Forgive My Fins

  Thankfully, he’s not so consumed by the bond. He’s probably more experienced than me in the love department. It would be hard not to be more experienced than me, right?

  He pulls back, leaving me breathing heavily.

  “Okay,” he says, his voice a little raspy. “I’m ready to go.”

  As he slips below the surface, I recover enough to say, “The first breath is the hardest.”

  9

  “You have to breathe.”

  Quince shakes his head, mouth clamped shut.

  “If you don’t,” I argue, “you’ll die.”

  He shrugs. As if he’d rather die than breathe water. Well, I’m not about to let him croak before we separate. I’ve heard stories about merfolk who’ve lost their bonded mates. They feel the connection forever, knowing they will never see their mates again. Without magical intervention, eventually some go mad.

  I’m not about to go mad over Quince Fletcher.

  He starts to push back to the surface. Before he can react, I dart behind him and wrap my arms around his stomach.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, “but this is the only way.”

  Then, before he can fight, I squeeze with every ounce of my strength. The last bit of air whooshes from his lungs, bubbling up to the surface above. He starts to struggle, twisting around and trying to yank my arms away. I squeeze tighter.

  He goes limp. For half a second I think he’s passed out.

  “Breathe,” I order, relaxing my hold a little so I can swim around to his front.

  His eyes are wide open. Trying to take advantage of my slack grip, he pushes off the bottom and lunges for the surface. At the last moment I dive over him, forcing him down to the sandy bottom on his back.

  “I know this is hard,” I say, though I don’t really know. I’ve always been able to breathe water.

  But I can imagine it’s pretty tough on the brain.

  I stare directly into his eyes. “Trust me.”

  He blinks once and then nods slowly.

  I watch as he opens his mouth, hesitates for a second, and then draws in a lungful of ocean. A look of uncertainty crosses his face as the water passes over his new gills for the first time. He holds the breath for a second and then releases. Then takes another. And another.

  “Perfect,” I say, smiling. “You’re breathing like a pro.”

  He smiles back, a boy-am-I-happy-to-be-alive smile. His mouth moves like he’s trying to say something.

  “Oh, I forgot about that,” I say. “We can’t just talk like normal underwater.”

  He looks confused. And tries to speak again.

  “Sound doesn’t carry as well through gills. You have to use a different level of your vocal cords.” I point to the spot just above his Adam’s apple. “Higher.”

  He just stares at me, looking confused—but breathing like he was born to it.

  “Pretend you’re talking like a girl.”

  No way, he mouths, shaking his head.

  Stupid male ego.

  “You won’t sound like a girl,” I assure him. “Because sound travels slower, the register of everything shifts lower. Just raise your pitch—”

  “Like this?” he says, in a super-squeaky voice.

  “Maybe a little lower,” I suggest.

  “Here?” he asks, sounding like his normal self.

  I grin. “Perfect.”

  For a second I wonder how this whole thing would have gone—correction, will go—with Brody. As soon as I explain this whole mess to Daddy and we get our separation, I’m going back and confessing everything to Brody. And you can bet I won’t hesitate this time. He’s still my true love.

  I bet he doesn’t argue nearly so much.

  “You know,” Quince says, that dreaded honey in his voice, “you are in quite a compromising position.”

  That’s when I realize I’m still lying over him, holding him against the sand so he can’t escape to the surface.

  I feel his hand curl around my waist and down over my—

  With a swift flick of my fins, I shoot out of his grasp. “Uh-uh, buster.” I laugh. “No more funny business. We need to get to Thalassinia immediately.”

  “Okay,” he says, rising to a sitting position. He does seem to be taking this really well. “How do we get there?”

  I twist around onto my stomach and motion to my lower back. “Grab on.”

  “You’ve got to be—”

  “I can travel over twenty nautical miles an hour.” Almost as fast as a dolphin at full speed. “How about you?”

  He grumbles something about being in the driver’s seat but grabs me by either side of my waist.

  “Hold on tight,” I instruct. “And try to stay as streamlined as possible.”

