“Okay,” he says, sounding calm, “just tell me. What’s going on?”
Calliope starts to explain. “Well, you see, according to ancient mer law, when a mer prince or princess falls in love—”
I touch her on the arm, and she stops. This is my guy. I’m the one who got him into this, and I’m going to be the one to tell him about it. It’s my responsibility.
“It’s called the Trial of Truth,” I say. “It’s a test of . . . worthiness, I guess, that the ancient founders of mer society dreamed up for situations like ours.”
“When a mermaid princess and a human fall in love?”
I twist in my chair and lay my arm over his, smoothing my fingertips across the soft leather. I shake my head as I explain. “When they are already in love when the mermaid princess bonds to another merman.”
His Caribbean-blue eyes study me, unblinking. I force myself to keep the fear hidden. The trial is going to be hard enough for Quince. I don’t want my worries to stress him out even more.
“What do I have to do?” he asks.
For this answer, I turn to Calliope. She knows more about what exactly everything will entail.
“It is a series of three tests, designed according to specifications written by the ancient rulers of the original five mer kingdoms.” Calliope pulls out the kelpaper scroll and searches for the part that explains the process. She reads, “‘The human mate must complete the three tests within one lunar cycle of bond formation to prove worthy of the merfolk’s love.’”
“One lunar cycle,” he repeats. “That’s—”
“Four weeks,” I say. “From the time of the bond. From my birthday.”
He nods. “Okay, so three weeks from now. What are the tests?”
“That I can’t tell you,” Calliope says. “They will be delivered to you when the time is appropriate.”
“Instructions will be sent by messenger gull,” I explain. “Directly from the royal chamber at the palace.”
Quince lets out a humorless laugh. “Do I get any hints?” he asks, and though he’s trying to play it light, I can tell he’s worried. “Don’t tell me I have to go into this totally blind.”
“No, of course not,” I say, giving Calliope a meaningful look.
“No, no,” she says. “I can tell you that of the three tests, one will challenge you physically, one will challenge you mentally . . .”
“And the third?” Quince asks.
“The third will challenge you emotionally.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“It will test the strength of your love.” Calliope gives us a brilliant smile. “And after having worked with you both before, I am sure that will be the easiest of the three.”
Quince squeezes my hand. “No problems there.”
He’s taking this really well, and maybe that’s because he doesn’t yet understand how difficult these tests will be. There’s no point in worrying him now. He’ll find out eventually, when the instructions come. And either he’ll handle them . . . or he won’t. There’s nothing we can do about it now.
I refuse to even consider the possibility of failure.
Calliope gets up from her chair. “I should return to the kingdom. I’ll leave you two to discuss things.” She lifts her tote bag onto her shoulder and reaches in to dig something out. “I am quite sure you will meet the Trial of Truth without difficulty,” she says, and I hope Quince doesn’t notice the waver in her voice, “but should you need anything—anything at all—you can send for me.”
She pulls out a small yellow scroll of kelpaper and hands it to Quince.
Yellow kelpaper for an urgent message.
“Simply call a messenger gull and give it this,” she explains. “I will help in any way I can.”
Quince thanks her, and she gives him a quick hug. I give her a longer hug. I’m not sure how much help she can be when the tests begin, but I’m glad to have her on our side.
After we say good-bye, Quince turns to me. “Call a messenger gull?” he asks with a laugh. “How am I supposed to do that?”
“I’ll teach you,” I say, leaning forward to give him a quick, reassuring kiss. “It’s easy.”
He turns his attention to the map on the table. “You’re going somewhere?”
I’m not sure if he’s dismissing the trial as insignificant or trying not to think about it. I’m definitely in the second category.
“Yes,” I say, relieved to be talking about the other big concern in my life right now. “I’m going to visit the kingdoms in the region.”
I give him a quick rundown of my plan, how I need to gather information about the scope of the problem so I can garner support—in writing—for a joint effort to address the environmental concerns in the oceans and the mer world. So the kingdoms don’t feel like they have to face it all alone.
“Sounds like a great plan,” he says.
“I think so too,” I reply. “I’m just not sure how to start. Calliope thinks I should talk to the nearest kingdoms first, get as many on board as quickly as possible.”
“But Doe thinks you should start at the top and work down from there.”
“Exactly.” I stare helplessly at the map. After going around in circles with Doe’s, Calliope’s, and occasionally Shannen’s input, I feel completely lost.
“What if the top dog won’t play?” he asks.
I look up, wondering what he means.
“What if you go all the way up to the ice kingdom,” he says, tracing the journey along the east coast, up to Glacialis, “and the queen says no?”
“That would be terrible,” I say. “It would be so much harder to get other rulers to cooperate after that. She is highly respected.”
And a little feared. I saw her power firsthand in the council meeting. She left, and the others followed. Few would actively go against her if she took a stand opposing my plan.
“What if one or two of the little dogs say no?” He draws a big circle with his finger, encompassing the kingdoms nearest Thalassinia. “What happens then?”
I shrug, beginning to see his point. “If some of them say no, then it will be disappointing.”
