The Mermaids Madness

“I’ve killed before, Princess. I saw the wound. With so much blood—”
    “Snow will take care of Beatrice,” Danielle said. “You were trying to protect us.”
    “And what a marvelous job I did.” She punctuated her words with another blow to the wall. “I should be on deck. The merfolk might come back.”
    “You’ve seen the undine before. Did you know they could take human form?”
    Talia shook her head. “They can’t. Otherwise King Posannes could have picked his own strawberries. This was something else.”
    At least she had stopped pacing. Danielle spoke quickly, hoping to keep them both distracted. “Lirea had two tails.”
    “Most have only one,” said Talia. “The royal blood-line has two. They believe it makes them superior, closer to being human. They’re faster swimmers, too.”
    “Beatrice said she was one of Posannes’ daughters.” Had Lirea killed her own father to take command of her tribe? “Lirea was asking about her sister.”
    “Power passes through the females.” Talia twirled the broken spear in one hand. “Posannes only led the tribe after his wife died. Even though he wears the crown, his daughters hold the true power. The eldest would have taken over in another year or two. If Lirea is looking for her sister, she’s probably trying to eliminate her competition.”
    Beatrice had known. She had been searching for Posannes, and she had recognized the danger Lirea posed. “Did Beatrice ever say anything to you about Lannadae?”
    “No.” Talia snorted. “But it wouldn’t surprise me. You know Queen Bea. She had a thing for taking in frightened princesses.”
    That made Danielle smile, even as her heart tightened at the word had .
    The door creaked open, and Snow slipped inside. “She’s alive.”
    Through tear-blurred eyes, Danielle saw Talia relax slightly.
    “Prince Armand is writing a note for the king,” Snow continued, turning to Danielle. “He would like you to talk to the bird and stress the urgency of the message. Tell it to fly as swiftly as possible.”
    Danielle rose to go, but Snow stopped her.
    “What is it?” Talia asked, clutching the spear with both hands.
    Snow sat down on the cot. She looked tired. Tired and old . For an instant, Danielle feared she had sacrificed a part of her life to save Beatrice’s. Twice now, Snow had summoned dark powers to protect her. Each time, the price had been seven years of her life. The first time, those powers had killed Snow’s mother, saving Snow’s life. The second time had been last year, when they saved Danielle and Talia.
    Since that day, Snow’s night-black hair had been mixed with strands of white. Faint wrinkles marked the corners of her eyes. Danielle looked closely, but saw no new signs of age. Snow was simply exhausted.
    “Tell me about the knife Lirea used,” Snow said.
    “The blade was abalone,” said Talia. “About as long as my hands, two fingers wide. Double-edged and thin. Not a fighting weapon. It would likely snap if you tried to stab an armored enemy, or even if the blade struck bone.”
    “No, it wouldn’t.” Snow clasped her hands together. The skin was red, scrubbed raw. Blood stained the cuffs of her shirt.
    “Tell us,” Danielle said.
    “I’ve done what I can to help her body heal. Hoffman is stitching the wound, and I’ve medicines that will speed her recovery. But healing is as much a matter of spirit as flesh.”
    “Beatrice is the strongest woman I’ve ever met,” Danielle said. “She’s the only person I know who can outstubborn Talia. Her spirit—”
    “Isn’t there,” Snow interrupted, her voice cracking.
    Talia stepped closer. “You said she was still alive.”
    “Her heart beats. Her body breathes. But Beatrice—” Snow reached up to take Danielle’s hand. “Beatrice is gone.”

CHAPTER 2

    T ALIA HAD LEARNED TWO STYLES of fighting in the years after she was “rescued” from her curse. The first was the formal sik h’ara style. This was long-form fighting, focused on whirling kicks and fast, open-hand strikes.
    Talia preferred sik h’adan, close form. There was nothing formal about sik h’adan. It was this style she practiced now in the cramped confines of the cabin, driving a knee into the ribs of an imagined foe, then following up with an elbow to the throat. She stomped a heel to crush the arch of the enemy’s foot. She whirled, flinging the broken spear at the floor hard enough to bury the tip in the deck.
    “If you’re going to