him silently.

  The sun becomes weary as afternoon stretches into evening, wilting in the lilac sky. Voices curve and become indistinct, dripping at the edges as if doused in liquid. The sticks – umbrellas, they called them – have been removed so the humans can dance. One has brought an instrument and he is making music with it, the others yelling out songs that they wish for him to play next. Oliver and Viola in the centre of the boat, bodies close, swaying to the tune. I should leave, I tell myself, counting the ways that the humans are bad, how often my father has warned that they promise destruction and ruin. They killed your mother, Gaia. I should leave, but I know also that I would sooner die than do so. As odd as that sounds, I would rather dissolve with this sight burning in my eyes, Viola’s half-smile as Oliver murmurs in her ear.

  “Are you ready for the finale?” the boy called Geoffrey yells, pointing to the heavens. All of them stare at the sky, and I follow suit. For a moment it is as if we are all one. Even here, the humans look up, searching for something more.

  A screech of a whistle, a bang, and an explosion of gold dust. The stars plunge, raining light on to the boat, and my heart drives its way into my chest with fright. My skin will surely burn, I think, these bursting stars will tear our faces apart – but nothing happens. The lights re-emerge, flaring into the air, sprinkling red and silver and gold on the world, in spinning circles and shooting rockets. The humans grin, the glitter reflected in their eyes. They are dazzled by the display, hypnotized. Only Oliver is looking around him still, frowning. A murder of crows are spinning through the air, flying in chaotic circles, crashing into one another with a screaming cry. The sky is bruising purple, as if battered by the birds.

  “Wait,” Oliver says, and everyone turns to him immediately, as they do in the kingdom when my father speaks. It is a kind of influence that I cannot imagine. “Did you feel that?”

  “Feel what?” Viola asks, running her hand up his arm. “Are you enjoying the fireworks? It took me an age to organize.”

  “Of course I am, my darling,” Oliver says, but he’s staring out at the sea and I don’t think he’s looking for me any more. “I just… something isn’t right.”

  I dip under the surface, tasting the water as it wakes up around me, stretching its arms out, ready to play. Hello, it says, and it begins caressing the left side of the boat, then the right, just enough to inform the humans that it is here. The water does not pay much heed to the boats ripping through its skin but occasionally the humans must be reminded of the water’s generosity in allowing them to do so.

  I rise up again to watch the humans. A glass walks off the table, exploding as it hits the floor. No one calls for Mabel this time.

  “Rupert did say the weather looked dicey,” Viola murmurs.

  “Never mind Rupert. You said you checked the forecast this morning, didn’t you, Gupta?” Oliver says.

  “I did,” Geoffrey replies,
grabbing a railing at the boat’s edge to steady himself. “It didn’t say anything about a storm.”

  A sudden fork of lightning, a serpent’s tongue licking the sky apart. A girl’s scream.

  “Okay, we all need to stay calm,” Oliver says as the sea begins to grumble. Hungry, it tells me. “Everyone put their life jackets on. It’s going to be fine.” He turns to Geoffrey. “Where’s Teddy? He’s the only person who knows how to sail a yacht this size.”

  “Teddy is asleep.”

  “Then wake him up, for fuck’s sake. We need to get back to port right now.”

  “Oli, Teddy has been drinking since noon. I doubt he can even stand, let alone steer this boat.”

  Oliver curses. The sky is broken again, flashing brilliant, and another human screams, more desperate this time. They scramble for these life jackets that Oliver spoke of, ashen faces against the luminous yellow. The wind lifts its heavy head, sniffing deeply, inhaling the sea’s anger. It wants to join in. It wants to put the humans in their place too.

  “Oli,” Viola says. She is not crying, like some of the other girls are, but her face is tight. “Oli, what are we going to do?”

  Something slithers past me, a substance like seaweed sliming my skin. A head bobs out of the water, then another, and another. Right on time, as they always are. They will have been anticipating this moment all day, as soon as they smelled the storm, no doubt. Pale green hair slicked down their backs, the whites of their eyes flashing in the dark. They circle the boat, holding hands, their song gathering at the back of their throats. Oh, come, human men. Come to us. We will teach you a lesson you shall never forget.

  “What was that?” Viola says, staring into the water as a Salka moves forward. “Did you see that?”

  They never believe in us until it is too late. The sea begins to climb, stacking wave upon wave, it is a giant with a gaping mouth, looking for something to feast upon. The humans offering their useless prayers to their gods, as if anything can save them now. Pressure builds behind my eyes, like I might cry. Cry for these creatures who would see me as a freak if they knew I existed? Cry for those who took my mother from me? What is wrong with you, Gaia? But if they die, if he dies, then will I ever feel this way again? Never feel heat pooling in my stomach, that urge to take his hand in mine and never let go? I cannot bear the thought of it. A whip of a vicious wave, a snapping sound, wood crumpling between the water’s death-grip fingers. The boat lurches desperately to the side, the water gushing in while the humans scream. They scream and they scream. And all I can do is watch.

  The Rusalkas begin to sing, the tune vibrating sharply in my teeth like gritted sand.

  Come to us. (Their song is so beautiful.) And the humans cease struggling.

  Accept your fate. (Their song is so terrible.) And the humans close their eyes. They beg for mercy.

  And the Salkas move.

  Limbs and planks are torn apart by the wind and the sea, tossed from one wave to the next, and, for some reason that I cannot name just yet, I find myself swimming, heading into the wreck, narrowly avoiding being crushed by a thrashing beam. I ignore the salt sizzling hot in my veins, warning me of certain death if I continue. I refuse to be frightened, not now. The water twisting and devouring the boat. Arms and legs and screaming mouths and eyes wide open, beaten into submission. The bodies that descended to the kingdom looked so peaceful; I did not realize that their demise would have been so violent. The girls are left to swallow death as the Salkas claim the men for their own.

