Chapter 118: Nereida’s Voyage
The two women spent another hour in the market, Nereida teaching her niece quietly how those outside the palace lived.
“We’ll come back as soon as we can,” Nereida said. She wanted to promise more, but knew she could not. They both had duties, families and grieving to do.
“This was nice,” Camina whispered, hugging her aunt’s arm fiercely. “I… I grew up with Papa’s stories about you. He used to cry on your Naming Day anniversary.”
“I was always his favourite, and he was mine.” Arm in arm, they headed back into the palace, using a servant’s entrance that was poorly guarded. The one, singular guard tipped his hat on their return, and she slipped two gold coins to him, twice their agreed upon price. It was good to have allies in the court.
There was some kind of ruckus in the main courtyard.
“Should we?” Camina motioned toward the sound of the chaos. Nereida was about to tell her no, tell her to avoid trouble. Neither of them needed trouble right now, since they had been out without a guard, without a chaperone and without permission. They ducked into a servants’ corridor, and made their way back to Camina’s suite. Once the girl was safely home, Nereida returned to her own wing.
The wing was strangely quiet, the boys and Aella gone, the baby and nanny both asleep in the nursery. And so Nereida went off to see if her mother was free for tea. The old woman was trapped in her grief, barely speaking, and Nereida wanted to offer her mother what comfort she could. Her mother was staying in her own suite now, no longer using her marital wing. The Royal Bedroom was being refurbished with new beds, new desks, so that the new king could be welcome in his new home. It seemed senseless to Nereida, though she knew that the desk would likely be given to one of the grandchildren to use. Basiano didn’t need a new desk. He needed the dragon out of him.
Her mother was abed when she arrived, propped up on many, many pillows. Her hair was limp, the bags under her eyes deep and dark. Nereida brought the tea tray to the bedside table, pushing aside the untouched breakfast.
“I miss him,” Nereida said. “Even though things were hard, he was still my father.”
“He loved you,” her mother said, though there was a far-away sound to her voice that filled Nereida with dread. She remembered how Basiano spoke of his memories after their mother had borne a sleeping daughter. This listlessness was a precursor to worse.
“Tell me a story, mom,” Nereida whispered, crawling onto the bed beside her mother. Some of the pillows still smelled of lavender soap. She put her hand on her mother’s, noticing how wrinkled it was, the skin thin now. Her mother was old, and heartbroken. But her words stirred something in her mother, and the old woman launched into the tale of how she had first known she was in love with her husband. It was a sweet story, and it was nice to hear how her father had once been a romantic man.
“I embarrassed Aella when we first met,” Nereida confided. Her mother’s eyes sparkled. She made a noise and motioned for Nereida to continue. So Nereida explained about answering the door before bed, her hair long and straight but unbound. “I didn’t know about their customs; everyone I knew wore their hair up, but we all worked farms, or bakeries. No one wants stray hair in their food. But she looked away like she had seen me without clothing.”
“Wait, come again?” And so Nereida explained Aella’s culture’s hangups regarding hair, having it bound up, that length indicated rank to an extent, though away from the capitol she had seen several women with longer hair.
“She is wearing her hair down though,” her mother said.
“Well, yes. She didn’t want to upset anyone. But… she is uncomfortable. She likened it to walking into the Great Hall wearing no top.” Her mother burst into laughter. She laughed long and hard, until tears poured down her face and she was gasping for breath. Nereida laughed too, caught up in her mother’s sudden burst, until they were both holding each other, giggling.
“Oh my stars, my darling little girl.” Her mother wiped her eyes. “I had no idea. Your poor wife!”
“She’d do anything for me, and I for her,” Nereida said, the mirth draining away as she put her head on her mother’s shoulder. Her mother had always seemed so large and imposing a woman, but now Nereida saw that she was just a woman like her.
“I’m happy for you, Nerry. I wish your father could have seen you wed.” She smiled tearfully. “Do you think you could bring your children by soon? Just them? I… I don’t know them, at all. And I… I don’t want to follow your father until I do.”
“I don’t want you to follow Father at all,” Nereida replied fiercely. Her mother blinked at her in shock. “You stay, mother. As long as you can, you stay.”
“The illness…”
“The illness is gone. They got most of it when they took your leg. I got the rest. Water is life, mom.” She took a breath, feeling waves of emotions trying to drown her; sadness, hope, fear, love and despair all vying to be the one to sink her. Her heart was hammering in her chest, and so she lifted her mother’s withered, dry hand and placed it over her own heart. “I will stay, mom, for the rest of your life, if that is what it takes to keep you here, alive, for your other children, your grandchildren. I’ll give up the freedom of the sea. I’ll put aside my plans, my duties, everything, if you need me to. You’re my mom.”
There was a long moment where neither of them moved or spoke. The wind howled outside, heralding a storm from the sea. The air was heavy with the scent of the sea, and Nereida tried to ignore the pang of guilt. She wasn’t sure if she was feeling guilty for wanting to abandon her quest, for forcing Aella to stay on land or something else. But her mother reached up and touched her face softly, her eyes full of tears.
“A mother shouldn’t be a cage, my girl. I see how you chaff here. I know.” Nereida blinked furiously against the tears. “Don’t stay if you don’t want to. But please… no more years long absences? I want to know your children. I want to know you, and not the… the image of you.”
Nereida removed the anklet, letting herself free from the magic. Her mother smiled at her, reached out to touch her face.
“This is me,” the siren said softly. “I am… I lost myself. I let someone… my husband was not good to me.” She looked down at the soft, pale bedding. The pillowcase had embroidery on it, the stitches bulky and uneven. It took her a moment to realize it was likely done by one of the grandchildren. Her sons didn’t know how to embroider. They’d grown up learning how to plant instead.
