The Sea King's Daughter (2 page)

Galatea smiled unpleasantly, showing her teeth. "You're in awful trouble, Nyx. Grandmother wants to see you right away."

At fifteen, Galatea was the sister closest to my age. She disliked me because I was prettier, and -- despite my sharp tongue and wicked ways -- my father's favorite. Like my four other sisters, Galatea was obedient and cheerful, pleasing Grandmother with her modesty and her many accomplishments. It gave me a secret thrill knowing that, although I was the youngest, I had just seen a world Galatea would not know for another year. I wished I could taunt her with it.

Instead, I flicked my tail rudely in her direction and swam away. I passed through carved stone arches into the great hall of the palace. Grandmother's chambers were west of the throne room. The scrollwork on her door showed merfolk cavorting with octopii.

I knocked. My stomach tied itself in knots as I waited for Grandmother's command. Her high-pitched voice answered with an imperious "Enter."

Grandmother stood before a full-length mirror framed with milky seed pears and twining silver flowers. A small woman, with tiny childlike hands and rounded shoulders, she somehow managed to seem imposing. Grandmother held her back straight and her chin high, ignoring me as a maid put the finishing touches on her headdress. Silver-gray streaked her hair. She wore it piled high and woven through with sprays of beaten-gold leaves. One mummified starfish dangled from each ear.

In her youth, the merfolk called my grandmother the most beautiful maiden in all the seven seas. Her beauty hadn't faded much, but her proud expression and the thin set of her lips drained the warmth from the room. I folded my hands behind my back and stared at the white quartz tile on the floor.

"Nyx," she said at last. "This is the third time in a week you've gone off alone, without an escort." Her voice was heavy with disappointment. "When my son returns from his journey, I will have to tell him his daughter has disobeyed me. Think of your position, my dear. This is not proper behavior for a child of King Nereus. You must learn to act more like a princess."

I adopted what I hoped was a contrite expression. "I'm sorry, Grandmother."

"You must promise me," she said. "Promise you won't run off again."

I clenched my teeth. I couldn't bear the thought of waiting until I was sixteen to explore the human world. My heart thudded in my chest, but I shook my head. "I can't promise that, Grandmother. It's -- sometimes I've just got to be alone. If you could try to understand --"

Grandmother lifted her eyes to the heavens and sighed, expelling a great rush of shimmering bubbles. "Great Poseidon! What am I to do with this impossible child?" She squinted into my face. "You will tarnish your father's reputation, Nyx. Think of that the next time you go running off."

My lips trembled. "You don't care about me at all. You only care how things look to others."

Grandmother's expression hardened. When she spoke, her voice was dangerously quiet. "That's quite enough, Nyx."

"No," I said. "I'll go where I want, do you hear me? I'll do whatever I want. You can't stop me. You're not my mother."

"No, I'm not," Grandmother said. "But if she were here, she'd be ashamed of you."

"That's not true! If my mother were here, she'd understand. She'd know how I feel. She'd see why I hate this place, why I hate my life, why I -- why I hate you!"

Grandmother flinched. "Go to your chambers, Nyx. You'll remain there until I send word."

I hesitated a moment. "Go," she said, in a great and terrible voice.

I turned and fled out of her chambers, up the winding stone staircase, past the tarnished statues of my ancestors in the hallway, and into my own rooms. Sobs tore at my chest. I threw myself down at my vanity table and laid my head on my arms.

Grandmother's cruel words rang in my ears.

Would my mother truly be ashamed of me? I'd never known her. She died when I was still an infant. Hardly anyone in the palace would speak of her. Only Thetis told me stories about her, and only after much coaxing. From Thetis, I knew that our mother had loved to sing and that she often told her daughters stories about the gods and heroes. But Thetis also said that Mother had dark moods, when her sadness seemed to overwhelm her, quenching the light in her eyes. Often even my father couldn't break through her gloom. I imagined I was like my mother in that way. She'd been unhappy, too.

