The next day my head pounds as I am once again dressed, and my hair is
braided. Merfolk put me in my own clothes—the silver dress I wore to
Taryn’s wedding, now faded from exposure to salt and frayed from being
picked at by Undersea creatures. They even strap Nightfell onto me,
although the scabbard is rusted, and the leather looks as though something
has been feasting on it.
Then I am taken to Balekin, dressed in the colors and wearing the sigil
of the Undersea. He looks me over and hangs new pearls in my ears.
Queen Orlagh has assembled a huge procession of sea Folk. Merfolk,
riders on enormous turtles and sharks, the selkies in their seal form, all
cutting through the water. The Folk on the turtles carry long red banners
that fan behind them.
I am seated on a turtle, beside a mermaid with two bandoliers of
knives. She grips me firmly, and I do not struggle, though it is hard to keep
still. Fear is terrible, but the combination of hope and fear is worse. I
careen between the two, my heart beating so fast and my breaths coming
so quickly that my insides feel bruised.
When we begin to rise, up and up and up, a sense of unreality grips me.
We crest the surface in the narrow stretch between Insweal and Insmire.
On the shore of the island, Cardan sits in a fur-lined cloak, regal on a
dappled gray steed. He is surrounded by knights in armor of gold and
green. To one side of him is Madoc, on a sturdy roan. To the other is
Nihuar. The trees are full of archers. The hammered gold of the oak leaves
on Cardan’s crown seems to glow in the dimming light of sunset.
I am shaking. I feel I may shake apart.
Orlagh speaks from her place at the center of our procession. “King of
Elfhame, as we agreed, now that you have paid my price, I have secured
the safe return of your seneschal. And I bring her to you escorted by the
new Ambassador to the Undersea, Balekin, of the Greenbriar line, son of
Eldred, your brother. We hope this choice will please you, since he knows
so many customs of the land.”
Cardan’s face is impossible to read. He doesn’t look at his brother.
Instead, his gaze goes impossibly to me. Everything in his demeanor is icy.
I am small, diminished, powerless.
I look down, because if I don’t, I am going to behave stupidly. You have
paid my price, Orlagh said to him. What might he have done for my
return? I try to recall my commands, to recall whether I forced his hand.
“You promised her whole and hale,” says Cardan.
“And you can see she is so,” Orlagh says. “My daughter Nicasia,
Princess of the Undersea, will help her to the land with her own royal
hands.”
“Help her?” says Cardan. “She ought to need no help. You have kept
her in the damp and the cold for too long.”
“Perhaps you no longer want her,” Orlagh says. “Perhaps you would
bargain for something else in her place, King of Elfhame.”
“I will have her,” he says, sounding both possessive and contemptuous
at once. “And my brother will be your ambassador. It shall all be as we
agreed.” He nods toward two guards, who wade out to where I am sitting
and help me down, help me to walk. I am ashamed of my unsteady legs, of
my weakness, of the ridiculousness of still being dressed in Oriana’s
utterly unsuitable dress for a party long over.
“We are not yet at war,” says Orlagh. “Nor are we yet at peace.
Consider well your next move, king of the land, now that you know the
cost of defiance.”
The knights guide me onto the land and past the other folk. Neither
Cardan nor Madoc turn as I pass them. A carriage is waiting a little ways
into the trees, and I am loaded inside.
One...