  I’m not used to swimming with human-sized drag on my back. He will probably cut my speed in half. Which means we’re barely going to make it home before dark.

  With a solid kick I set off to the east, heading toward the Bahamas. Now I have forty-five nautical miles of swimming time to worry about what Daddy’s going to say when he sees my passenger.

  I’m pretty sure it won’t be “Welcome to the family.”

  To the untrained (human) eye, Thalassinia looks like an expanse of coral reefs and volcanic formations. There are no straight lines or geometric shapes to give away the fact that the structures are actually mermade. (Get it? Mermade. Like mermaid, but…oh, never mind.) Thankfully, our kingdom is old enough for coral and algae and sea fans to have grown over all our buildings, camouflaging them even more from human eyes. Add on the strategically placed starfish, sea urchins, and anemones, and we’re practically invisible.

  Unless you know what to look for.

  There is a rhythmic pattern to the organic shapes. The bioluminescent glow that illuminates the kingdom at night can be seen from a thousand yards away. And if you focus your attention on the largest formation at the center of the valley, you can make out the pattern of the Thalassinian flag, formed by a field of blue sea whips and green sponge seaweed covering the royal palace. My home.

  As much as I’m dreading the meeting with Daddy—I can already hear him roaring, “What were you thinking?”—I can’t help but be excited to be home. I haven’t visited since winter break. Almost three months. Too, too long for a daughter of the sea.

  “There it is,” I say, pulling up as we crest the hill overlooking the valley. “That’s Thalassinia.”

  Quince releases my waist and floats around to my side. I ignore the chill that shivers through me at the loss of his body heat: the depths are cool, that’s all. I swirl my hands, spreading energy into the water around us to raise the temperature.

  Before today, in the three years since we became neighbors, I’ve never once seen anything resembling shock on Quince’s face. He’s more the shock-inducing type. But as he looks out on my kingdom for the first time, his jaw slacks and his eyes widen with a well-deserved sense of awe.

  If this weren’t the crappiest situation in the history of merkind, I would take some kind of perverse joy in rendering him speechless.

  “Let’s go,” I say, swimming in front of him so he can grab on. “The sooner we get down there, the sooner I can get rid of you.”

  “Why, princess,” he says as he slips strong arms around my waist, “I’m starting to get the impression you don’t like me very much.”

  “You’re only just figuring this out now?” I mutter as I kick us into motion.

  I think he’s going to fall back into the silence I enjoyed on the way over, until he says, “It must have been nice.”

  “What?”

  “Growing up here,” he says. “It must have been nice.”

  I never really thought about that. It wasn’t like I had a choice of where to grow up. Or, at least, I didn’t think I had a choice. But, yeah, I guess it was nice in a lot of ways. The sea is my home, and I’m always awed by her beauty. And I adore my dad more than anything, but my childhood wasn’t always ideal. My dad wasn’t just my dad; he
was also the king. Growing up as the king’s only daughter—only child, only heir—meant being protected and sheltered and practically held prisoner…in my own best interest, of course. It meant being pressured from the time I could swim to act like a perfect princess, to find my mermate and bond before I turned eighteen or lose my place in the succession, while Daddy scared away every boy within ten kingdoms, insisting none were good enough for his baby girl. I love my dad and my kingdom and my royal future, but there were times when I just wanted to swim away and never look back.

  Maybe that’s why I jumped at the chance to go live with Aunt Rachel for a while. That’s probably why Daddy suggested I go, giving me taste of freedom before I left to look for it on my own.

  “You okay, princess?”

  I almost forgot about the pain in the fins on my back.

  “I’m fine,” I snap. “Just trying to remember the way.”

  He doesn’t need to know that mermaids have an innate navigational sense, kind of like butterflies. I could find my way home blindfolded if you dropped me off a random boat in the middle of the open sea.

