Daughter of the Sea

A Novella

Stanza III

Such an odd pair were they: she of water, he of land.
As unlike as any two could be.
Yet somehow the two, fast friends they soon grew,
The man and the daughter of the sea.

By late September, he had forgotten what his life had been like without her. Indeed, he was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate when he was not around her, often with nearly disastrous consequences. His father had been forced to severely reprimand him for his lack of attention after a negotiation with an ally—a negotiation his father had placed him in charge of as a test of his leadership—nearly collapsed due to his preoccupied state. It had been an embarrassing affair and had nearly made him lose all confidence in himself. How can I rule a kingdom if I cannot even focus on what needs to be done? he berated himself. You're better than this! How could you be so stupid?!

She could sense the despair in his spirit as he glumly approached their hideaway the next morning. As he sat on the beach next to her, she carefully rested her hand on his shoulder. "De féldemen spirate?" she asked delicately. "What is wrong?"

Letting out an exasperated sigh, he buried his head in his hands. "I can't do this, Ariel," he whispered. "I can't be king."

She looked at him, her eyes of blue filled with empathy. "Of course you can," she said, doing her best to comfort him.

"No, I can't," he responded, shaking his head. "You don't understand. My father is a living legend. When he took the throne, our kingdom was on the verge of collapse. Our farms were dying out. Our trade was nonexistent. We should have been wiped from the face of the earth. But . . ." He inhaled sharply. "But my father turned everything around. He made new allies. He invested what little resources we had in new farming techniques. And now . . . Now, our kingdom is the most powerful nation in the world."

She looked at him, confused. "I . . . I don't understand. That is a . . . bad thing?"

He threw up his hands. "It is when you're an idiot like me! I'm not like him, Ariel. I'm not as brilliant. I'm not as politically savvy. I'm just . . . I'm just—"

She pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him. "You don't have to be like him, Eric. So do not try to be. You're smart and caring and a wonderful man. You'll make a great king!"

He opened his mouth to protest but quickly shut it, her eyes looking at him, filled with confidence in his abilities. Realizing it was pointless to argue, he nodded.

"Thank you," he said softly. He cleared his throat, a painful admission forcing its way from his lips. "You know, you're the only real friend I've ever had."

She looked at him in disbelief.

"No, I mean it," he insisted. "I've . . . I've never been able to make friends. When you're royalty, people tend to treat you differently. They forget you're a real person with feelings and emotions just like them. But with you . . . I can tell you anything and you won't judge me. I can be honest with you. I can share with you just how I feel and you always know what to say to make me feel better."

He felt his heartbeat suddenly quicken as he realized what he had been trying to deny for so long. Tell her! his mind screamed at him. Tell her just how you feel!

But what if she laughs? he silently argued back. What if she thinks I'm—

You'll never know unless you tell her the truth! Do it! Do it!

"Eric?"

Her voice brought him out of his reverie, a confused expression upon her face. "Eric, are you all right?"

"Yes," he said quickly, hoping to conceal his nervousness. "I'm . . . I'm all right. I just . . . I just wanted to tell you something, and I . . . I didn't know how you were going to react, so I—"

"Yes?" she asked innocently, leaning in toward him.

At the last moment, his nerve failed him. Hastily, he scrambled to change the subject. "There's . . . There's going to be a fireworks display tonight in honor of our successful renegotiation of a trade alliance. I . . . I was wondering if you would like to come and watch them."

Her eyes sparkled as they did whenever he offered her some new insight into the human world. "'Fah-eye-er works'? What are 'fah-eye-er works'?"

He laughed in spite of his better judgment, her innocent excitement moving him as it always did. "They're . . . They're like lights in the sky that make all sorts of colors. We humans use them when we celebrate something important." He hesitated slightly. "So . . . are you interested—"

The air left in his lungs escaped through his mouth as she hurled herself toward him, arms wrapped tightly about his own, pinning him in place. "Yes!" she exclaimed, planting a quick kiss on his cheek. "Yes, I am!"

Having finally managed to fill his lungs with precious oxygen, he smiled, relief filling his spirit as he brought his fingertips to his cheek, delicately stroking where her lips had been moments earlier. Did . . . Did she really just—

His thoughts were interrupted by a cry that emanated from her throat. Glancing toward her, he furrowed his brow, his countenance lined with worry. "What? What is it?"

His fear abated as her dulcet laugh filled the air, her hands outstretched in wonder as cool droplets of rain began to fall from the sky. "What . . . What is the human word for . . . for this?"

It was his turn to laugh. "Rain," he answered. "We call it 'rain.'"

"Rain . . ."

She giggled once more as the cool droplets splashed across her skin, her smile wider than he had ever seen before. "Frígidate," she murmured. "So cold . . ."

He raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you've never seen rain before."

