20. Enna
Chapter twenty
Enna
I drag a comb through the tangles of Odissa’s hair. I woke before dawn to prepare her for the day, and by the time we reach the rendezvous for the morning’s kingdom tour, my limbs are limp seaweed.
I roll my shoulder, and a sharp pain stings between my shoulder blades. My body feels like it has been repeatedly pounded against a rock. My sleep on the boulder last night was anything but restful, after all.
Clio waits for us on the beach, a lacey parasol tucked under her armpit. When she asks me if I slept well last night, I nod and give her my best impersonation of a smile.
On the beach, Odissa paces slowly in a thin pink skirt, frowning at the waves and digging trenches in the sand.
The sun peeks above the horizon, staining the sky with color, first a pale gray, then purple, then pink. I squint into the sky, already missing the dark blanket of night. The merchants in Vespyr lied to me, the little fuckers. The sun isn’t a green ball of glowmites, and I’m no longer interested in its burning rays.
“Is the prince usually late for appointments?” Odissa asks.
“Not usually, Your Highness,” Clio says.
She resumes her pace, making three more passes before the gate finally opens and the prince walks through, followed by Hugo. The prince’s movement is efficient, each step sure and solid. He towers over the merman next to him. His eyes burn through me, as if trying to persuade me with the fierceness of their glare. The skin beneath his eyes is swollen with lack of sleep. With a quick flick of his gaze, he studies me up and down, snagging on my leather gloves before landing again on my eyes. I raise my chin to meet his glare.
The prince is angry. I can see it in the flex of his jaw.
Clio clears her throat. “Welcome, Your Highness.”
The prince blinks, breaking our spell. He bows to Odissa, who curtsies in response. “Your Highness,” he greets her. Then he tips his head toward me.
“My lady,” he says. The anger vanishes, replaced with a sudden calm. “I trust you slept well?”
“Pleasantly well.” Odissa’s voice drips with cultivated sweetness.
The question was for the princess, but his eyes have not left my face. I consider the rock I slept on and shudder. The corner of his mouth twitches, as if somehow, he knows something I do not.
I look away, searching for anything to draw my attention from the handsome male looking at me how a dredgebeast looks at a meal.
Dammit, Enna, focus.
“And you, my prince?” Odissa says, drawing the prince’s attention.
His appraisal finally slides to Odissa, and my body relaxes at the passing of his gaze.
He inclines his head. “I slept very well, thank you. So well in fact, that it seems I am late for our sunrise. My apologies. I am usually more punctual than my behavior this morning would suggest.”
Odissa laughs. “You missed a beautiful show,” she says. “The clouds were like paints in the sky.”
“Lovely. And which was your favorite color?”
“The pink, of course.”
“Excellent choice. Shall we begin our tour, Aris?” He offers her the crook of his elbow, and Odissa curls her hand around his bicep. “May I call you that, Your Highness? We are to be married by the full moon.”
She giggles, then flutters a hand in front of her lips to cover it up. “Aris would be wonderful, Prince Soren.”
He smiles. “Just Soren, then.” He tugs his elbow and guides her toward the surf. Even if this is all one giant lie, they make a lovely pair.
***
My arm burns with the weight of the parasol. I clench my teeth with every step, fantasizing about floating in the icy embrace of the Drink. The air grows more humid as the morning progresses, moisture sticking to my skin in an uncomfortable layer of sweat and salt. To our left, the ocean churns restlessly, the bright blue waters reflecting the hot sun.
Odissa remains under the shade of the parasol, while the prince strolls next to her, seemingly unaffected by the heat. I’ll never understand Coral merfolk’s fascination with walking in circles through hot sand.
They make a perfect picture together. Where he is beastly, she is poised. Where she is eager, he is composed. They each complement the other like two sides of the same royal coin. Except, she’s not a royal.
Odissa flirts with him ceaselessly. He points out a bird, and she giggles, grasping his arm tighter. He notes the shape of a cloud, and she throws her head to the sky, exclaiming endless praise. A few times, she feigns tripping just to have him catch her. He obliges, keeping her on course as we walk the perimeter of the city walls, but not once does he look at her lustfully. Never does he pause to sweep her into an all-consuming kiss or offer a piece of jewelry to secure the marriage arrangement with the finality Odissa so desperately needs.
