Chapter 132: Nereida’s Voyage
Nereida was full of dread as she stepped into her mother’s drawing room. There was tea for her, Aella and a fourth cup. She had concerns, until Caleb entered, looking sullen. Her mother was wheeled in, and then she chased her servant out with a quick word. Normally, her mother had a soft expression when she came to tea, but now she was as calm as a storm.
“Sit,” her mother commanded, motioning to the couch and chairs. Her tone left no room for argument. Nereida sat on the couch, pulling Aella to sit beside her. The loveseat was small enough that their legs touched, a breach of decorum, but Nereida did it anyway. Her mother had to get used to the idea that she and Aella were wed. To her mother’s credit, she did not react to Aella’s knee brushing up against her daughter’s knee.
“Ma’am, do I really need to be here?” Caleb asked nervously. Her expression softened.
“Sit, child. I’ve known you for three decades now, and I think, at this point, I know you better than I know my own daughter.” She glanced at Nereida, her voice wobbling slightly, before she turned hard eyes on Caleb. “So sit. And stop trying to hide whatever wound you are hiding.”
“Yes ma’am.” He sat, but kept his cloak drawn over his missing hand, his face white. After a long moment, he pulled his arm out, but he looked down at the tiled floor, clearly avoiding his mother-in-law’s eyes. Her mother took in a sharp breath.
“Tell me. Everything. Leave nothing out. Start with you,” she pointed to Aella. “And explain to me why you fled and left your children with Priscilla.”
Aella spoke quickly, her tone brisk and formal, even as she spoke of visions that promised betrayal. She did not say whose visions, only that they were indisputable. Her shoulders were tight, as if she was readying to protect herself from a blow. Nereida noticed Caleb stiffening. She wanted to reach for him, but she had no right. Not when she had killed Mira. Nereida took over, explaining why she and Caleb had left, had forced themselves onward despite everything. She told her mother everything, even when she got to Mira’s betrayal, and the horrible, terrible realization that she had her venom only after it was too late to save her.
“If I’d had my magic, maybe, maybe I could have done something but… without it… it was a death sentence.” Caleb went still, and Nereida found herself suddenly standing. She wandered over to her friend, silently asking permission to explain further. But instead, it was Caleb who told the story, his voice wooden, his pain obvious to even Aella, who shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
“She tried to kill Nereida, and paid the price.” He looked up at the ceiling, staring at the cracked paint where once there had been a lovely mural of dancing children. Now it was yellowing and fading with time. Her father had not been upkeeping the room. “I will pay the price too, if you feel, ma’am, that it is necessary. I’d not have this debt pass down to my children.”
“There is no debt, not from you!” Nereida insisted, before her mother could speak. But the old woman smiled sadly. She put her hand up, a gesture to be still. Nereida stilled, looking away.
“You are my son as much as the ones I birthed, Caleb.” She sounded disappointed in him somehow. Nereida wasn’t sure what passed between them as her mother and friend stared at each other for a long moment. Caleb lowered his gaze first, like he was ashamed. She wheeled forward, placing her hand on his knee. “What you had to endure was beyond the pale, Caleb. We are here for you.”
“The sword is dead,” he said softly. “Its whispers stopped. I was the last to hear them. It… it wanted to kill the gods. And I… I couldn’t.”
“That is not weakness, son. That is strength, to choose mercy.” She held his hand as silent tears leaked down Caleb’s face. Nereida looked over at Aella, who was staring up at the ceiling, her face a mask meant to hide her own pain.
“Now, then.” Her mother cleared her throat and looked to Aella and Nereida, “when were you going to tell me that my granddaughter is a dragon?”
The room fell into stunned silence, the only sound the hearth fire crackling merrily. Nereida could not make her mind work to answer her mother, and Caleb was not helping with his choking noises as he stared at her.