She raised her own eyebrow in response, crossing her arms. "Of course I have," she stated matter-of-factly. "But I've never stayed above the surface long enough to really feel it. We are taught from the time we can swim on our own not to stray above the water during a storm. To be above the water during a storm means . . ." She raised her shoulders in a modest shrug, as if to suggest that the implication was perfectly obvious.

A frown tugged at his lips as he realized what she was suggesting. "You mean . . . You can . . . You can die?"

She cocked her head in confusion. "'Die'? What does 'die' mean?"

He suddenly felt very uncomfortable, this unexpected direction the conversation was moving troubling him greatly. "'Die' means . . . Um . . . It means when you're not alive anymore. When you go away forever, and never come back."

Comprehending, she unexpectedly laughed at him, shaking her head, her red tresses falling into her eyes, framing her face. "Oh, is that what you mean? Oh, Eric. Of course we can die." She gripped his hand, her fingers lightly tracing his wrist. "Did you think we live forever?"

He suddenly felt very, very stupid. "I . . . I don't know," he mumbled, trying not to sound too idiotic. "It's just . . . I knew your mother was killed. But I guess I assumed that, as long as you were careful . . . I mean, all the sailors who have told stories of mermaids—"

He winced as she glared at him at the use of that word again. "Sorry. I meant . . . All the stories about your people suggest that your people are immortal."

The unfamiliar word caused her some confusion for a moment. "'Ihm-mor-tahl'?" "No," she said, shaking her head. "No. We can die just like humans can. But if nothing happens to us, we live for a very long time."

His interest was piqued. "How long?"

She cupped his chin with her fingers. "My father has seen more than 200 complete cycles of moons and tides."

His jaw dropped open, dragging her fingers along with it. "Two . . . Two hundred?!"

"That's right," she responded, not flummoxed in the slightest. She nonchalantly flicked her fin against his leg as she leaned forward, her curiosity setting in once more. "What about humans? How long do they live before they . . . die?"

The question caught him off guard, causing him to stumble toward a response. "Um . . . Well, a few of us are lucky enough to last about 80 years . . . I mean, 'cycles.' But most of us . . ." He shifted ever-so-slightly upon the sand, cognizant of the raindrops staining his skin and clothing, even more aware that her fin—her warm, beautiful fin—was gently stroking his knee, as if to ease the distress he was apparently telegraphing. "Most of us are lucky if we make it to 60 or so." It was his turn to look at her inquisitively. "Why do you ask?"

He swore that for the briefest of moments her face betrayed an expression he had never seen on her before: overwhelming sadness laced with longing and regret. The moment was gone in an instant, her smile returning to her lips as she rested her hand upon his shoulder. "It . . . It was nothing. I . . . I was just—"

She looked up at the sun as it fought its way through the grey clouds overhead, her face falling as she realized its position was much higher than she had expected. "Fluvélethway," she muttered under her breath as she looked back at him in dismay. "It's later than I thought. My family . . . They'll be wondering where I am."

His stomach turned knots within his stomach as the voice in his mind began shouting at him once more. Now's your chance, you fool! Tell her! Tell her now!

His courage failed him once again as he released his grip on her hand. "They still don't know that you come up here, do they?"

Her eyebrow raised itself again as she glanced at him. "Does your father know about us?"

"Touché," he conceded, kneeling to help her pull herself into the cool waters just beyond the shoreline. "So . . . I'll see you tonight? We'll be on a ship somewhere beyond the harbor. Do you know where that is?"

Her eyes sparkled as the reminder of the promised fireworks raced through her mind. "I'll be there," she said. Without warning, she took hold of his shirt, pulling him close to the water, her lips kissing his cheek once more. "Just look for me you will find me." She glanced over her shoulder, preparing to swim back to her home. "These 'fah-eye-er works' . . . Are they beautiful?"

"Yes," he murmured, his voice low. "Yes, they are."

Her smile was wider than he had ever seen it before. "I can't wait." Her hand pressed itself to his palm, her fingers outstretched against his own. "Threfalten e lemáicum, Eric," she said softly. Her sapphire eyes bored into his own. "That is how we say farewell. At least, that is how we say it to the ones we love most."

He gasped softly, his heart racing as he realized that she was sharing something precious and invaluable. He closed his fingers around hers, their hands holding each other tightly. "Thre . . . Threfalten e lemáicum, Ariel."

She laughed as the rain danced about her face. "Very good for a first time. Very, very good. . . ."

Slowly, reluctantly, the two released their grip on each other's hand, him watching silently as she sank into the depths of the water, disappearing from his sight.

Yes, Ariel, he thought to himself as he began his slow trek back to the palace. The fireworks are beautiful. But not nearly as beautiful as you. Frustrated, he kicked a stone along his path, the small object skipping across the surface of the sand. Hopefully, someday I'll actually have the courage to tell you. . . .

AN: More to come!