The Mermaids Madness

the sides of her legs would still help her to get about, but without her tails, she would swim little better than a human.
    Morveren was nude save for a worn harness. Twigs and bits of leaves were tangled in her black hair. Her scales were rough and filthy. White cracks marred many of the scales, and some had torn away to reveal pale skin. Her skin had the same unhealthy blue tinge as Lannadae’s.
    Morveren dragged herself along the ground until she reached the edge of the rock. “Lannadae?”
    “Grandmother!” Lannadae bobbed from the water.
    “It is you.” Morveren turned to Danielle, tears dripping down her face. “She’s alive.”
    “So is our queen,” said Danielle. “Lirea’s knife ripped her spirit from her body, but her body still lives.”
    Morveren moaned and crawled back to the mud pit. She lowered herself into the mud with a grunt of pain. “Do me a kindness and hand me that bowl?”
    Snow carried the bowl from beneath the ferns, setting it at the edge of the mud. Tiny wormlike creatures swayed in the water, their tails stuck to the bottom of the bowl. White hairs surrounded the other ends like tiny crowns.
    “Thank you.” Morveren plucked out a worm the size of her smallest finger. Danielle grimaced, wondering if she meant to eat it, but instead she squeezed the worm until greenish goo seeped from the back end. Morveren smeared the goo onto a bloody scratch on her arm, then tossed the worm back into the water. “The secretions of the flowerworm are as good as a second skin. It keeps the blood scent from spreading through the water.” She pointed to Danielle. “You scraped yourself climbing up here. Would you like me to tend the cuts?”
    “No, thank you,” Danielle said.
    “This dry air is torture. Weakens the scales and the bones and cracks the skin.” Morveren used two more worms to treat various cuts, then crawled out of the pit toward her granddaughter.
    “She calls this dry?” Snow asked.
    Danielle sat down beside the mud. “How did you know Lirea had tried to kill her sisters?”
    Morveren hesitated, then turned away. Her expression was difficult to read, but Danielle thought she looked ashamed. “Through the knife. For a time, I could hear fragments of her thoughts. Back when my magic was stronger.” She bowed her head. “My son?”
    “I’m so sorry,” Danielle said.
    New tears spilled from Morveren’s eyes.
    “Tell us about the knife,” said Snow. “How did you construct it? What spells did you cast?”
    “Lirea wanted to die.” Morveren dug at one of the scales by the edge of her scar, scratching and pulling until it finally came free. “She was so young. You can’t blame her for what happened. Blame me, if you must. Lirea begged me for a spell that would allow her to be with her human prince. She said he loved her, and I believed her. Once I learned the truth, it was too late.”
    “So instead of removing the spell, you gave Lirea a knife that rips the soul from its victims,” said Talia. “That makes sense.”
    Morveren flicked the scale at Talia. “You think removing a spell is as easy as changing those ridiculous clothes you wear? Spells like the one I cast on Lirea can be woven in two ways. One is temporary, lasting less than a day before wearing off. Lirea wanted to be human forever. She insisted on it, pleading and begging until I gave in. She was in love, charmed by a man she thought she knew. I should have insisted she wait, but I’ve never been able to refuse my granddaughters. Lirea told me her prince wanted to marry her. I thought that bond would be enough to sustain the spell.”
    “Since he’s human, that connection would help to define and maintain her form as well,” Snow said, nodding. “When his body died, the spirit still sustained her, but she lost that clarity of form. She’s trapped between human and undine.”
    “You know magic?” Morveren asked, her voice eager. “Then you understand the cost of such a transformation.”
    Snow shook her head. “I’ve read about transformation magic, but I’ve never been able to master it.”
    “The spells are . . . difficult.” Morveren slumped lower. “I should have refused.”
    One of the cormorants swooped down, wings pounding. The bird seemed on the verge of panic. A fish tail protruded from his beak, and his head convulsed as he tried to swallow. Danielle started toward him, but Morveren was faster.
    Morveren sang a low, warbling note, and the cormorant hopped toward her. The