Moonrise on the second night…

 

Aya woke up with a jerk—both figuratively, and literally. Even asleep, Kai could still keep her from swimming off with one tentacle, and he muttered horrid, annoying things in his sleep.

Things like: “fix this mistake,” and, “trying to help you, and dithering, idiotic mermaid,” “can’t you see those are sharp?” And—and her name. “Aya come back…”

Suddenly, Aya didn’t need any rays of moonlight, or annoying blowfish announcements to know that the sun had set.

A wave of understanding hit her like a pry-bar to the head as the memories of the night before came rushing back.

Kai was taking her to fix this mess—if that were even possible, and—and then her breath hitched when another flood of memories from the day before hit her. She had done a truly spectacular job of making an eel of herself.

And, what was it she’d called Kai? She cringed as the insults she’d flung at him came back to her, flying one by one into her head in her own voice, and hitting her like they’d been aimed at herself. Poseidon’s crooked hind fins. What hadn’t she called Kai?

Though it didn’t relinquish her even in his sleep, the tentacle he’d kept on her tail to keep her from swimming off into the darkness rolled with her as she propped herself up. Her sleep had been riddled with nightmares.

If Kai hadn’t kept a hold on her while she slept, there was no telling whether or not she’d have swam off into that cold abyss. Even with Kai’s keen eyes, she would have been easy to lose. She shuddered.

What a wretched way to die.

The little stars of light pulsed faintly with each of his breaths from their place in the warmer, lighting Kai and Adin’s sleeping forms. Aya felt her lips quirk up. She hadn’t known it was possible to tie magic to something as simple as breath.

There was still enough to see the slight rise and fall of Adin’s gills as he snored softly into the silt, and Kai’s near-motionless slumber.

The tentacle around her tail coiled a little more firmly, and a feeling of gentle warmth flowed from it up her tail, soothing the stiffness she’d gotten from sleeping in sand, and banishing the last of the sleepy murk left from the curse’s daytime muddling. It was a difference noticeable enough that she suspected that some sort of innate magic from Kai’s sleeping person was seeping into her. However, faint blue lines that wisped above the magical warmer reminded her that she would have seen any magic he used. When she examined his sleeping face and got another wave of the same feeling, something told her it wasn’t.

Kai’s face was relaxed in sleep, the lights and shadows on the planes of his skin winking in and out with his silent breathing. A halo of his silvery-white hair spilled out over the sand, making him look younger, and Aya had to remind herself that despite his capable nature, Kai was only a few years older than herself. Without his purposeful glare, there was an unfamiliar air of vulnerability about him.

Alone in the depths, away from the eyes of witnesses, she scooted a little closer, brushing a loose tendril of hair out of his face. It was very rare that he let her this close awake. It was rare that he let her see so much detail, either…

Peeking from under his vest a web of scars, old and new, glowed faint white.

“Kai…” she whispered, hands hovering over a knot of them by his shoulder. He’d always told her that they were old, or that he couldn’t remember how he’d got them, but as years passed over their friendship, there were always new ones appearing. There were so many.

Just six years ago, he’d looked different—not unmarked, to be sure, but still, better then this.

She struggled to remember exactly how he’d looked, but she would never forget the evening she’d found him.

It wasn’t uncommon for her to have snuck out of the palace to update her charts—but back then, she hadn’t been nearly as good at it. That evening, swimming for the surface, she’d been seen.

Whether or not he was on your side, Captain Kael had always been terrifying.

“Bring her back to the palace by any means necessary!” he’d ordered, loud and threatening.

So, possessing the tact of a goldfish, and the speed of someone younger than most of the guards, she bolted.

Through the city to the waning night market. The merchant district was crowded, filled with floating stalls and vibrant lamps. The bustle of peddlers and merchants packing their stalls was nearly as bad, and the streets were filled on every storied level with moving cases and racks of wares. She’d done her best to to dodge them all, but, well, grace was something that had never come naturally. Aya knocked into a scarf peddler whose cases came tumbling down in an explosion of color.

“Sorry!” she all but pleaded to the old grouper whose stall she’d ruined, promising herself to revisit her later.

“Stop her!”

A pack of palace guards shot through the twisting streets after her, their sleek tails cutting through the water like knives. They were bigger, faster, and better trained than she. And then, the peddlers around her started snatching at her tail and clothes.

“Thief?” she heard muttered all around her escape path. “Thief? Thief! THIEF!”

Thera guards hadn’t bothered to correct them. Already closing the gap, their black-and-silver uniforms glittered ominously among the bright colors of the marketplace.

Stumbling, Aya skimmed the ocean floor, kicking up a flurry of sand as startled vendors yelled out in protest. She twisted between glowing jellyfish lanterns, hissing as the stings snatched at her arms.

“Ach!”

