Chapter Seven: Prelude to Death

The grating cough of the guard startled Nadine from the past, hurtling her through time and visions to the present. She looked up from where she had curled up on the floor, her arms wrapped around her tail. The Mer man was staring at her, his eyes dark and watchful. She recognized his face, though she didn't know his name.

What are you in for? he asked.

I thought you weren't allowed to ask questions. With a stranger, she could be curt; he didn't know that within, she was trembling with dread.

He shrugged. You'll be dead anyway. Can't hurt to know why.

She hesitated, shame seeping through her. I'm a traitor.

He snorted and rolled his eyes. That I had already suspected. But what did you do, exactly, that was so traitorous?

She swallowed. I saved the life of a human child.

The lines creasing his eyes tightened. Ah. She expected him to turn his back or stab her through the stomach with his trident. He did neither. Instead he drifted closer, settling onto the sand outside her cell. My name is Madman.

The ridiculous name eased her fear a little. Madman?

It's from when I was a young man, first drafted into the king's army. I chopped down rebels with a crazy speed and accuracy. His fingers trailed across the handle of the trident, brushing off a clinging strand of seaweed. My comrades and enemies alike took to calling me the Madman. He paused, and a sigh swept through him, a sad, ancient current that touched depths Nadine would never see. And then after the king and his sons all died, I was stripped of my honour and glory as a head warrior and put on jail duty.

Nadine wondered if he told this story to all the criminals who passed through here, so that they find have some solace in a fellow sufferer before their demise. Before she could ask, he continued on. There were three things the king taught us in training. Can you guess any of them?

Nadine racked her brains. Don't lose?

No. His gaze bore into her. Lose, and learn. Live, and love. And never fight someone weaker than you.

Nadine sucked in her cheeks and leaned back against the wall. The Mer man nodded. As you can see, my valor earned me little more than scorn under the new regime. My training under the king himself made certain I was no traitor, but you can imagine that the queen doesn't want such nonsense in her court. After all, how are we supposed to kill all the humans if we don't take their children? He scowled. While we kill them, we neglect to protect our own.

Nadine noticed a tiny seaweed braid dangling from his necklace and pointed at it, quirking a brow.

His black tail flexed. My daughter's, he whispered, closing his huge hand around it. She made it for me before a battle. While I was gone and chopping off enemy heads, my own child and wife were cut down in their beds by rebels. The one thing that meant the most was the one thing I couldn't protect.

Nadine thought of her parents, of Rurriel. She had been too young and too oblivious to protect any of them. I'm sorry.

They sat in silence for a moment.

Then: Fight.

What? She stared at him.

Fight for your life, he murmured. It's all you have. Who knows where we go when we die? From foam we were made, to foam we will return. What's beyond—

No one has learned, she finished, trepidation settling over her again.

This world was full of such uncertainty, and its inhabitants brimming with a knowledge of their own immortality.

Hopeless, in a sense. Dead before birth.

And yet, still there was life.

She had struggled to keep herself from fulfilling the promise—had gotten herself demoted from warrior to gardener, had decided to keep herself hidden and out of sight. But maybe that wasn't the best way. The promise was over—the boy had only said a life—and perhaps the power within her wasn't a burden but a path to freedom.

The Vizier wouldn't kill someone he could use.

But did she want to be used? Was being his pawn better than death?

Yes. Yes, it was. Because life was hope, and as long as she lived, she didn't have to serve him forever. She could escape, somehow.

She raised her eyes to meet those of Madman. He smiled at her. I've lost so much and seen so many lose, but I also know that we can begin anew. Reaching out his hand, he showed her a wedding brand stamped across the back of his hand. It was his name, entwined with that of one named Ona. Faded into his skin yet still visible was another name: Elina. As soon as you stop fighting, he said softly, hope is meaningless. And without hope, love has no seed, and life cannot grow.

Nadine brushed the names, felt their histories and stories tingling in her fingertips. She met his gaze again, a hardness like steel—no, determination—straightening her spine. She would survive. She would live. Fetch me the Vizier.

The Vizier arrived in a flourish, a dead sailor's black cape billowing in his wake. A silver brooch clasped it at his neck. Nadine stared at it, anger pulsing through her. He arrayed himself in stolen finery, while the queen remained plain and unadorned.

Yet, this Mer man was her salvation.

Swallowing her dislike, she waited. With a smile resembling that of an eel, he slithered up to her cell. Madman unlocked the door and the Vizier ducked inside, perching on a stool. You're dismissed, guard. Madman drifted into the Records Room, a shadow just within the edge of sight. His trident glinted in the sea-fire light of the torches lining the Records Room.

