Chapter 134: Nereida’s Voyage
The slush and snow filled their slippers as Nereida, Leevan and Alejo rushed across the courtyard. All was quiet and still, the servants at rest, the market done for the day. Only Camina’s cries echoed in the stillness. She was bleeding, the wound pouring blood by the second even as Nereida and her son sang. Her throat was dry and she felt weak after Basiano’s fury-filled fire had scorched the would-be assassins. They rushed to the dolphin fountain in the center of the courtyard. It would have water, Nereida was sure of it. Water was life, water was healing.
The water was frozen. Nereida wanted to cry, but even her tears were dry. She collapsed to the ground, still singing, her human foot bleeding, her son’s feet bleeding, her niece bleeding. Leevan placed the young woman in Nereida’s arms, and he began to dance, moving away from Nereida, sending heat and flame at the frozen fountain. The moon, a thin sliver, watched without mercy or grace. Alejo’s voice cracked, and Nereida looked down at him. He was shivering, shaking, but holding his notes. Her heart broke, and she squeezed her eyes shut.
“It’s alright,” she signed, still singing with whatever power she could muster. She couldn’t feel the Ocean’s might, not within and not in the air. They were too far from her. “Little love, stop. You need to stop.”
The water in the fountain made a gurgling sound as it tried to flow. Nereida called to the water, pulling it toward her niece. It was not much water, not yet, but it was warm, life giving. She wrapped Camina in water, trying to replace the blood, fix the tissue. But the serrated blade had torn her apart.
“Camina!” Basiano’s voice boomed across the courtyard, echoing over the snow-covered stones.
“Daddy?” she gasped out. She reached for him, her hand shaking. Seeing his uncle, Alejo redoubled his efforts to sing, his little voice trembling. Nereida could feel her son’s magic wrapped in hers, strengthening hers. Basiano reached his daughter, kneeling at her side, his white robe stained with her blood. He took his daughter’s hand, holding it tightly.
“Camina, daddy’s here. Your mom is coming soon. Hold on.” He looked at Nereida, his eyes full of anguish. “Save her. Please, Nerry.”
“Ocean,” she signed, hoping that he knew the sign. He nodded his understanding.
Basiano picked up his daughter, holding her close to his chest like she was an infant, not a woman of eighteen. Leevan helped keep pressure on her wound as best as he could. They rushed to the front gates, Basiano ordering them open. Guards swarmed them, buzzing about like gnats as they took positions to protect the royals. The gates were thrown open. Alejo tripped and fell into the slush and mud, crying out. One of the guards dropped his sword and picked the boy up, holding him tight in his arms. He kept singing, his little voice growing weaker, his magic growing weaker.
The Ocean was an hour walk at a brisk pace in the light of day when the road was clear.
The road was covered in slush and ice, the light of the guard’s lanterns was not enough. Alejo’s voice gave out after fifteen minutes, and he passed out in the guard’s arms. Nereida’s voice hitched, but she sang on, knowing she was the only chance that Camina had. Camina’s eyes closed not long after Alejo’s.
And twenty minutes from the shoreline, Camina’s breathing stopped.
Nereida slowed to a stop, her song cutting off as she realized that Basiano had frozen in place.
“Cami?” he whispered. He clutched her tightly. “Cami, baby girl, wake up. Wake up!” Everyone stopped. No one dared to do more than breathe as Basiano held his dead daughter. He slumped into the mud, holding her, crying softly. Nereida collapsed beside her brother, having no breath for words, no tears left to shed. She leaned toward him, offering what comfort she could.
They had attracted attention, their strange procession, but now most people were closing their shutters, no one wanted to see the grief of their King. No one wanted to witness him break under grief. The guards, one and all, removed their hats, took a knee. The one holding Alejo held him tighter, the colour draining from his face, silent tears running down his cheeks. He was likely a father too. Basiano’s cries died and he began singing a gentle lullaby to his daughter for the last time. Nereida had sung the same lullaby to Egaz and Alejo just two nights ago.
Some kind soul brought them blankets, draping them over the shoulders of Basiano, Nereida, and Alejo. Someone else, an older man, brought warmed milk for Alejo to drink. The peasants, seeing their king’s grief, brought him what they could; blankets, hats, socks for Alejo, drinks, bits of food. Basiano did not thank them, did not notice them. All he could see was his little girl’s eyes that would never open again. Nereida thanked them, her brother’s voice when he had none.