“She’s headed for the canal!” one of Kael’s men yelled, just as Aya dove for a cleaning current that cut between two towering coral spires.

Tired and frantic, she reached for it, clutching at the telescope case on her back, and willing the current to carry her away from the city center. Just before she reached the speeding current, a pair of arms snatched her out of her path.

Aya started to yell, when something soft and black clamped over her mouth, and a masculine voice murmured in her ear: “Keep quiet.”

She didn’t know why, in the moment, that she chose to trust the boy who tucked her into his stall and under his counter, but she’s listened. Holding tight to her case, she heard Kael’s voice mere feet away from them on the other side of the driftwood counter.

“You! Boy! Did you see a blue-tailed mermaid swim by here?”

“I did,” Kai had said, calm and accommodating, the picture of a suave outskirts merchant.

Aya fought to control her breathing. There was more than one guard now, just outside the stall. There was also—Eep!

She stifled a sharp breath. The boy had tentacles—lots of them! There was hardly room for them both in his tiny stall, and she was tangled right underneath them under the counter. He was probably doing his best not to outright suffocate her, but it had still felt like being trapped in a box of wild eels. Aya couldn’t see far past his limbs, but could make out a merchant’s vest on the boy’s chest, and behind him, a wall of shelves stuffed with bottles and lantern parts.

“Well?” Kael all but growled at her helper—she hoped.

There was petulance in Kai’s voice when he’d answered.

“She was heading for the canal slipstream. Carrying a case. Did she steal something?”

“None of your business, boy.”

The enforcers hesitated for just a moment, glancing at each other before turning, and diving into the darkness of the hidden canals beneath the city. The flimsy counter rattled where Kael’s tail knocked it as he left to join the pursuit.

It was several tense, silent moments before the boy leaned back and took his tentacle away from her mouth. He offered a hand to pull her out from under the counter, and she took it gratefully.

“Thank you.”

“I never liked him.”

Aya gave a startled laugh. “Me neither.”

He was eyeing her mistrustfully, despite the help he’d just given. “You didn’t steal anything, did you? Not that you have to tell me.”

He rolled his eyes and leaned away from her, giving her as much room as he could in the cramped space.

She propped herself to sit on his counter, glaring. “I didn’t steal anything!”

He held up his hands in a peace gesture. “I didn’t say you did. Clearly, I’m not going to turn you in to the guards…. Unless you’re planning on stealing from me?”

“Of course n—”

It was then that Aya had seen his eyes. Now that he was finally willing to look at her, and, well—they were right there, inches in front of her—and they were luminescent purple, set deep and flashing beneath silvery eyebrows and hair. He was obviously only a few years older than her, but something about him carried a surety and competence that she could only envy. She had never seen anything like him.

He raised one of those arching brows loftily at her.

“Of course?”

“Of course not!” she stammered, catching herself. “There’s a meteor shower tonight. I’m going to watch it. And, if anything falls close to here—”

“Shooting stars are a valuable potion ingredient,” the boy nodded, understanding immediately.

“Yes, exactly!” she huffed, relieved. “Potions, crafting, repairs, clothing…but once they sink, they’re impossible to find if you don’t see them, first!”

She could see it the moment that he dismissed her. He blew a stream of disinterested bubbles over one shoulder, and though he was still watching her politely, behind him, his eight limbs were already packing up shop.

“Good luck, then,” he’d said. “The Perseids don’t start for another month, and the Contaminids aren’t due for a week, and they don’t fall here.”

She gaped. “You follow the showers?”

“Well, I am a potioneer.”

She gave his stall another glance. It was nothing like the potions shops in the market center, but there were certainly enough bottles on the shelves to be believable.

“Yes,” she’d laughed. “Yes, it looks like you are… even if you’re not licensed.”

He froze. His limbs stopped their frenzied packing, and his expression went cold.

“How did you know that?” he asked coldly.

She shot him a cheeky grin. “Your bottles aren’t sealed properly, Mister Potioneer.”

“What do you mean, not sealed properly?” he’d gasped.

She reached past his shoulder—then, free of scars—and plucked a bottle from one of his tentacles. He’d flinched back from her, as though entirely unused to being approached like this, and eyed the seat she positioned herself in on the counter as though it was tantamount to scandal.

Winking at him, she turned his bottle of scale-shine over, pointing it cork-first at his nose.

“Here.”

“It’s not leaking or anything,” he’d said defensively.

She rolled her eyes back at him, and gave the blank cork a jab with her pointer finger.

“Anything licensed will be sealed with a wax marker with a signature impression. Every stall has their own version of one, but you don’t have any. Every sigil is unique to the brewer, but also licensed through the crown and recorded in the tax legers. I’m guessing you don’t have many upper-class customers.”

“I have customers,” he’d growled, but he was now looking at the bottle like he’d never really seen it before.

“But the nobles never buy?” she pressed.

He hesitated.

“No.”