The Vizier turned to her. Nadine's blood froze in its veins. You called for me? he asked, rubbing his temple. I am extremely busy, of course.

If he was expecting her to pay obeisance to his status, he would have to wait. He had nothing that she desired—except the key to life. She opened her mouth to betray her secret, but the words didn't come. Something in her swelled back, a wave that resists crashing down against the rocks. Choking, she stammered out, I—I—

What would you do to stay alive, Nadine? he interrupted.

A-anything! The word couldn't come fast enough.

What would you do to prove your loyalty?

Anything! The notion struck her that 'anything' might not be good enough. Terror seized her limbs and she started quivering.

A smile curved his lips. Leaning close, he whispered against her ear, Do you have something to show me, Nadine? His breath was cold across her neck, an icy finger that lingered too long. Her breathing hitched.

I—I don't know how. The trembling intensified. His presence darkened everything, seeping across the walls in a chilling shadow, even as her heart pounded with hope.

How to show me? Disappointing.

Her fingers clenched. He had her, a fish in his net. But there was no way out of it now. Not if she didn't want to die. I can tell you, she whispered. As soon as the words left her lips, she wanted to snatch them back and swallow them.

The Vizier sat back. Go on.

Her fingers were shaking. She tucked them beneath her bottom. Swallowing, she pitched her voice low. I—I have some sort of… of power.

Hmm. What sort of power?

I—I don't know. It… it just glows blue and—Her voice hitched. It's powerful.

I figured that.

He was mocking her. She wanted to curl up and vanish, a shell buried by layer upon layer of sand. She gave herself a mental slap in the face. Courage! I can heal things, make them grow.

He nodded, clapping his hands and bobbing his head. Amazing. You astound me. You're the Weed Wonder of the World.

Nadine sucked in her cheeks, anger flaring. His applause was the mocking adoration of an audience for a company of clumsy Mer dancers. She scowled.

The Vizier leaned forward, eyes shining. Did he expect something? For her to burst into flames in some awesome display of ferocious power? Arrr,Nadine thought, wishing she could wave her arms around for effect without looking stupid. I'll blast you into smithereens!

She wished she could, really. The Vizier's death would solve many of her problems… and create new ones. As much as she was sure he was hated, there were just as many who could use him in a position of power, just as he used them as his pawns. Though she dared to dabble in it, Mer politics were too muddied for her to garner any clear vision. She didn't know if she had any true allies—just enemies who hated another common enemy, and even they were uncertain. Everyone was too afraid to reveal their true selves—to anyone.

The Vizier took her hand. Her head snapped up so quickly her neck cracked. He brushed her knuckles with his thumb. Forgive me for mocking you, he murmured. Thank you for telling me all that is in your heart. He smiled, a long, sly smile that made Nadine's stomach twist. I'll see what I can do.

The night swirled by on sleepless fins, smearing exhaustion and dread across the sea. At the first touch of sun on sand, the executioner's guards arrived to escort her to the execution circle. No Vizier had come to free her in the middle of the night. No queen. No Esli. Just Madman and his pitying stares.

Come. The trio of guards surrounded her, pushing her through the door. Nadine staggered forward, barely able to keep upright. Strong arms caught her around the waist. She found herself leaning into Madman's crushing embrace, clutching at a stranger who reminded her of a father. She trembled, swallowing the whimpers as she buried her face against his chest.

Come on! A guard ripped her away, disgust dripping in his voice.

Fight, Madman whispered, his fingers slipping from her grip. Nadine whirled, trying to catch another glimpse of him, but a guard struck her in the back and she crumpled to the sand. She lay there for a moment, panting and blinking the swarm of black-tipped fish from her vision.

Weakling. Hard to imagine you were ever part of the Seven. The guard yanked her up by the hair, shooting pain down her neck.

Probably just a guppy sent up for a trial run, another said. They burst into laughter, but it was the sour mirth of those who have forgotten joy.

They dragged her into the training fields. A low drum beat vibrated through the currents, though it was slow and steady, not nearly as rapid and frenzied as Nadine's heart. She twisted in her captors' grip, trying to find the source of the sound. She found none. Perhaps the sea itself had become her judge.

A crowd had gathered to watch the execution. The first wave of onlookers was the peasants, those who scavenged for any food or mercy they could find. At the very front were bands of children, soldiers that were neither relatives nor friends grasping their arms and making certain they could not flee. They watched her with wide, frightened eyes, and she realized they were more terrified than she.

