The Sea King's Daughter (11 page)

I sighed and rolled over on the couch. I was afraid of what the morning would bring, but at the same time I could hardly wait. After tonight, I knew, nothing would ever be the same again.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Lysander and his father left early the next morning, well before sunrise. I woke in the dark to hear the mumblings, shufflings, and bumpings of their preparations.  Apparently Philemon no longer suspected that a storm lurked on the horizon.

Or else he simply wanted to get Lysander away from me.

The day after Lysander went away, I sat spinning with Corinna. Though I still didn't understand the necessity of wearing clothes in the heat of the day, I'd learned to work at a loom like the other human women. My cloth came out bunched and knotted, not smooth like Corinna's, but it was good enough to make tunics for the slaves.

The work was dull and repetitive. My thoughts drifted. I couldn't wait for Lysander to come safely home. What if there was another storm, and I wasn't there to save him? If something happened to him, I did not know how I could stand it.

I wondered if Lysander thought of me now, as he sailed with the west wind. Did he miss me as much as I missed him? I closed my eyes and remembered the feel of his hands cupping my face, his body pressed against mine, his lips. . . .

I tried not to think about the part where he said he didn't love me. I knew I could change all that.

I opened my eyes. Corinna leaned toward me and studied my expression. "You seem far away today, my dear," she said. "What is it? Have you perhaps remembered something about your family?"

I took up a spindle and began to wind up the thread from the spinning basket. "It's nothing, really." I blushed. "Something foolish."

Corinna brushed a strand of hair from my face. Tears sprang to my eyes at the tender gesture. "Don't worry, Nyx. Nothing you say can make me think less of you. Does it have anything to do with that nonsense between Lysander and my husband?"

I raised my head and searched her face. "Yes, I know something of that business," Corinna went on. "Philemon came in to bed last night raving about this and that, tossing out silly accusations."

She saw the frightened look on my face and reached out to squeeze my hand. "Don't you worry. I didn't believe a word of it."

I gripped her hand with both of mine. My voice quavered when I spoke. "You won't turn me out?"

"How could you even ask? And if my son fancies you, I'd be proud to have you as my daughter-in-law. You do love Lysander, don't you?"

Surprised by her bluntness, I could only nod.

"My husband believes, like most, that one should marry for practical reasons. I daresay my father's wealth played a part in Philemon's decision to wed me." Her lips went thin for an instant, and she gazed off past my head. "I, however, think a love match is much preferred. There was a boy, once, and I thought I --"

She broke off and gave herself a little shake. "Never mind. If you love my son, and he cares for you, I'll do my best to persuade Philemon to let you marry."

"Thank you," I whispered. I leaned over to embrace her. She smelled rich and dark, like sandalwood and smoke.

"What more could I ask, but that the two people I love most in the world find happiness together? Only --" she pulled away and frowned down at me, so fiercely that her straight black brows nearly met in the center of her forehead. "Only promise me you will guard your heart a little. Lysander is still very young, and somewhat . . . impetuous. His emotions sometimes run ahead of his common sense. I think you are much the same."

I knew Corinna spoke the truth. I often acted without thinking. How else would I be here on land, rather than living deep in the blue-green sea? But I knew I loved Lysander. If I was sure of anything, if there was anything I knew with my mind, body, and spirit, it was that I loved him.

"Don't worry," I said, smiling as I piled the thread and spindle back into their basket. "It will all turn out for the best. Just you wait and see."

I spent the next two weeks with Corinna. The other women in the household had little use for me. I was not a slave, but neither was I quite a member of the master's family. Perhaps I might have befriended some of the village girls, if I'd cared to try. Instead, I spent my time alone. On good days, when my legs didn't ache so much, I wandered off to explore the island.

Life on Theros bustled and hummed around me, but I felt as if I were barely there. Every evening I walked down to the beach. I stared out at the horizon, watching for sails. I hardly felt the sea breezes or saw the sun-drenched hills. Even the shadow of a fishing boat in the distance made my heart beat faster.

When Lysander did return, however, I was off picnicking by myself in an olive grove. I'd walked too far. I limped and staggered by the time I managed to drag myself back. Still, when I crested the hill and saw the ships on the beach, I managed to break into a slip-sliding run down the gravel path. They'd returned early.

I found Lysander coming from his bath, in a fresh tunic with his hair wet and darkly glistening. He caught me up in a fierce hug. I hugged him back and laughed with joy. But we had no chance to speak. His father came up behind us and glared. Reluctantly, I let Lysander go.

At supper, talk felt muted and strained. Philemon described the success of the trading, Kiros' superior hospitality, and the fair winds that bore them back in record time. Lysander barely spoke at all, but I noticed that his eyes lingered on my face far more often than before.

Behind Philemon's back, Lysander and I exchanged sweet, secret smiles. Time apart had done wonders, or perhaps it was his father's opposition.

"I have an announcement to make," Philemon said. He smiled a greasy, self-satisfied smile.

My blood ran cold as the deepest sea.

"I spoke with our host on Kiros," Philemon went on, "about a matter of some concern to me." He addressed his wife, but his gaze met mine, and I saw triumph written on his florid face. "Nicias has a daughter, a lovely girl, intelligent but quite obedient. I'm told she's been serving in one of Athena's temples the last few months." He paused to stuff a hunk of goat cheese into his mouth.

I held my breath.

"I've arranged for our son to wed the girl."

Everything in the world went still, even my heart. My wide eyes found Lysander's face. He hadn't known. He turned white, and his jaw clenched in anger.

No one moved. No one spoke. A sob rose in my throat and caught there, unable to break through into the silence. Corinna's gentle smile never wavered, but a muscle near her eye twitched a little. She glanced at me. I saw sympathy in her expression. It was more than I could bear. My hands began to tremble. I could not hold them still in my lap.