“You are beautiful, my darling little one.” Nereida flushed at that, shifting and looking away.
“I… I am used and broken, mother.” She lifted the edge of her skirt to show her mother her leg, covered in scales, inhuman, unshapely. She wanted to explain, to tell her mother about all the Dragons, but she could not find the words. Her mother shook her head, her wrinkles crinkling at her eyes as she smiled.
“You are strong. Stronger than me. And I am glad for it. Tell me about your children, darling. Think about all you have done.”
And so Nereida talked about the boys, about Damara, about Epelda, on the ship, gone, but still loved. She told her mother about how they had been married, sparing no detail about the proposal or the vows. Her mother went strangely still.
“That… that is quite a binding ritual, Nerry.” She smoothed out the blankets. “Are you… are you alright with what was done to you?”
“It… it was so strange. But I love Aella, I am happy with her. So it is well.” But her mother’s frown only deepened. She seemed to be trying to pick her words, and so Nereida waited.
“And… Damara was conceived that night? After you spoke those words?” Her mother’s face drew into a sharp frown, and she shifted as if she planned to get up and pace, remembering at the last moment that she could not.
“Yes,” Nereida mumbled, looking away from her mother as her face heated with embarrassment. There were some things you did not talk to your mother about, and the conception date of a child seemed like one of those things!
“Did they… know? Will the sirens come for her?”
Nereida stared at her mother in shock. Her mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. She had never considered that the busybody siren nobility and priests might come for the baby. But she recalled the old siren who had promised civil war if they tried, and she felt a wave of calm drown her worries.
“They won’t,” she said after a moment, her voice strong. “She’s ours.” She smiled at her mother, trying to reassure her. “Besides, Basi made a treaty with them; Iria is his, and he will find homes for all the air-breathing ones born from now on.” When her mother gave her a questioning look, Nereida found herself explaining about Dolphins, Sharks and regular water-born. Her mother’s horror returned in full as she made the leap that Nereida had been one of these babies abandoned to the dolphins and the waves.
“The Stars shined on us both that day,” she said softly, pulling Nereida into her arms as if she were a child of four, not a woman approaching forty. “May they continue to do so.”
Nerieda left the warmth of her mother’s room, where the hearth fire burned hot, to her own room. They kept the hearth fires smaller, since her boys were not used to the heat in the winter, and so an unwanted spark wouldn’t reach the baby. She expected to hear the children playing. It was nearly dinner, and they were usually running through the garden before they had to employ manners. Instead she was met with a gaggle of servants who were in a collective tizzy. She and her family had been summoned to dinner with Basiano. And she was late. The servants cornered her, two of them offering her outfit choices that still met with the requirement for being “simple” during mourning, but were well made and flattering even on her wider frame. She barely had time to choose the softer white-cotton dress when the servants were working to undress her. Her hair was brushed flat. She shooed away the servant, who bowed and scurried away.
“Enough,” Nereida gasped, trying not to push away the overly helpful staff. “I am a fully grown woman and can, in fact, dress myself and brush my hair!” There were a half-dozen murmured apologies and the servants left. They left Nereida alone in the silence of her room, the only sound their retreating footfalls and the crackling of the fire. She was breathing hard as if she had been attacked. She walked to the window, looked out over the city to the ocean in the distance.
“Give me strength,” she whispered to the water. “Help me save my brother, my niece, my people.” But the ocean didn’t answer, and so she pulled the simple frock on and headed to dinner with an angry, dragon-possessed prince.
She hurried to the family dining room, which was less formal than the Great Hall. The candles and torches flickered with soft, welcoming firelight. The sun was rapidly setting, giving the walls a soft orange glow. It should have been the most welcoming place in the castle, a place where they could be family without the worst of the obligations of being royal. Instead, the warm, bright dining room was filled with people who were eating silently. Even the boys, well dressed and still, did not dare slurp the soup in front of them. Basiano lifted his head up when she came in. His expression was cold and unwelcoming. But Nereida ignored her brother to focus on her wife, who, in the torchlight, seemed to have a black eye. Aella looked up at her as if sensing her stare, her eyes widening as if she were silently trying to communicate something. Echoes of her telling Nereida to “leave it” rang in Nereida’s mind, but she pushed the thought away. The anger she had for her wife fluttered away when she saw that the black eye was not the only mark. Aella’s left hand was burned. She looked back at Basiano, her anger rising anew when he just smirked at her.
“Take your place beside your wife,” he said, his voice friendly. No one was fooled. They all knew an order when they heard it. “And then we can begin.”
“Begin what?” she asked, the words in her mouth before she could think. She tried not to see Caleb and Leevan both flinch.
“A reminder of decorum,” he replied, his tone filled with condescension. “A reminder of your place in this household. This is not the ship, and there are consequences to acting outside what your station permits.”
“Good stars, Basiano, what has gotten into you, man?” demanded Leevan, standing up. “First you strike Nereida’s wife for having the audacity to have a little fun, and now this?” The world flashed red at her brother's words.
“I am simply maintaining order,” Basiano replied. Nereida glared at him. She hated this dragon. She HAD to find the stupid magical sword and stop him!
“You aren’t acting like yourself!” declared Leeven. “Father’s death was upsetting, but none of this alright! Do you WANT to drive our sister out?”
“She is no sister of mine.” The air seemed to be sucked from the room at the soon-to-be King’s words. Nereida felt Aella’s hand squeeze hers, felt Caleb stiffen beside her. The world disappeared in a haze of anger and hurt as tears filled her eyes. And then, from his seat, tiny Egaz spoke, his voice calm and sure.
“That’s because you aren’t really Uncle Bassi. You’re a dragon in his body. And I won’t let you hurt my mommy with your mean words!”