The Sea King's Daughter (12 page)

"No right! No right! I'll show you -- " Philemon grabbed a handful of my hair, close to my head, and hauled me from my sleeping couch. "You'll regret the wave that cast you up on my beach. I'll make you wish you'd drowned." His spittle sprayed my cheek.

I was truly frightened now. No one had ever, my whole life, dared lay a hand on me in anger. Now this human, this common man, threatened to tear my hair out by the roots. Anger rose in me like the tide.

"Get your hands off me," I said, in a low, hoarse voice I barely recognized, "or by the gods, I'll curse your ships and drown your men, and make you feel Poseidon's wrath until the end of your wretched, storm-tossed days."

Philemon dropped me. Shock drained the color from his face. He stared at me as if I were a gorgon with hissing, writhing snakes for hair. Despite my terror, a half-smile twitched on my lips. Until I'd uttered the words, I hadn't known I was capable of inventing such a curse.

"What manner of creature are you?" Philemon asked through bloodless lips. He took a step back. I felt a surge of power, a fierce joy at making him afraid.

At that moment, Corinna rushed into the room, her uncombed hair down around her shoulders. "She's a child, a poor, innocent child," Corinna cried. She crouched down to take me in her arms. "What have you done to her, Philemon? For shame! She's frightened, shaking. Leave her alone!" Corinna's voice trembled with rage as she faced her husband down.

Philemon's eyes narrowed. "I'll leave her alone. For now. But Lysander will marry Nicias' daughter, not this -- this creature." He spit the last word, then stomped from the room.

"Can you make him change his mind?" I asked, minutes later, as Corinna wound my hair into a complicated mass of braids and then fastened them at the nape of my neck.

In the mirror before us, Corinna's smile was grim. "I'll do what I can. Once Philemon's mind is made up, he doesn't often change it. But don't forget, we have Lysander on our side." For the first time, her smile reached her eyes. "Lysander can be just as bull-headed as his father. Maybe worse."

She finished my hair and draped her arm around my shoulders. Standing in front of the mirror, side by side, we looked like a mother and daughter. "Do you know what would look lovely?" Corinna said. She rummaged in her jewel box. "This matches your eyes exactly." She draped a necklace of silver and rich green jade around my neck. "Let me lend it to you."

"Thank you," I said, touching the necklace. I meant to thank her for more than the jewelry. I knew she understood, because she gave my shoulders a gentle squeeze. Several seconds ticked by before she let me go again.

All day, the air inside the house crackled with tension. Even the slaves started at every little noise. Lysander and his father spent the morning closeted together in one of the bedrooms.

Shortly after midday, when the sun stood at its highest point, Lysander found me sitting cross-legged in the shade of an olive tree. I'd stolen bread and cheese from the kitchen because I couldn't bear the thought of facing Philemon at the midday meal.

Lysander threw himself down beside me in the grass. He lay his head in my lap and grinned up at me. My breath caught a little in my throat. "Good news?"

He nodded. "Father and I struck a deal."

"What kind of a deal?"

"I agreed to meet the girl, and if I don't like her, Father will send her away." Lysander saw my dismay and took my clenched fist in his hand. He gently uncurled my fingers. "Of course I won't want her. Didn't I tell you last night that I'd rather marry you?"

"He will let us wed?"

"He didn't say that, exactly. But he'll come around. Especially as the years go by and I don't produce an heir."

"Years? We're to wait years to marry?"

"We're both young, little one. What's the rush?"

"But I -- I want --" I sucked in a breath to silence myself. I mustn't push him, not now. "Never mind."

Lysander smiled. "There's a sensible girl. Now go in and help my mother, would you? She's weary already with preparing rooms for our guests."

I frowned, displeased by the idea of fixing the couch where my rival would sleep. "They won't stay long, will they?" I asked. "The guests, I mean."

Lysander drew my palm to his lips and kissed it. "Don't worry your sweet, jealous little head about this," he said. "I'll barely even speak to the girl. I promise."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

"A boat on the beach! They're here, they're here," Hygeia called from the patio. The slave girl flew into the kitchen, her tunic flapping. My stomach clenched at her announcement. For a day and a half, I'd dreaded those words.