Tephra, pluck out my eyes and save me from this second-hand embarrassment.
The prince steers us inside the city walls, parading through the spiraling streets. Odissa stops to peruse vendors’ booths, delighting in the shiny trinkets. The vendors smile at her and offer her free samples of fruit and wine, which she accepts with exaggerated happiness.
The prince greets every noble family he meets, introducing the Abyssal Princess. The distrust in the nobles’ eyes quickly dissipates and they bow, kissing the back of Odissa’s hand profusely. She basks in the attention while the prince stands there. When they ask if she’s the future Coral Queen, he simply smiles and asks them if they’ve yet received their invitation to the royal wedding.
As the sun reaches its peak in the sky, musicians wander into the streets, tapping out melodies on whitesteel drums and singing lilting Voiceless tunes. One merman sits under the awning of a small, stone abode, wearing a broad-brimmed straw hat to keep the sun from his face. His blue hands skirt expertly over the flat, whitesteel surface, his fingers tapping on random spots to create an eerily joyful melody.
“Enna,” Odissa says, irritated. “Come shade me.”
I smile at the merman and touch my hidden gills, bowing my head. His music stutters as he loses the beat, and he stands from his seat to bow. “Magic-wielder,” he says, beaming at me. “You honor me.”
I step back, bewildered. “You make beautiful music,” I say, for lack of anything better, and hurry after Odissa with the parasol.
Soon, sweat soaks my scalp. My black hair is hot to the touch, and my eyes struggle to filter the strong light. My parasol arm droops, my muscles nearing the end of their use.
“Tell me, Soren,” Odissa says, tugging him away from the crowd of observers. I scurry after her, keeping the shade above her head. “Are sunsets as romantic as sunrises? I would very much like it if you showed me one. Alone.” Her voice dips low on the last word and she looks up at him through blinking eyelashes.
He looks at her mouth, then averts his gaze. The parasol drops, managing to both clock Odissa on the head and clip the prince on his cheek before it lands in the sand.
Odissa yelps, whirling on me with a gaping mouth, rubbing the spot on her head. The prince touches his face, his gaze sliding to me for the first time since this morning’s awkward encounter.
“Apologies, Your Highnesses.” I duck to retrieve the parasol.
“Are you okay, my lady?” the prince says. His face scrunches in concern. I frown at him, hating him for his kindness. I like it better when he’s angry with me. At least, I’m used to that emotion.
“We can transition to the underwater districts, if you prefer.” He extends his hand, as if to lift me from the street.
I stare at his extended hand. If I prefer? If we traded places—if he wandered into the dark waters of my territory—he wouldn’t last until his first sleep, whereas I’m doing just fine in his. I don’t need his pity, and I don’t need his help.
“It’s not my tour,” I say, refusing his hand and pushing off the ground. I brush the sand from my skirts.
“She’s fine,” Odissa insists. “Let’s keep going, please.” She grabs the prince’s hand, tugging him down the street.
But when she steps away, Prince Soren stays still, and their hands fall apart. Slowly, he reaches for me, cupping my upper arm. I stiffen, holding my breath, as his thumb hovers over my skin.
“Don’t touch me,” I whisper. My voice sounds unconvincing and weak to my own ears. My spines react, pressing against the constricting glove.
He eyes the gloves. “You won’t sting me today, will you?” His thumb floats closer, nearly grazing my skin.
“No,” I say. “Your Clio made sure of that.”
He smiles, meeting my gaze. His hand is soft against my skin, kind and careful. Slowly, he presses his warm thumb into my skin. My skin flashes from pink to white and back to pink.
He shakes his head. “We should get out of the sun,” he says. “I should have checked on you sooner.” His voice drops to nearly a whisper, breath dusting my ear. “Deepest apologies, my lady.”
His thumb strokes my arm once more, and then it’s over. He plucks the parasol from under my armpit and pushes it open, casting a shadow over my head. With his knuckle, he nudges the small of my back, guiding me to the sea.