“She is quite adorable,” the former queen continued, as if discussing any other infant. She took a sip of her tea, a smirk that Nereida recognized from the mirror on her face. “A lovely shade of silvery blue. She was hungry, poor little mite, or that is what I believe.” She took another sip. “Did you not think I would recognize magic meant to hide, my darling girl? I worked for years to make your bracelet!” She smiled, a soft, sad kind of smile. She took another sip from her cup, which Nereida suspected was empty, but her mother was purposefully using it for tension. “The poor nursemaid had asked me to hold her so she could sleep, quite desperate, for she started wailing the moment you left, Admiral, and only stopped when Alejo held her. But then the poor boy looked ready to faint.” Nereida felt a twinge of worry mixed with pride. Alejo had tried to feed his magic to his sister, to keep her safe. But he did not think of himself!
“She feeds on magic,” Aella managed. “Is… did you?”
“The magic holding her human faltered and she made the most terrible little cries. Of course I fed her, once your oldest boy explained. Better me than a child!” She glared, using the full might of her displeasure. Nereida felt her shoulders come up and she looked away. “No one else knows, child, but why did you keep it from family? Once we knew you were dragon-possessed, how long would it take for us to wonder if she was too? Or when Caleb smuggled home an egg too large to belong to any animal I know of? Will you say you and Basiano had a child, daft boy?”
Caleb’s mouth opened and closed over and over, but no sound came out. Nereida felt a laugh bubble up, and she let it consume her until she was gasping on the couch, tears pouring down her face as she shook. Aella grumbled under her breath about “impossible wife” and “mother’s daughter”.
“Is she truly yours, or do you raise her for another?” She was the Queen when she spoke now, not Nereida’s mother. It was her scandalized court tones that she spoke with, usually reserved for someone at court who had done something truly stupid.
“Am I yours?” Nereida countered. Her mother’s mask cracked, and she saw mother, not queen, in her eyes. “I was there when she hatched, and she is made with our magic. She had Aella’s hair, mom. My eyes. Human, dragon, it doesn’t matter any more than it matters if she had been born a Salamander, a Siren or Demon!” She regretted the words immediately as Aella lost her colour. Bringing up the demons in reference to her children was dangerous. If anyone knew about Egaz, they’d have to run.
Or was she underestimating her mother again?
But her mother and Caleb did not pick up on the slip, and tea became a more standard affair. They sipped calming tea, ate biscuits, though Aella refused to eat them. They did share a similarity to the biscuits that had poisoned Nereida. She could not blame her wife for her suspicion. They spoke of the children’s tutoring, where they excelled, where they faltered and where their passions lied. Caleb lit up when he spoke of his children, but once the topic turned to Nereida’s vow renewal, he slumped in his chair and stared at the red teapot with vacant eyes. Nereida kept glancing at her friend, but he never indicated he saw her. She looked up at her mother who wore a similarly concerned expression. The old woman shooed her and Aella out with a quick motion. Aella was clearly relieved to be let free from the interrogation, but Nereida could not help but worry for Caleb.
The next few days passed in a blur as preparations for Basiano’s coronation began. Nereida drilled her children in what to do and say, the calls and responses that she had to look up. She had been only a year old when her father had taken the throne. Basiano remembered it, remembered their grandfather. Aella was ever by her side, and no one in the family complained or made an issue of it, not even Masilee, who seemed to harbour some kind of grudge against them both. She sniffed in the hall as they approached, turning her nose up. Perhaps it was just that she was dealing with early pregnancy symptoms that made her irritable.
Nobles from afar were trickling in; Caleb’s parents, wearing their grieving outfits, arrived two days before the ceremony. Caleb, by contrast, wore the finery expected of a prince, observing no mourning customs. His parents gave him a wide berth, ignoring him in favour of chatting up other nobles. Caleb’s expression remained aloof even as his parents pretended he did not exist. Nereida felt her anger rising, but Aella put her hand on her arm.
“Not the time, love. He won’t thank you for fighting this battle.”
“But…”
“No. Trust me, love. He has to find his own footing the same way you did.” Aella’s voice was soft and calm, though Nereida could see that she, too, was angry. She’d lost her parents young, and the idea that a parent could betray their child so thoroughly was clearly bothering her.