"Quick, Hygeia," Corinna said. "Go and fetch Philemon and Lysander. We'll all walk together down to the village to welcome the guests." She shot me a worried glance. "Perhaps you should stay here in the house, Nyx. The climb -- and your legs --"

I knew she only wanted to protect me. "No, I want to go along," I said. I had to see Nicias' daughter for myself. I was not nearly certain of Lysander's devotion, or sure that he would continue to defy his father for my sake. My presence would, I hoped, remind Lysander of his promises.

Within minutes, the entire household was ambling down the hill toward the beach. The women raised their skirts to keep the hems from dragging in the dust. Philemon and Lysander strolled side by side, but their bearing remained stiff and formal. Little eddies of tension still ran between them.

It was a beautiful day, clear and hot with a good breeze off the sea. The island's dark mountains stood like knife edges against the sharp blue of the sky. From the marketplace came the charred smell of roasting goat. The villagers came out of their homes to watch us pass: women with babies in their arms and toddlers at their skirts, men dressed in coarse-spun loincloths, children with dirt-smeared faces and bright eyes. Phidias was there, and Hieron, the boy Lysander had boxed. Even the village dogs and a pack of half-starved cats followed us through the marketplace and down the dusty cobbled streets to the beach and the edge of the sea.

Nicias and his daughter had come ashore in a grand ship with a single sail and two dozen oarsmen. The crew had already unstepped and lowered the mast and the great, square sail. A gray-bearded man with stocky shoulders and a finely woven tunic directed the men. When he saw our party straggle over the rise and down onto the beach, he came forward to greet Philemon. I hung back to watch.

"Nicias," Philemon said. "Welcome to Theros."

"Thank you," the visiting merchant replied. "And Lysander. I'm  so pleased by this match."

Lysander mumbled something.

If Nicias noticed Lysander's lack of enthusiasm, he was too polite to comment. "My daughter is eager to meet you," he said. He glanced toward a gaggle of women further down the beach, busy straightening their tunics and smoothing each others' wind-blown hair. "I assured her you were both handsome and intelligent, but you know women." Nicias laughed. "She wants to examine you for herself. Lenaea! Come away, come over here!"

A young woman broke away from the circle. She was tall and slender, graceful as a reed in the wind. She wore a white linen dress covered by a thicker cloak of scarlet cloth. The cloak was embroidered with gold and indigo thread. A halo of ebony curls framed the girl's heart-shaped face.

I noticed something familiar about the girl, about the way she moved across the sand. I'd seen her before. 

Lenaea peeked up at Lysander through a veil of sooty lashes. She smiled, showing off her dimples.  I watched Lysander's expression. Even before he spoke, I knew what he would say.

"It's you, the girl from --"

"I didn't expect you'd remember," Lenaea said. Her giggle tinkled like a cluster of silver bells. "You only opened your eyes for half an instant that day."

"Then it wasn't a dream." Lysander looked dazed, almost frightened.

The others -- Nicias, Philemon, Corinna -- seemed confused, but I understood. I'd suddenly realized why Lenaea looked so familiar. A muted whimper escaped my throat. She'd cradled Lysander's head in her lap on the beach, all those weeks ago. She was the girl from the temple, the tall girl in the white robe.

My world seemed to shatter like a broken mirror. All my hopes and dreams fell down in shards around my feet, and the largest sliver pierced my heart. I lowered my head and stared down at the sand, too miserable to cry or even speak.

Later, in the villa's dining room, Lenaea told her story to a rapt audience. Even Philemon and Nicias ceased to speak of grain prices and draped themselves over their couches to listen.

"They took him away from me," Lenaea said. She pursed her lips into a pretty pout. "I wanted to stay with him, but they carried him away to village. They sent me back to the temple with the other girls."

She took one of the figs Hygeia offered on a silver tray and nibbled at it with teeth that gleamed white and perfect. I felt too ill to eat any of the delicacies I'd helped prepare.