Slowly, with what I hoped was dignity, I stood up. My legs threatened to fold under me. I steadied myself. My composure was like a coral reef, delicate and brittle, ready to crumble at a touch. I couldn't bear to let Philemon -- or Lysander -- see me fall apart. Without a word, I walked from the room. No one called me back.

Out on the patio, I leaned heavily against the waist-high stone wall that ran around the outside of the property. Far below, sunset turned the sea to blood. I couldn't seem to catch my breath. I hadn't expected Philemon to move so fast.

"Little one?" I turned to see Lysander standing in the doorway. His arms hung limp at his side. His face was still pale. He came up behind me. "Don't worry."

"Did you see her?" I whispered. "The girl, I mean. Was she very pretty?"

Lysander took me by the shoulders and gently turned me around. He smiled down at me and stroked my cheek with the ball of his thumb. "I didn't meet her. If I had, it wouldn't matter. I won't do it. I won't marry her."

"But your father. . . ."

"He'll threaten to disinherit me, but he'd never really do it." His voice was surprisingly calm. "I'm not a child anymore. He can't make me wed her against my will."

"No," I said. My lips trembled. "No, of course you won't marry her. You're still in love with the girl from your vision."

Lysander shook his head. "That was a dream, little one, that's all. Just a dream. I thought about it the last few days, and I've made up my mind. It's time for me to grow up now."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that she doesn't exist. I imagined her." He kissed my forehead with lips as cool as marble. "If I don't marry Nicias' daughter, I'll still need a wife. Why not choose someone I know, someone I like, over a stranger picked out by my father? Why shouldn't I choose you?"

"Oh. Do you mean --"

"Will you marry me, little one? No matter what my father says?"

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

"Oh, yes," I breathed. "Oh, Lysander, yes."

"Good." He gave me a quick hug. I searched his face, hoping to see that he shared my joy, but his eyes were distant and his expression rigid. "It won't be easy. Father's in an awful rush. He's invited Nicias and his daughter to stay with us."

"Here? The girl's coming here?" My heart gave an odd little jerk.

"They arrive in two days. I've got to convince Father to send them away again. He'll be angry, but I don't care. Once Nicias is gone, Father will know I mean what I say. I won't marry anyone he's chosen. Then he'll have to let us wed."

I stood on my tiptoes so I could stare into Lysander's eyes. He didn't seem to see me at all. I caught his face in my hands and forced him to look at me. "Why should we wait at all?" I asked. "Why don't we just run away together?"

He pulled away. "We cannot marry on Theros without my father's permission."

"We'll take one of the boats," I said, nearly forgetting my fear of the sea. "We'll sail away together and make a new life. Please, Lysander."

He shook his head. Irritation flashed across his face. "No, that's absurd. We'd have no place to go, no money, nothing."

"We'd have each other. What more do we need?"

His expression softened a little, and he pulled me close again. "Trust me, little one. I'll stand up to my father. He'll have no choice but to allow it."

"But --"

"Hush, now." Lysander kissed me on the cheek and then softly on the mouth. "Just be patient. Let me take care of everything."

I took a deep breath and nestled into his arms. It was nearly dark now, and getting cold. "Yes, all right," I said.

We stood looking out at the horizon, where the sunset had faded to pale silver streaks. I realized that Lysander hadn't said he loved me. I wanted to ask whether he did, but I didn't dare. I was afraid to hear the answer.

I tried to pretend it didn't matter. If Lysander didn't love me now, he would -- with enough time, I knew he would.

I tossed and turned that night, too worried to fall asleep. I should have felt ecstatic, but I didn't. So many things might go wrong. Lysander's promises seemed so terribly fragile. He had proposed marriage on impulse; he might change his mind on a whim.

When I slept at last, I dreamt again of the palace beneath the sea. This time I was in Father's chambers. My grandmother was there, and Father, deep in conversation. I floated closer, but they didn't look up. Their mouths moved without sound. Grandmother shook her head, grasping Father's hand as if to plead with him. Father remained unmoved. He pulled away from her.

The scene changed. This time, Thetis lay sleeping in her new husband's arms. As I watched, she twitched and cried out in her sleep. Her flailing arms struck King Meros' son in the face. He woke and caught her arms, then pulled her tight against his body and
whispered in her ear. Her eyes fluttered open. I couldn't hear what her husband said, but his words seemed to soothe her. She let out a deep sigh and relaxed back into slumber.

I gave a hard kick with my tail -- in my dreams, I had my tail back -- and swam out of Thetis' room. It felt wonderful to swim again. The water caressed my body. It filled up the empty space between my skin and the rest of the world. I'd forgotten how good it could feel to move without pain.

I woke, reluctantly, when shouting dragged me from the dream. I heard harsh, angry words and the slamming of doors. I blinked, still sensing the water cradling me. I blinked again and the sensation was gone. Now I could feel my legs again. As usual, they ached.

Philemon burst through my door, his face contorted with rage. I sat up fast and pulled the blanket up to shield myself. My braids unraveled around my shoulders. I couldn't understand Philemon's shouted words. They were nothing more than a confusing tangle of nonsense syllables. He towered over me.

For the first time, I feared him.

The sounds sorted themselves into words. "A witch, that's what you are," he howled. "You've cast a spell on my son, my only son! He says he won't marry the girl --that he'll marry only you -- you, a foundling with no name, no family, nothing but what I've given you! You're a -- a treacherous snake -- a plague on my house -- "

Philemon sputtered to a stop, his face so red I thought his heart might burst in his chest. I pulled myself up, still clutching the bedclothes. "I'm no witch," I cried. "I love Lysander. You have no right to keep us apart!"