She struggled to smile at them, but anguish screwed it into a grimace. The girl with the sweet gold hair cried out, turning away. The guard that held her grabbed her chin and twisted her head back around. Scales dripped from the little Mer girl's tail.

As Nadine drew nearer and nearer to the execution circle, the audience blended into the wealthier Mer—the soldiers and Council elders. The Council hovered along the rim of the circle, witnesses to her every private agony. In the middle of the ring, Mara waited. Her veins glowed red and she smiled with all her glittering teeth.

The drum beat grew louder and faster. Nadine gasped for breath, gulping, gulping, gulping—

Silence.

They reached the outer edge of the circle. Nadine searched the faces, found the queen, who looked away; probed Jialel, who bit her lip; pleaded with Serna, who glared. And there, opposite her, was the Vizier. He smiled at her, eyes narrowed.

She didn't understand. Had she overestimated him—had he perhaps never known, or cared about, what was within her? She'd dared to gamble—and she'd lost.

Serna spoke, voice grating through the water. Her name was Nadine Nandernine, before she called herself Traitor. Bring forward the brand.

Cloth rustled and fire hissed. Nadine turned and gasped.

Adna drifted forward, face white. In her hands she held a branding iron. It shook in her grip. Without a word, she pressed the end against Nadine's warrior brand.

To the queen, your heart, your sword. To your kin, your scales, your fins. Because you dared this oath break, die now for your honour's sake. Serna nodded at Adna, who dropped the poker and fled.

The guards thrust Nadine into the ring, her shoulder searing with pain.

The drum beat began again, filling the sea and pulsing through Nadine's soul. She sank to the sand, too frightened to move. Hands tugged her and shoved her along, hands soft and smooth with youth, palms rough and calloused from age. Her kin, her people, push, push, pushing her closer to death.

She landed in the centre of the ring, surrounded by eyes and throbbing with pain and the beats of drums. Mara circled her, palms flickering with spurts of magick. Her lips curled back in a feral grin.

Fight. Madman's voice pushed back the deafening echo of drums and the agony tearing through her. And it wasn't just his voice—another's, more familiar, older, deeper, swept through her body. It was more familiar, and yet she had only heard it once, as though it belonged to someone she had always known and yet never acknowledged. It was the voice from the boat, the voice without a name or a source.

It filled her with the idea, filled her with a thrill that could only come from the desire to obey. She matched Mara's grin with one of her one and lurched upright. Mara laughed. Nadine lunged.

She didn't even get close. A fist of sparkling red flame pummeled her stomach, throwing her across the sand. Currents hissed past her ears, tearing through her hair. She landed on her back and retched.

Get up. Was it the other voice, or her own? She was too dizzy to understand more than the instinct that took over. She tried to dodge, failed, tried to attack, and failed even more. But she tried. She fought, even if it was a miserable attempt that had the Vizier guffawing into his hand and the queen shedding scale after scale as she clung to his arm.

Yet it had to end sometime.

And it did, with Nadine collapsed on the seafloor, keeling over as she tried to gain breath enough to scream out her agony. Her scales sizzled and bones clicked that should have stayed silent.

She looked up one last time to meet the queen's gaze. Mara advanced, smile grim as sparks jumped between her hands.

I'm sorry, Nadine whispered. Elealeh glanced away, head bowed, her hair streaming across her face. Her arm slid from the Vizier's to hang limp at her side.

Mara flicked her fingers. Red flames shot out, curling away to form flickering flowers in the currents. Glowing sparks drifted down, scattering across the sand. They crackled and hissed, sinking into the seafloor. The crowd sighed, as though they watched sea-fireworks in a victory parade instead of the prelude to death. Nadine stared at the sparks as they scattered; in the dim morning light, they glittered like scales. She wondered if there would be anything left of her to skitter across the sea, to remind those that would rather forget that she had indeed existed.

She looked up to Mara's triumphant grin. Did she sense the terror, the hopelessness gripping Nadine's heart, as a shark tastes blood in the tang of the sea?

She flicked her fingers again, and this time there were no embellishments, no bursting blooms or arcing sparks. Three crackling streaks of crimson hurtled through the water, aimed at Nadine's face.

Elealeh buried her face in the Vizier's chest.

Nadine threw up her arms. In this final moment, she was alone. She envisioned her mother's smile and wrapped herself in the memory of her father's solid, comforting glow. She waited for the pain to strike, for the world to fade into a flurry of foam and bubbles…

Nothing.

A gasp tore through her chest, echoed by the rippling murmur of the crowd.