  Entering from the top edge of the kingdom—the Gulf Stream pushed us a little farther north than I planned—I swim over the outer suburbs, the cookie-cutter neighborhoods of identical coral homes with perfectly manicured caulerpa lawns, ring sets in the backyard, and a family seahorse in the garage. After the suburbs we pass over the commercial and industrial areas. I resist the urge to look in on my favorite shop, Bubbles and Baubles—they sell the most adorable shell jewelry and yummy all-natural soaps. I can go there anytime. After the separation.

  Closer to the center are the older, more established neighborhoods. Many of the residents of the inner circle work in the palace. Peri’s family lives there, just outside the royal complex, in a three-story home with a ship’s bell on top. Her bedroom is on the top floor, and her window faces mine across the palace yard. We used to send bubble messages to each other long after we were supposed to be asleep.

  When Quince and I reach the edge of the royal complex, I slow down. My heart rate kicks up to shark-attack pace. I’m almost as nervous to tell Daddy what happened as I was to ask Brody to the dance. Almost.

  “This your place?” Quince asks. “Pretty fancy digs.”

  The royal complex is impressive.

  It’s supposed to be.

  A low reef fence surrounds the grounds—it’s more of a marker than a barrier, since anyone could just swim right over. Thalassinia and the other mer kingdoms have been at peace for years, and Daddy has an open-palace policy, so there’s no reason to keep folks out.

  The main gate—a pair of coral towers covered with sea whips and sponge seaweed—marks the end of the Great Thalassinian Way. Humans know this as the Bimini Road. Treasure hunters and myth seekers think it might be the remains of Atlantis. Nope, it’s actually a really obnoxious “royal aisle.” My great-great-great-great-grandfather had kind of an ego thing and wanted to force every merperson in the sea to swim a nautical mile to reach his throne. Even his guards. Which explains how he got devoured by a giant squid while they were still half a nautical mile away. Thankfully, our leadership abilities have improved since then.

  Beyond the gate are the royal gardens, a vast seascape of rainbow-colored algae, kelps, corals, sponges, sea fans, and anemones. My tower room overlooks the gardens, and I used to love watching how they changed throughout the seasons. It’s spring right now, so there are bright highlights of pink and yellow among the constant blues, greens, and browns. You can’t help but feel the energy of spring with a field of magenta anemone petals below your window.

  At the center of it all is the palace, a massive, vaguely star-shaped volcanic formation with five coral towers at the points. Out of habit I glance up at my window in the southwest tower. I’m surprised to find the light on. The cleaning staff is probably working late. Daddy always keeps my room ready, just in case I decide to pop home.

  “By the way,” I say as we approach the gates. “There’s something you need to know before we go in.”

  As much as I’d like to keep my royal title a secret, I’m not going to get through this without Quince finding out the truth. Maybe if I tell him first, he’ll keep his trap shut when we get inside.

  “What’s that, princess?”

  “I’m not just any mermaid,” I explain. “I’m a—”

  “Princess Waterlily!”

  I swallow a groan as one of the guards rushes from their station in the right-hand tower, kicking into attention in front of me. He holds three spread fingers against his forehead in salute.

  “Captain Barnacle,” he shouts over his shoulder, “the princess is home!”

  “Good evening, Cid,” I reply, hiding my annoyance like a good princess should and saluting back so he’ll relax. Not that he does. He’s too excited. I suppose it was too much to hope that we could slip into the palace unnoticed, get the separation, and then return to Seaview with no one but Daddy having to know. “How have you been?”

  At nearly ninety, Cidaris is approaching retirement age—merfolk are extremely long-lived—but Daddy would never ask him to retire. He’s more like family than royal guard.

  “Wonderful, thank you, Princess,” he replies, still at attention. “Your visit is an unexpected surprise.”

  For you and me both, Cid.

  Barney emerges from the tower, straightening the collar on his uniform jacket as he hurries to Cid’s side.

  “I informed the palace,” he announces.

  But I don’t think Cid hears a word Barney said, because he finally notices the cargo on my back. His eyes widen a little in realization, and then he smiles. An I-just-won-the-lottery smile.