“But not devastating?” Quince twists his mouth and shrugs at me, as if to say “Then that’s where you should start.”
“Plus,” I continue, feeling like I am finally coming to a decision, “it will be easier to convince the smaller, less powerful kingdoms to join in the effort because they are the least equipped to deal with the problems. They should want to cooperate more.”
“Sounds like you know what you need to do, then,” he says.
I nod, grabbing the wax pencil that has rolled to the edge of the map.
“I’ll start here,” I say, drawing a red circle around Trigonum, Desfleurelle, and Antillenes—Thalassinia and Acropora’s nearest neighbors. “With luck and a current boost from Daddy’s trident, I can get to all three kingdoms this weekend.”
If I can harness my new power, that will speed up the trip even more.
Quince leans in over the map, studying, and I think he’s going to ask me something about the kingdoms or my plan or Daddy’s trident.
Instead, without taking his eyes off the map, he asks, “What happens if I fail?”
“What?” I whisper.
“If I don’t pass the three tests,” he says. “What’s the consequence?”
I suck in a shaky breath. This is the part I didn’t want to talk about, the part I hoped he wouldn’t ask about. But I guess he’s too clever—or has learned too much about how mer-world magic works—to assume there won’t be a price.
There is, and it’s a big one.
“If you fail,” I say, keeping my voice steady, “then you are banished from the water forever.”
He lifts his Caribbean-blue eyes to stare into mine. “And?”
“And?” I echo.
“I know that can’t be it,” he says. “Nothing in your world is ever that simple.”
A part of my heart br
eaks when he calls it my world. I want it to feel like his world, too. But now isn’t the time. He’s right; there’s more to the consequence of failure than him being exiled.
“And . . . ,” I say, wishing I didn’t have to tell him this, “I’ll be banished from land.” I swallow hard. “Forever.”
He stares into my eyes, unblinking, and I can’t read any sort of reaction. His mind is racing, I’m sure, but everything on the outside is a stone facade.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he says, “Then I won’t fail.”
Just like that. He won’t fail. He sounds as sure as he did when he first told me he loved me. No room for doubt, like he’s stated undeniable fact.
I smile and act like that’s all the assurance I need, but as I lean into him and let his strong arms wrap around me, I can’t shake the niggle of fear. The three tests are supposed to be near impossible, even for a human who has spent a lot of time in the ocean. I have no idea how a human with little swimming ability and nothing more than the power to breathe water is going to succeed at three of the toughest challenges the mer world has ever devised.
For now, though, I need to stay positive. I have to believe that everything will work out, because the thought of never stepping on land again—of never seeing or touching Quince again—is too unbearable to even imagine.
I slip my arms around his waist and hug him tight. I won’t let him go, not now that we’ve finally figured everything out. No matter what happens, I’ll find a way to make it work.
Chapter 9
I smile into the wind as Quince races us to the beach after school on Friday. Below my helmet, the frizzy length of my hair whips against my back, and I know it’s getting churned into unbrushable tangles. I don’t care. Soon I’ll be in the water and the bird’s nest will smooth out into silken yellow strands.
Quince turns his head and shouts, “I think you like this, princess.”
In response I squeeze my arms tighter around his waist. I might be a complete failure at driving a motorcycle, but I’ve gotten pretty good at holding on for the ride.
When he slows down to turn into the beach parking lot, I sigh. The worst part of our motorcycle rides is when they’re over.
He steers into a spot at the far end, beneath the shade of a clump of trees, and kills the engine. When he starts to climb off, I hold him in place, resting my cheek against the soft leather of his jacket.
Soon summer will be here, and it will be too warm for him to wear his total biker look. He’ll spend the hot, humid months working construction jobs in T-shirts and work boots. Hopefully he’ll still break out his biker boots for date nights.
“Not that I’m complaining,” he says, wrapping his arms over mine, “but I thought you were in a hurry.”
“I am.” I sigh again but make no move to get up.
“But what?” He leans to the side and twists so he can see my face. “Are you worried? Nervous about going to Tri . . . ?”
“Trigonum,” I finish.
I give him a kind of half nod, half shrug. I’m not sure what I feel. I climb off the motorcycle and, when Quince does the same, start walking to the sand.
“This is all new to me,” I explain. “Except for last week’s disastrous council of kings and queens, everything else I’ve ever done as royal duty has been in Daddy’s shadow.”
Quince takes my hand as we reach the beach. “So last time was a disaster,” he says, and I scowl. “But you learned something, you bounced back, and you have a new plan. That’s what leadership is. Learning, reevaluating, and redirecting. Everyone from the construction manager at a job site to the president of the United States has to do that on a daily basis. You’re doing everything right.”
“I hope so,” I say. “A lot is riding on—”
Squawk, squawk, squawk!
A seagull swoops in from nowhere, screeching and flapping its broad wings wildly.
“Whoa!” Quince shouts, ducking away from the crazy bird and pulling me down with him.
The bird stops squawking and drops awkwardly to the ground. Once on the sand, it shakes out one wing and preens its beak through the disturbed feathers before pulling itself into standard seagull pose. It steps up to Quince, holds out its left leg, and waits.