Their return to the palace was slow. Those who had come out to help them walked with them, gentle support in the grief, hearth-flames welcoming them home. Nereida knew then that her brother had the hearts of his people. She only hoped it was enough.
They were greeted in the courtyard by Priscilla, Camina’s mother and a contingent of guards. Priscilla screamed at the sight of her daughter, dropping to her knees and wailing. Nereida did not think she would ever be able to forget that sound. It would haunt her forever. It was her fault; Camina had tried to protect her. She hadn’t been strong enough. She hadn’t had enough magic. She should have begged the Ocean for help. Maybe, then, Camina would still be alive.
Nereida took her son from the guard, whispering thanks to him. She asked his name, quietly, and he gave it, bowing his head. Playing the part of the princess, now, Nereida moved among the peasants, thanking them, getting names. She shook hands, hugged the old woman who had kept up with them despite her cane. She sent them all home with sincere thanks for their compassion and empathy, promising the blankets would be returned. Then she headed to the guard post, and had them take note of the names, what they had given and where, approximately, they lived. She planned to see their kindness repaid tenfold.
Alejo had woken up, but he clung to her side, exhausted, sad and frightened of all the guards. Priscilla’s crying had ceased, and everyone was moving inside. They found their way in with the others, and suddenly they were swarmed with servants and family, everyone trying to help, to get them somewhere safe. Nereida and Alejo were forced onto an ottoman, their shredded slippers removed. Nereida did not think about her lizard leg until the surgeon gasped. She looked at him, the pot-bellied old man who had shaved his head. She tried not to sound as tired as she felt.
“It was a gift when my own was lost. Treat the human foot only. Tell no one.”
“Yes Princess.” He bowed, and went to work, picking stones and dirt from her shredded foot, washing it clean and bandaging it. He then had her hold Alejo so he could do the same to both the boy’s feet. Alejo whimpered and squirmed, and she had to squeeze him in her arms to hold him still. Once his feet were bandaged, the surgeon moving on, he turned to her.
“Momma?”
“Yes, little love?”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t help.” He leaned into her, too tired to cry. “I tried. I promise I tried.”
“You did your best,” she whispered, stroking his hair. “No one could have asked for more. Rest now, sweet boy.”
They were helped back to their wing, the vigil broken. Two burly soldiers had been tasked with carrying them back. Nereida protested, saying that they could walk, but they refused.
“Queen Dowager’s orders,” they replied. “Please don’t make this harder, princess.” She sighed, but allowed it. Alejo leaned into the one carrying him, and was asleep almost as soon as they left the antechamber. He snored softly. The guard smiled at him, his face softening.
The walk back to her wing seemed to take an hour, though Nereida knew it was likely only a few minutes. She tried not to focus on the grief and self blame, but that left only focusing on the pain in her foot. Pain that she could not heal for a few days. She had nothing left. She could not even feel Ocean’s presence. She was dried out and empty. The halls were quiet. It was late now, well past ten bells. There were no lanterns lit in the halls, and the one who carried Alejo used his own fire to light their path. The portraits of long gone family members stared down at them, their eyes judgemental in the shadowy light. She had failed them tonight, when it mattered. When it mattered, she had failed to save her niece. A young woman not so different from Epelda was dead.
That was when Nereida finally found her tears. She did not cry out, did not fuss, just let the tears fall down her cheeks in silence so she did not wake her son. Her son who could have lost his own life trying to save his cousin. When they reached the doors to her wing, Nereida asked if they would let her walk. They agreed, both guards pretending they did not hear how her voice shook; both guards pretending they did not see the tears. She took Alejo in her arms, though he was heavy now, almost too big for her to carry. But she was his mother. She would manage. One of the guards pushed the door open for her, and she stepped inside.
The sitting room was warm and bright, the hearth fire still burning. Aella was waiting for her, Egaz curled up on the sitting room couch, holding a pillow like a comfort toy. She looked at Nereida, saw the tear tracks, and moved toward her. She took Alejo from Nereida, taking him up to his bed. Nereida stood in the doorway, unsure of what to do next, of how to proceed, of how to process. Her brother had lost his child tonight.
Aella returned and took Egaz up to bed. When she returned from her second trip, Nereida was still standing in the doorway, unable to move forward into the room. Aella closed the door, took Nereida’s hand and guided her to the couch. She didn’t say anything, didn’t offer platitudes or words of comfort. Instead, Aella simply wrapped her arms around Nereida. And that was when Nereida sobbed. She fell into Aella’s arms, shaking and sobbing as her grief crashed over her, drowning her in sorrow and guilt.