Sometimes I felt like the only spiny urchin in a garden of delicate white flowers. Thetis and my father pretended I belonged, but the rest treated me like a changeling. Mostly I didn't blame them. I did and said spiteful things without really knowing why. I sassed my tutors, lied to my grandmother, and ran away whenever I had the chance.

Sometimes I stole combs and pretty trinkets from my sisters, not because I wanted their things but to make them hurt the way I did. I always imagined that these petty thefts would make me feel better, but nothing helped for long. Sooner or later I ended up in that dark, bottomless caldera where I hated myself, my life, and everyone around me. No sunlight could ever penetrate that deep.

I reached out to trace the carvings on my prized possession, a silver mirror. It was the one thing of my mother's that now belonged to me. Perfect little golden seahorses danced around the outer edge. The handle was a miniature statue of Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty. My mother Doris had modeled for the statue. When I was a child I'd whispered my secrets into Aphrodite's tiny shell of an ear and imagined that my mother heard me.

Everyone said that I, of all Nereus' daughters, looked the most like my mother. I certainly didn't look like Father or my sisters. But I didn't see my resemblance to Aphrodite's statue. She boasted high cheekbones and exotic, slanting eyes, while my own face was round and pale as the moon. As far as I could tell, the only thing I shared with my mother was the color of my scales. Coppery-green crescents covered my father, grandmother, and sisters' tails. But my tail was alight with silver scales, each like a sliver of the pale
moon. When I was born, my father said, I reminded him of the night sky. He named me Nyx for the goddess of darkness.

I longed to see the night sky for myself, to see the moon and the stars and the dark above the waves. I began to swim in restless circles, plotting my escape. Grandmother couldn't confine me to my chambers forever. The upper world was a siren song, beckoning me with an irresistible force.

Sooner or later, whatever the consequences, I vowed to answer that call.

CHAPTER THREE

Thetis and I sat together in one of the tower rooms, a large round chamber with a marble frieze of Poseidon on the ceiling. Late afternoon light filtered in through amber windows and glowed against the floor's gold-inlaid tiles. My sisters and the other ladies of the court reclined on couches, gossiping and snacking on tiny pink damsel fish. Most days I avoided the tower room as if it swarmed with sharks and spiny sea urchins, but today I'd come looking for Thetis.

"Please, Thetis. You've got to do it," I said.

"Oh, Nyx. I don't know."  Thetis' pale lips puckered into a worried bow. As usual, she wore her hair pulled severely back, emphasizing her sharp face, thin nose, and huge black eyes. Her delicate, almost transparent skin lacked the high color that earned me such praise. Still, in spite of her outward plainness, Thetis possessed an otherworldly serenity. Her expression, her eyes, the way she held her body and folded her fingers together on the table -- everything about her reflected the quiet stillness of her inner self. My inner self, on the other hand, resembled a frenzied shark feeding.

"I'm begging you," I whispered, reaching across the table to take Thetis' hand. "If you don't help me, I'll go mad."

I'd spent the past four days confined to the palace grounds, where I moped about and avoided my grandmother. I wanted desperately to go up to the surface again. On this particular afternoon the water felt wonderfully charged with energy, and the fish darted by like arrows shot from a bow. Like me, they could feel the storm brewing above the sea.

"Please," I said. "Just tell Grandmother you'll go along and keep an eye on me." I glanced over at Galatea and Amphitrite, who giggled and shot nasty glances in my direction. Ino and Nysa had their heads together, too. I wrinkled my nose. "If you don't help me, I swear I'll murder someone," I told Thetis. "Probably one of those chattering imbeciles you call my sisters. Look at them. They can't wait for me to do something wrong so they can run and tattle to Grandmother."

"They're not so bad." Thetis glanced at her reflection in the surface of her jade-studded silver bracelet. Today she seemed even dreamier and more distracted than usual. "You should try harder to get along with them."