No pain. Sand still grated against her scales and her heart, the continuous wave of life, continued to rise and fall.

She raised her head.

Mara's mouth had dropped open, her eyes wide. The onlookers stared as well, shifting and muttering amongst themselves. The queen tore herself away from the Vizier and approached the circle, hesitating at the very edge. Every Elder and guard was immobile, tails clenched and gazes locked on Nadine. The very sea itself dared not move.

The three knives of fire that had sealed Nadine's doom hovered before her, blocked by a calm blue glow that radiated from her hands. Nadine's palms shimmered with the substance; she felt like nothing and yet like everything. She was the sea; no, the sea was her. The sky was her crown; no, she was its feet. The land was her haven; no, she was its hope.

The barrage of emotions slashed at her senses, shredding her fear with an overwhelming whisper of awe. Giddiness swept through her; she could do anything!

No. She shook her head. Such power was as dangerous as it was liberating. She could do nothing, not when this power was not her own, not hers to control or understand. She tore her gaze from her hands and snuck a glance at the Vizier.

He was smiling.

They threw her back in the dungeon. She landed on the hard floor with a grunt, catching herself on her hands and tail. Extra guards surrounded her cell, shoving Madman out of the way. What is all this about? he demanded, crossing his arms. He glared at the guards, but Nadine suspected the question was as much for her as for them.

Unexpected event at the execution, one of them muttered. The Queen's Council has convened immediately. Ask anything further, and we'd have to kill you.

Nadine shuddered and rubbed her arms and aching collarbone. What would come next? Surely she'd be made into a weapon, a tool for the Council to get its Book or its war or whatever it agreed upon. She paced the cell, tearing her fingers through her hair and wishing she didn't feel so helpless and so… dirty. She felt as though she'd skinned a newborn shark, as though she'd stopped living because death was better than bittersweet, as though she'd stopped dreaming because hopelessness was better than every other hurt. She sighed. To save her life, she'd sold her soul.

That is, if the Mer could be said to even have souls.

Telm leaned against the wall outside the council room, arms folded across his chest. The shut door mocked him, dared him to intrude. But he didn't have to be inside to guess what his father was doing: he would be persuading the Council to take advantage of Nadine's newfound powers.

He scowled. His father played a dangerous game.

A shadow slipped across the sand of the hallway. He glanced up to see Esli approaching the door. Her face was white and her fingers shook, but she ignored him as she sank against the wall and waited.

There were so many questions he wanted to ask her—most of all, what this meant for them. If Nadine was whatever the Vizier was looking for, would Esli support whatever his father suggested?

Esli, he whispered.

She raised her head, her eyes dull and skin sagging. Yes?

Do you know any listening manoeuvres?

She stiffened. I left the sea-witches—

But they still would have taught you the basics.

Her brow furrowed, but she nodded. Bending until her ear was at the crack in the door, she closed her eyes. Her hands made slight tugging motions, and slowly the currents in the other room slid out, bringing words with them. It seemed to be a difficult task; Esli had to keep pushing and pulling to ensure they continued their circular rhythm, each new wave seeping sound. Telm leaned forward, catching his father's voice.

It is—

Wait, someone said. A chair grated back. Too late Telm realized what was happening. He'd just grabbed Esli's arm and cut off the spell when the door opened. Mara stared out at them, glaring at Esli. Nice try. But you should have known I'd pick up on that spell, dear. It's so basic.

Esli's cheeks reddened. Telm suspected Mara was another reason Esli had abandoned her home to pledge herself to the royal family.

The Vizier shouldered Mara out of the way, eyes narrowing as they focused on Telm. What are you doing here? he asked, voice calm. But it was the calm of the sea before a storm; the chill in his father's tone reminded Telm of how he'd acted the night Telm's mother had been sold. Cold. Reserved. Vengeful.

I was waiting for the council to disperse, Telm said. So I could talk to you.

The Vizier smiled. Talking to me doesn't require listening at doors. He was annoyed—angry, even.

So what was he going to do? Telm thought. Sell him to human slave-traders, like he had done to Telm's mother? Telm's fingers clenched.

Please, she had said. Please don't do this.

You shouldn't have done what you did, had been his father's answer. And Telm had watched, screaming and horror-stricken, as his father thrust his mother into the arms of human traders. He had watched as the last glimmer of her beautiful tail had vanished from the sea, had fallen into nightmares as her shrieks echoed in his ears.

His father had rubbed his back and patted his shoulder. It had to be done. She was on the wrong side, he'd said. The royals will win this war, and I want us to survive to see it. If you just listen to me, we'll live. I promise.