"How did you discover Lysander's identity?" Corinna asked. She touched Lenaea's arm. Her fascination with the newcomer drove needles of jealousy into my heart. I'd hoped Corinna would treat Lenaea with frosty politeness, and nothing more, but she'd quickly warmed to the girl.

"Oh, that was much later." Lenaea batted her sapphire-green eyes at Lysander. "I went down into the village to ask about him, to discover whether or not he survived. One of the women there, the one who took him into her home, told me he was the son of a merchant on Theros. When my father said he'd arranged my engagement -- well, I didn't know for certain, but I hoped. . . ."

She flashed Lysander a smile as her words trailed off. He smiled back, his eyes glazed and dreamy. "You saved my life," he said. "If you hadn't come along and discovered me that day, I might have died."

I wanted to cry at the injustice of it all. I'd carried Lysander in my arms all that long night. I'd held his head above the waves. So many times I'd faltered, my muscles aching, sure I could go no further, but always somehow I'd held on. I'd carried him all the way to the beach. How dare Lenaea take the credit -- and the love -- that rightfully belonged to me!

"No," I whispered.

Corinna peered at me over her plate of seared tuna and herbs. "What was that, dear?"

I sprang to my feet. "No, it's not fair. I saved --" My throat tightened, but I forced out the words. "I was the one -- Lysander, why don't you remember? You opened your eyes -- You saw me --" Pain clawed at my chest. I had to stop speaking.

All eyes came to rest on my face. Lenaea stared at me, eyes wide. The slaves paused, their pitchers and platters frozen in the air. Even Philemon was speechless as I struggled to spit out the words.

Corinna frowned. "What are you trying to say, little one?"

Tears rolled down my cheeks. My breath came in short, sharp gasps. Red blotches swam before my eyes. "I'm a -- I'm a mer -- It was I who --"

My knees buckled. The red blotches darkened, spread through my field of vision, and turned to black.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

When I woke in my room I could feel my body, each limb like a lead weight against the blankets, but I could not move. My eyelids were thick, sticky, and too heavy to lift for long. Even through my lids, the day's last feeble rays of light pierced my eyes like sea-urchin spines. I moaned and shifted a little on my sleeping couch. I could hardly believe that a few forbidden words could hurt so much.

Someone bathed my forehead with a cool, wet cloth. "Rest, darling," Corinna said. "You'll feel better after you sleep."

Somehow, despite the pain, I obeyed.

I dreamt of Father again. This time, he floated in a dark place. Slowly, I realized why his surroundings looked so familiar. It was the sea sorceress' cave. I could just make out the bones of fishes on the floor and the painted amphora in the center of the room. Father's expression was stiff and still. I could not tell whether he felt angry or afraid.

I moved sideways through the water. "Father?"

As usual, he could not hear me. He simply waited, his mouth a grim line across his face. "Father? You sent the sea sorceress away, all those years ago. Why are you here now? I don't understand."

He said nothing.

I awoke to darkness. I was alone.

There was no moon. I lay still and waited for my sore eyes to adjust to the glow of the stars. My throat ached. Experimentally, I rolled onto my side and drew my knees up to my chest. My entire body felt bruised and battered, but at least I could move again.  I slid from the couch, only to collapse in a tangled heap on the cold tile floor. On my hands and knees, I crawled to the door and then -- with great effort -- staggered to my feet.

I had to see Lysander. I was beyond desperate -- I was lost, and utterly alone. I wanted to remind him of his promises, his kisses, his sweet words. Mostly, though, I needed to be near him. I needed to remember why I'd given up everything to become human. Lysander was my only reason for being on land and the only one who could comfort me now.

I leaned against the wall, using it as a crutch while I crept down the hallway. Just outside the master bedroom, where Philemon and Corinna slept, I stubbed my toe hard against the marble stand that held a bowl of flowers. I cried out, and my voice rang and echoed in the hall. I crouched down and froze, sure I would be discovered.