  Left, right, peering into the lashing water, searching for one person only. Where is he?

  I see him. A Salka has her hand against his chest, hunting for his heart.

  “No,” I say. And then, “Not him.”

  Her head spins completely on her shoulders, in one clean movement.

  “And why not?” she asks, her tongue waggling past her teeth. “Why should I spare this man?”

  “I—”

  “Don’t be foolish, little mermaid,” she murmurs. “Human men will bring you nothing but pain.”

  “No. You can’t have him,” I say, that heat tingling through me once more. I don’t know what this is but I want to hold on to this feeling for ever. “You can take her instead.” I point at Viola, struggling in the water, fingers clawing wood as she reaches for a beam to hold on to, her features twisted in what looks more like fury than fear. A warrior, that one. She would have made a good Salka if she had died in a more tragic fashion.

  “You would trade a girl’s life so easily, would you, little one? For some man you don’t even know? And besides, what use would I have with a girl?” the Salka says. “It is not women that must atone for their sins.”

  “You can’t have him,” I say again. “I am telling you now, Salka. I am Princess Muirgen, sixth daughter of the Sea King. I am betrothed to Zale, leader of our kingdom’s troops. And I command you to let this human go.”

  I wrestle Oliver’s body away from the Salka, ignoring her promising war and destruction after me.

  “Ceto!” she screams. “Ceto will hear of your actions. You will regret this.”

  I ignore her. In this moment, I do not care for my own safety or what retribution the Rusalkas will seek for this flagrant transgression of our laws. I don’t care if my decision upends the uneasy truce we have brokered between our kingdom and the Sea Witch’s Shadowlands. All I care about is this man, the blessed weight of him in my arms as I drag him to safety. Oliver.

  He must live.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Muirgen.” Human men will bring you nothing but pain.

  “Muirgen.” Human men will bring you nothing but pain.

  “Muirgen! I shall not tolerate such insolence from you, girl.”

  An elbow to my ribs. “What?” I hiss at Arianna, rubbing my side. She tilts her head towards our father. He is sitting at the top of the mother-of-pearl dining table, glaring at me.

  “What is it, Father?” My voice is strangled, even to my ears.

  “I asked you a question, Muirgen,” he says. “And when I ask a question, I expect you to answer me immediately.”

  “I’m sorry, Father,” I say. He looks at me strangely, and my skin prickles with dread. Does he know what happened? Does he know what I have done? “I was distracted.” I have been distracted these past two weeks, waiting for the Salkas’ response to me saving the human boy. Each day brings a silence that is increasingly unnerving. The peace between my father and the Sea Witch is brittle, fragile; hard fought for and easily dismantled. I have put us all in danger.

  “And you haven’t touched your dinner,” he continues. “Did you not enjoy it?”

  “It’s perfectly fine, Father. I’m just not hungry.”

  “Muirgen is never hungry at the moment, Father,” Cosima says eagerly. “She has barely eaten anything in weeks. That’s not right, is it? Not when you do so much to provide for us.”

  “Perhaps a loss of appetite might not be a bad thing,” my father says, looking pointedly at her empty plate. “We don’t want any suitors put off – or preferring another sister again, do we?”

  “No, Father,” she says, pressing her lips together. She won’t cry, no matter how upset she is. Not in front of him.

  “Well, I think it’s disgraceful,” Arianna says, taking another spoonful of greens. “Such a waste of food; it is most ungrateful of you, Muirgen. And think of all the mer-folk in the Outerlands, practically starving to death. As if it’s not bad enough that they live in constant fear of an attack from the Salkas.” She shudders at the thought. “You have no idea how much they would appreciate this dinner.”

  “Sister.” Sophia is uncharacteristically cold. “Do not talk nonsense. The Salkas will never invade the Outerlands without the Sea Witch’s blessing – they fear her powers too much – and the Sea Witch is just as invested in the armistice as we are, if not more.” I shiver. Little do any of them know how I might have already ruined that armistice beyond repair.

  Grandmothe
r places a hand over Sophia’s, reminding my sister of her place. None of us speak after that; the room is so silent that all we can hear is the lapping of water against the sea-glass window.

  “No, no,” Father says. “Let the girls speak. Such lively debate is … interesting.” He taps his fingers slowly against the table, one at a time. I repress a shudder. “You speak of the ‘starving’ mer-folk in the Outerlands, Arianna. I hope you are not insinuating that there are people within my kingdom who are not adequately provided for.”

  “Of course not, Father,” she says cautiously. “Those in the Outerlands are most grateful for your support.”

  The Sea King seems to be waiting for her to say something else, all of us holding our breath.

  “A-a-as they should be,” Sophia rushes into the silence.

  “And as for you, Sophia…” He smiles, and it’s sinister, that smile; he’s relishing this. Would he smile at me like that if he found out that I had saved a human life, risking the kingdom’s peace in order to do so? Risking all of our lives? Or would it be worse? Would he cut my tail off and hang my torso on the palace walls, call me a traitor to the crown? Banish me to the Outerlands, damn me to a life of famine and misery with the other undesirables? I don’t know. The only person who ever disobeyed the Sea King was my mother, and he didn’t need to punish her. The humans did that for him.

  Human men will bring you nothing but pain.

  “I’m sorry, Father,” Sophia says. The rest of us stare at our plates as if to pretend that none of this is happening. We are never brave in times like this; we are all too afraid that Father will direct his attention on to us instead.

  “You’re sorry?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “And what exactly are you sorry for, daughter number three?”

  Sophia’s eyes dart to Grandmother, as if hoping she will intervene on her behalf but our grandmother sits still, eyes down.