Most of the nobles were excessively polite to Nereida, bowing lower than was strictly necessary. Those she knew were openly shocked to find out that she had been a siren all along, and those that only knew her by reputation watched her as if they expected her to do something “mad”. Nereida felt as if she was dancing on ice as she moved through the room, chatting as if she were nothing more than a princess. Twice she asked Aella to get the enchanted bracelet, but her wife refused.
“You cannot hide from your people,” Aella said softly. She took Nereida’s hand, earning a sniffle of disapproval from an old noblewoman nearby. “You are who you are.”
“And when someone gets stupid and sends assassins?” Nereida asked, keeping her tone light as if they were discussing the weather.
“Then I kill them. Or you do. Quickly. We don’t require their suffering.”
“Just their deaths.” Nereida sighed, and hoped that none of her people were that stupid. The old woman shuffled over to them, dressed in a courtly gown that had been fashionable thirty years ago, covered in pearls and fine embroidery of red lilies. She smiled sweetly at Nereida and Aella, as if she hadn’t been sitting in judgement that Nereida dared to touch her wife.
“I hear you are getting married, Princess,” she said, her tone bright and cheerful, as if Nereida was a child instead of a woman approaching forty. “Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials.” And without waiting for Nereida’s answer, the old woman turned and shuffled away. Nereida bit back a hiss, knowing that if she responded to the barb, she would give it legitimacy. Aella, however, tightened her grip until it was almost painful.
“Seagull chatter,” Aella muttered. Nereida grinned at her wife, feeling lighter.
Servants served wine, food and played lively music. The children of the royal lines were doing a little dance together, save for the infants and toddlers who were too young to take directions. Egaz and Alejo were dressed in fancy new tunics in red, black and purple. They fit well, and both boys had a ship riding the waves embroidered along the bottom of their vests. The children were laughing as they danced, having fun, though there was no shrieking or running like they would have back on the farm or the ship. Nereida watched Egaz twirl little Elena around, and the two children shared a genuine smile. They, at least, had mended fences without much drama. Children forgave easier.
After the celebration, the whole family, spouses and children included, had to go to stand vigil with the soon-to-be King, from noon until midnight. They would only come out once the stars were in the sky. If the sky was cloudy, they had to remain inside until the stars shine at midnight. If the sky was full of clouds for more than a night, it was considered a bad omen for the reign. Nereida worried, because winter typically saw more cloudy nights, and she did not want her brother’s reign starting on the wrong foot. It already started with murder; if it also started on clouds, he might lose the backing of some of the older, more conservative families.
After three hours of socializing with the nobility, Nereida’s face hurt from too many false smiles. Aella was dour, pushed past her ability to deal with the backhanded compliments that so many tipsy nobles insisted on delivering. The boys were tired but were loudly singing silly songs that the other children had been teaching them. They finally felt like they belonged with their cousins and the other noble children. They fetched Damara from her nursemaid, and returned briefly to change into the required clothing for the vigil: simple red robes tied with rope at the waist. Even the children were dressed in the robes, though they did not get the belt.
“This is a sleep shirt, mama,” Egaz complained. Nereida laughed and tousled his hair.
“Only Basiano will wear something else: he gets this but in white, as we are supposed to represent the fire that burns at the edge of the stars, and Basiano is becoming the heart of the star.”
“But… mama, we aren’t fire,” Alejo protested. “Why do they want us?”
“Because we are still family, little one.” She kissed her son’s head, and he scowled at her, fixing his hair. “Now, we are supposed to pray for clear skies, you understand?”
“Yes mama,” they replied, nodding. Aella grinned at Nereida, wrapping her arm around her waist with a smile.
“No need to pray, love,” Aella whispered as the boys headed to the front room to await being summoned… or as they went to toss around expensive pillows until they were stopped. The second was more likely. “We’ve dealt enough with gods to know that they favour those who actually do something.”
“What did you do?” Nereida asked, her tone normally one she reserved for the boys’ mischief. Aella snickered.
“I bribed two Sylph merchant ships to use their wiggly magic to make sure the sky stayed clear today. It’s my coronation gift to your brother. Now he can’t say I never got him anything.”