  “Oh, Princess,” he says. He softens all over and rushes forward to give me a hug, grabbing Quince in his embrace too. “I’m so very happy for you. Your father will be thrilled.”

  Sure he will. When I tell him I want a separation. If he didn’t approve of any of the mermen who came to court me, many of them mer royalty, he’s definitely going to be thrilled to send Quince packing.

  “Oh my,” Barney says. “Oh my, oh my, oh my.” Then he rushes back into the tower, presumably to give the palace a bubble message update.

  Great! Why does everything have to be a giant spectacle? In my time as an average, almost-invisible, nonroyal normal girl at Seaview, I’ve happily forgotten how every little detail of my life gets blown out of proportion down here. This isn’t breaking news. It’s a mistake. Bad luck. Nothing special. Quince is just a regular boy. A rude, obnoxious, tormenting regular boy. Who leans close and whispers in my ear, “What was that you wanted to tell me?” He pauses, his soft lips warm against my ear sending shivers all over, before adding, “Princess?”

  I am never going to hear the end of this.

  Margarite, the palace housekeeper, meets us at the door.

  Instead of showing us to Daddy’s office, where he spends practically every waking hour and occasional sleeping ones, she leads us to the ballroom. She is glowing like a flashlight fish. For the palace gossip queen, Quince and I must be like the best present ever. The entire kingdom will know within minutes. Well, at least I won’t be here to deal with the cleanup. We’ll talk to Daddy—correction, I’ll talk to Daddy. I don’t trust Quince to open his mouth without winding up with a trident shoved up his—Wait, why did I think that was a bad idea?

  Anyway, after Daddy hears the circumstances, he’ll grant the separation in a heartbeat, and biker boy and I will be escorted back to the mainland before sunrise. If the sea gods are smiling on me, Quince will have a black eye to show for his efforts.

  “Lily!”

  I whip around to see Daddy swimming down from the second floor.

  I didn’t realize how very much I’ve missed him until right now. For a second, I drink in the sight of him. He looks regal, as usual, with his graying hair trimmed shorter than the last time I was home. Tonight he’s wearing his Thalassinian navy dress uniform—a pale blue jacket deco
rated with pearl buttons and a variety of ribbons and shells of commendation—and looks one hundred percent the high and mighty king. Except for the smile that pops onto his face when he sees me.

  “Daddy!” I squeal, and kick over to meet him at the base of the ramp. His arms wrap around me, cocooning me in his strong, protective shell. I nuzzle my cheek against his neck, and he rubs his over the top of my head. I always feel safe in Daddy’s arms. Nothing can hurt me.

  “I have missed you,” he murmurs against my hair. “You should not stay away so long.”

  “I missed you too, Daddy,” I reply, pulling back so I can look at his handsome face. The lines of maturity around his eyes look deeper than last time. “I just got so busy with schoolwork and the news team that I barely had time to sleep.”

  “But you’re here now.” He releases me and grins. He looks years younger.

  Back by the ballroom doors, Quince clears his throat. Loudly. I close my eyes and clench my teeth. I knew he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

  “Daddy, this is—”

  My dad jets away with a powerful kick before I can finish. I hurry after him, to stop him from killing Quince before I get a chance to explain. In an instant he’s in front of Quince, reaching for him. Oh, no, he’s going to choke the life out of him. Before we break the bond.

  “Daddy, no,” I shout, moving to intervene. “He’s not—”

  My jaw drops.

  Daddy’s not strangling Quince. He’s hugging him!

  I drift the rest of the way, staring in complete shock as my dad embraces the bane of my existence, who catches my eye over Daddy’s shoulder and winks. Well, if Daddy’s not going to strangle him, I will.

  “What’s your name, boy?” Daddy demands, releasing Quince and pulling on his imposing king-of-the-ocean persona.

  “Fletcher, sir,” he replies. “Quince Fletcher.”

  Leave it to the blowfish to act all polite and respectful.

  “Well, Quince Fletcher.” Daddy throws one arm around Quince’s shoulders and the other around mine, squeezing us together. “Welcome to the family.”