“They aren’t all this dangerous, are they?” Quince eyes the bird warily.
“No, but some of them are . . . a little eccentric,” I explain. I glance at the kelpaper scroll, and my heart sinks. “You need to take that paper off his leg.”
“How do you know it’s for me?” Quince asks.
“Because he’s standing in front of you. Because the kelpaper is blue, which means it’s from the palace.” I release Quince so he can kneel down to gull level. “And because you’re expecting notification of your first test.”
Quince throws me an inscrutable look before reaching out to unwrap the kelpaper from the bird’s leg. As soon as the paper is clear, the gull spreads his wings, smacks Quince in the face with two big flaps, and takes off over the ocean.
Quince spits a feather out of his mouth as he unrolls the scroll.
“What does it say?” I ask.
He looks at me. “Am I allowed to tell you?”
I nod. “You can tell me. I just can’t help you.”
He clears his throat. “‘Make your way to Thalassinia.’”
I wait for him to continue, expecting it to say that he’ll receive the rest of his challenge when he gets there. But he stops.
“What else?” I say, leaning over him to read the instructions.
But there aren’t any more. It only tells him to go to Thalassinia.
“Quince,” I begin, but he’s already shrugging out of his leather jacket and walking back to his bike.
I hurry after him.
“What are you doing?”
“Well, princess,” he says as he unlocks the storage compartment on his bike, “it looks like I’m swimming to Thalassinia.”
I stand there and stare for a full five seconds, watching as he stuffs first his jacket and then his T-shirt into the bike. When he starts stepping out of his boots, I jolt back into action.
“You can’t,” I insist, rushing forward and trying to stop him from bending down to pick up his boots. “Do you know how far away Thalassinia is?”
“A ways.” He winks at me.
“Is this a joke?” I shriek, partly at him and partly at whoever dreamed up this stupid test. “You can’t seriously think you can swim all the way to my kingdom. It’s forty-five miles.”
Quince jams his boots into the storage compartment, then turns to face me, hands out. “Give me your stuff. Looks like I won’t be taking it home after all.”
He’s losing his mind. “Quince,” I say, keeping my words slow and steady, “you can’t swim to Thalassinia. You barely learned how to swim a few weeks ago. It’s too far, it’s too dangerous.”
He places his hands on my shoulders, and I can see that he is serious and steady. “I don’t have a choice.”
You do! I want to scream. But I know that neither of us wants the alternative. He wants me to be able to walk on land just as much as I want him to be able to swim under the sea. So, as much as it terrifies me to think about it, he’s right. He doesn’t have a choice.
“What about your mom?” I ask. Beneath my shorts, I manifest a finkini bottom. “Do you need to let her know?”
As I step out of my shorts and hand them to him, along with my flip-flops, he laughs. “Seriously? By now she’s pretty much given up on the idea that my life is on a regular schedule,” he says, adding my clothes to the bike before locking the compartment. “She won’t start worrying until I’m gone a week at least.”
I have to admire how well he’s taking this. For a guy who couldn’t swim two months ago, he’s pretty confident. Even swim star Brody would balk at the idea of swimming that far in open water.
I take his hand in mine as we walk toward the surf. The feel of the sand squishing beneath my feet usually makes
me happy, but today it only makes me nervous.
“Do you even know how to get there?” I ask.
“It’s east,” he says. “I think I can manage east.”
He holds up his wrist, showing off his fancy sports watch—a Christmas present from his deadbeat dad. As if a watch makes up for a decade of being gone.
At least it has a compass. That’ll be some help.
“It’s east until you get to that rock formation that looks like a stack of Oreo cookies.” I may not be allowed to help him with the physical swim, but I’m not going to let him head out into the middle of the Atlantic with no directions. “Then turn southeast. Follow the ridge line of those mountains—”
“You mean those hills?”
I growl at him. As if now is the time for a geographical debate. “That’ll lead you straight to the plateau overlooking the core settlement of the kingdom. The palace is in the center.”
“I’ve got it, princess.” He winks at me again, and I want to shove him back onto the sand for not taking this seriously enough.
Instead, I finish my instructions. “If you get lost or tired or in any kind of trouble, you call a messenger gull like I showed you. Send a message to Daddy or to Peri, and they’ll help you.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Promise me,” I insist. “Promise me you’ll call for help if you get into trouble.”
He leans down and presses a soft, warm kiss on my mouth. I don’t realize I’m trembling until he wraps his arms around me.
“I promise,” he says. “Now you make me a promise.”
“What’s that?”
“You get your business done,” he says. “Focus on your task at hand, and don’t worry about me.”
“But—”
“Promise.” He rubs his hands up my back one more time before stepping away. “Meet me in the palace kitchen for sushi when you’re done.”
“You hate sushi.”
He shrugs. “It’s growing on me.”
We both turn at the sound of splashing at the surf’s edge. A single royal guard is stepping out of the water onto the beach. After the last time, I made them promise to only send one guard above the surface to fetch me. The whole squadron is too conspicuous. And embarrassing.