“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.
Grandmother 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.
“I’m sorry for,” she says, and I can barely hear her. “I’m sorry for mentioning the Sea Witch at dinner.”
“Oh, I think you did more than just mention the Sea Witch, didn’t you?”
“Yes, Father.”
“I think you might have implied that she had … what was the word you used?” Sophia doesn’t reply. “Sophia,” he says, her name thickening between his lips. “What was the word you used?”
“Powers.” The word jumps out of her.
“Ah, yes. Powers. Surely you weren’t suggesting that the old hag has abilities akin to my own?”
“No, Father.” Her voice is faltering, like a shadow moon. “I’m sorry, Father.”
“No one in the kingdom has powers like the Sea King,” Cosima says, with indecent haste.
“Precisely,” my father says, passing his trident from one hand to the other. My eyes follow it back and forth, the metal glittering with the promise of destruction. “Everything I have done is to keep you girls safe. I hope you’re not becoming ungrateful, Sophia. I’m sure you remember what fate has befallen ungrateful women in this family.”
“Yes, Father,” Sophia says, gulping. “I’m sorry, Father.”
“Under my reign, the mer-people are the most prosperous they have ever been,” he says. “The rightful mer-people, that is; those allowed the privilege of life within the palace grounds. No one can deny that I have made the kingdom powerful again, can they?”
“We are blessed to be living in the time of your sovereignty, Sea King,” Grandmother Thalassa says. She picks up her knife and fork, cutting some weeds into smaller chunks. We are the only ones who use such human items, collected from the ruins of shipwrecks. My mother insisted on it, apparently, and even then, no one thought to question how she knew to use them, how she came to be familiar with their names. My mother said the utensils were glamorous and refined and my father, always keen to make his family more “special”, agreed. He did not suspect any threat in his wife’s interest in the humans then. The tradition of formal dining has never been broken, despite the Sea King’s hatred of the world above the surface. “Now eat your food, Muirgen,” Grandmother says. “You need sustenance.”
I stare at the bowl of weeds in front of me. The humans on the boat had sipped frothing bubbles from gleaming crystal, and unwrapped little powdery cakes from coloured paper. They wouldn’t eat this. They would laugh, call us animals. Maybe they would be right. My hand slips under the table and I tear at my fishtail with my nails. Maybe we are half-beast, after all.
“You most certainly will need to keep your energy up, young Muirgen.” Father winks at me. “What with Zale calling to visit you after dinner.” A lump of nausea throbs in my throat at the mention of Zale’s name, clotting deep. He turns to Nia. “Don’t worry, daughter. Marlin will accompany him. You shall not be left out.” He shovels another forkful of green into his mouth. “At least some of my daughters are betrothed, isn’t that right, Talia?”
“We are fortunate,” Nia murmurs as Talia stares at her lap. I don’t want to be like Talia, twenty-one and unloved, and yet I don’t want to marry Zale either. But what other option do I have?
“Thank you, Father,” Nia says. She returns to the window. If I have spent my life looking up, then Nia has spent hers looking out, staring into the depths of the sea. Past the Outerlands, past the Sea Witch’s realm of the Shadowlands. It is as if she thinks there might be somewhere safe for her beyond that. What are you searching for, Nia?
Of course Zale is coming tonight; it is Saturday. He has visited every Saturday evening since my twelfth birthday. I was still half-child then, half-maid; just becoming interested in mer-boys my age. Hoping to hold someone’s hand, have their lips brush chastely against mine. I thought nothing of my father and his old friend huddled in the corner, brows furrowed. I didn’t know that while I was tidying away my toys in the nursery, my body was being sold to the highest bidder.
I want to get to know you better, Zale said that birthday night, his hands on my shoulders as he leaned in to kiss my cheek. His lips lingering too long, my stomach turning over with something between shame and fear. Beautiful, he said, and I would have torn off my own face than have him look upon me with such pleasure again. But I smiled, and said, thank you. I have always been a very polite girl.