I gave a short, sharp laugh. "I'd rather kiss a stinging jellyfish. You're the only sister I can stand, you know that."

Thetis frowned. "I won't be around forever, Nyx."

I felt a stab of fear. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I don't know," Thetis said. She twisted her bracelet around her wrist with a far-away expression in her eyes. "I'll get married someday."

I breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, that. I'll just visit you."

Thetis turned her face away. "Of course." She hesitated. "Nyx, I --"

"What?"

"Never mind. If I help you go off alone for an hour or two, what will I do with myself?"

I smiled. "I don't care, just as long as you stay out of sight," I said. "So you'll do it? You'll tell Grandmother you're my chaperone?"

A worry line creased Thetis' brow, but she nodded. "I wish you'd really let me go with you. What if something happens? What if you get hurt?"

My cheeks burned at her fussing. I hated the way everyone, even Thetis, treated me like a child. I knew Thetis would never agree if I told her my plans. "I can take care of myself," I said. "Nothing will go wrong. I promise. I'll be home before dark."

Six feet under, the water was calm and sleepy, but I could feel the pressure of the waves above my head. The wind blew hard, driving muddy white-crowned crests before it. Rain speckled the surface. The fish exploded in all directions. Sars climbed up from the bottom and dived again. Mullets and bass jigged under the boiling carpet of rain. Their excitement was contagious, and I longed to join the celebration.

Before I poked my head out of the water, I hesitated. I remembered the panicky feeling of suffocation from the first time. I dreaded the pain, but I craved the new experience more. Gathering my courage, I burst up out of the sea and into the rain.

Surfacing didn't hurt so much the second time. Drawing my first breath, I felt a piercing ache in my lungs. But I didn't choke, and there was no terror. This time, I knew that half a dozen breaths would loosen the iron band around my chest.

When my heart stopped pounding and my lungs no longer ached, I looked around. This storm-tossed sea was a different creature entirely from the calm, shining surface I'd seen the week before. Gray clouds closed in over my head, matching the slate-colored waters. The rain pelted my hair and my cheeks. I tasted the fat, cold drops. The fresh water shocked my tongue.

I missed Ios, but I saw no sign of my favorite dolphin. She never came when I wanted her. Instead, she appeared and disappeared at will, tagging along for a while and then leaving me behind. Sometimes I thought she only came to see what trouble I'd get into next.

I swam through the center of the storm. It felt marvelously wild and exciting. Minutes passed like seconds. Clouds blocked out the sun, but I could tell by the gathering dark that night would fall soon. I knew I should turn back. Thetis would worry.

At that moment, as I was about to dive, I spotted the shadow of a sail in the distance. The temptation was too great to resist. I made my way toward the storm-tossed ship. Wave after wave broke over my head.

I'd known this was a day for adventure. I would see my first human today.

I had to be careful, of course. I couldn't help shivering a little as I remembered a story I'd overheard once, as a child of seven, when my mathematics tutor fell to talking with my nanny.

That afternoon I'd floated like a statue in a shadowy corner, listening to their scandalized whispers. They spoke of a young, impulsive merman who'd dared swim up close to a human ship, hoping to satisfy his curiosity. The fisherman had caught him up in their nets and hauled him to land like an overgrown liche.

"They took him around, island to island, in a cage made of wood," my tutor said.

"No!"

"Yes, and they charged a silver coin to see him. One of Poseidon's chosen people, and the humans treated him like a common animal."

"I never!"

The tutor's voice fell even further, and my nanny leaned closer to hear. "Well, of course you've heard about the time they caught a mermaid. The daughter of a nobleman, no less. She'd gone up for her sixteenth birthday . . . "

This was almost as exciting as it was horrifying. "What did they do to her?" I asked, forgetting myself in my curiosity.

Two heads turned to stare at me. "Now, miss," my nanny snapped, her face reddening. "Such talk's not meant for little ears. Still, let this be a warning to you, now. Stay away from humans. They aren't our kind. No, they're not like us at all."