Well, they had lived, but Telm didn't think his father had survived for the sake of anything other than his own political gain. With his rebel wife out of the sea, there was nobody to make any allegations that the Vizier was an eel not to be trusted, that he would even use traitors like Nadine to achieve an end. There was nobody to warn the queen, nobody to pluck her out from under his father's thumb…

Except for Telm. And the Vizier had made certain long ago that his son stayed cooperative.

Now Telm avoided his father's gaze, heat surging through him. He wanted to punch something, anything. He wanted to kill, he wanted to die. Come on, he said, towing Esli after him. She yanked her hand free of his grip, but she didn't stop following. Together, without a word, they returned to the training fields, where the bloody fingers of the dawn sun had begun to bleed into gold.

The Vizier sank back into his chair, a furrow creasing his brow. Why did his son insist on being vexing? Listening at doors, following Esli about like a lovesick whale… It was a tad bit difficult to appear authoritative when his son was such a fool.

Serna crunched on a piece of seaweed, her ancient jaws grinding it into a pulp. When she smiled, her teeth were smeared green. Your son takes after you, I see.

The thinly-veiled insult should not have bothered him, but Serna contained an eel-like deviousness that made her dangerous. And she was old and worn, enough so not to care about his opinions. But she did have fears. He barely concealed a smile. Like anyone else in a position of power, she feared the day when she would lose it—and with it, her importance to her tribe and her people. If the Book was found, who was to say if perhaps those like Serna might become obsolete?

It is the Key. Is it not, oh Elder of Wisdom? he asked, throwing her off guard. She startled, jumping in her seat. The blue glow within Nadine Nandernine?

The sea-witch, Mara, stared at the table with interesting intensity. Her shoulders were so tense they trembled, hunched up around her neck.

Serna's wrinkled old hag-face was troubled, lines of worry crinkling the creases of age. I do not know. I have never heard of the Key having a host—if it does indeed exist. You must remember, that both Book and Key are believed to be fables amongst many of the most high-minded, educated Mer—

I do not ask that, he interrupted, wishing she would stop dancing around his questions. She was the biggest obstacle in inducing the rest of the Council to accept his plan—all the others looked to her to lead them. If he could sweep her fins from under her, there would be no choice for them but to shift their trust to him. He had considered an assassination and even tried to hire someone to see it through, but Rurriel had proved too soft in that respect. Surprising for the son of the king's old assassin; and so, sadly, he'd had to be put out of the way before he could blather about the attempt to Serna.

The Vizier wondered if little Nadine shed scales every night about Rurriel. Charming young Mer he had been, but the nice ones never survived. If Telm didn't toughen up soon, he'd discover that the hard way.

Now he crossed his arms and stared Serna down. Well? Is it possible?

She jutted out her chin. But something in his gaze must have unnerved her, because she swallowed and said, so quietly he almost didn't catch it, Yes.

Their fellow Council members murmured to one another. Beside him, the queen jounced in her chair, as a little girl who's told that her dream might come true after all.

Good. Very good. Now this was where he came in. Standing up, he addressed them with his sharpest voice. Everyone fell silent, whether in awe or fear he couldn't tell, and he didn't really care. Respect was all he wanted, and right now that was what he had. The quest of the Seven will go on as planned. Over the next year, they will infiltrate the land and find the Book of Creation, and bring it back. Or die trying.

Mara coughed.

And, he continued, Nadine will be one of them.

Mara straightened, her head snapping up and her eyes flashing. No! Not after—

You would have a weapon amongst us that we do not use? She's more useful alive then dead, and she's willing to be used, willing to obey. And there are ways to make certain she—

What if she isn't the Key? Mara shot.

What else could she be? the Vizier snapped, finally losing his temper. He restrained himself from reaching over and snapping her neck. Appearing as cool, calm and unpredictable as a shark was what inspired fear—if you forfeited all control, you opened yourself up to attack. He plastered another confident smile on his face.

Mara's mouth open and shut, opened again… but she had no answer. The others—Jialel, Serna, and the rest of the Sisters—shifted in their seats, tails sliding across the floor.

One year, Serna said finally. If she—they do not return in one year… She met his gaze, this time without a flinch. He read the thought in her eyes: I will kill you. He smirked. He would enjoy watching her try. But at least for now he had her cooperation, for neither of them wanted a war led by sea-witches.

Author's Note: Thanks so much to everyone who has read, reviewed, and favourited this story! It means so much to me! Y'all are awesome! Anybody have any predictions for the next chapter? I'd love to hear your thoughts!