“Listen,” she said, changing a furtive look at the surface break above their heads. “I have to get to the surface. There’s going to be a meteor storm tonight—and I know the Perseids and Contaminids aren’t happening, thank you very much, but you did save me, so if I see anything good, I’ll be happy to let you know.”

She offered him a small smile as she turned to go.

“Hang on,” he rushed, catching her hand, and then letting it go just as quickly, as though he couldn’t believe what he’d just done.

“Hang on,” he repeated, swallowing. “How do I get one of these…seals?”

“Um,” she said, glancing back to the surface as she fingered the rope strap on her telescope case. “I’ve never had to do it before, but the merfolk I’ve seen getting them usually have to go through the registration at the magical papering office.”

The boy had cursed. Badly. So badly, that the shock made her laugh.

“Don’t tell me you’re not papered, either,” she said nervously.

He drew back, appraising her. “Are you going to turn me in?”

She’d surprised them both by punching him. Solidly.

“You honestly think I’d turn you in?”

He rubbed the place on his chest where her fist had connected, but his suspicious scowl had broken, and he laughed with her, his mouth stumbling over the movement as though it was foreign to him.

“No.”

“Good,” she said, flipping her tail amiably.

He waved her away, breaking the moment between them just as quickly as it had begun. The gesture had left her with an odd sort of loss. It shouldn’t have mattered. Aya was always being dismissed, but somehow, coming from this cecaelian boy she barely knew, it hurt worse.

“Off you go, then. You have some falling rocks to watch,” he said, making sure she’d gotten the message.

Glancing from the boy, to his obviously well-maintained stall, and the surface, she’d made a decision.

“You know what those seals from the palace are made from?” she said, poking him in the chest where she’d hit him. She leaned forward on the counter, trapping him between herself and the back of his shallow stall until her nose was inches from his.

He sighed, his uncomfortable scowl returning.

“Are you going to tell me, or are you going to make me guess?”

“Meteorite,” she said, giving him another poke. Aya pointed to the case. “I have a telescope, and we’ll be able to see anything within five miles—it is my telescope, I promise I didn’t steal it.”

He rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t say you did,” he repeated.

“You're an unlicensed potioneer. I’m an unlicensed astronomer. Come with me, and I’ll prove it.”

It was her turn to offer him her hand. When he didn’t take it, she groaned dramatically.

“Oh, come on. If I’m wrong, then I’ll get you a piece from my own collection. You’re not doing anything more important, are you? Got more illegal scale polish to brew? Or—” she reached behind him, not having to move with how close she already was to him, and produced a bottle of fin flash. “—fake fin flash?”

He snatched it from her hand with one tentacle.

“It’s not fake!” he protested.

“Not what your customers think,” she teased.

He groaned, running a hand through his hair in exasperation.

“Fine. just… just give me a moment.”

He resumed his end-of-day packing, a little faster this time.

“My name is Aya, by the way,” she said quietly.

He paused, back turned to her. “I’m Kai.”

“Kai.”

Just like she’d promised, the shooting stars that night were the best they’d been in a decade. Together, Aya and Kai had watched the pieces of precious metal and dross falling from the sky, and for the first time, it wasn’t just magical, it was enchanting. Until then, Aya had only watched the skies with her sisters, and her sisters were never as enthralled by her findings. Kai, on the other hand, was riveted by it. Then, as she’d promised, a tiny bit of heavenly shrapnel fell three miles from their location. Kai shot out and retrieved it in minutes, the silvery rock in his hands still warm.

“There’s your new seal, mister potioneer,” Aya had said, in awe.

That night turned into the first of many they’d snuck out together over the years.

They’d seen more meteor showers and blood moons together, her chatting about what she’d read that day, and him slowly opening to her about his experiments.

One month, she’d found a projection of a Void Crescent Moon, when plants like "Shadowvine" that could only flower in complete darkness could be harvested. Together, they gathered a sack of the odd-looking bulbs, and weeks later, Kai was selling illusion potions at his stall that couldn’t be found anywhere else.

Then, In the palace library, Aya discovered an odd flash of light written about by the last palace astronomer. They’d been lucky enough to catch the same alignment of Euripthid the Unfathomable, and Hubris the Humble the next month. In the moment of the flash, the dormant corals in the outer ring that only bloomed once a century blossomed all around them, and Kai harvested six crates of the blooms before the effect faded. His "Lunar Blossoms" had healing properties crucial for regenerative potions.

It had been fortunate timing, because the following month, Kai had lost a tentacle for the first time. Now, she knew the truth. Cirrina had forced him to test the veracity of their ingredients…in the worst of ways.

“Kai,” she remembered crying when she saw the healing wound. “What happened? Was this my fault?”

Kai, when faced with the terror of all young men—a sobbing mermaid—had ultimately panicked, and hugged her. It had been so unexpected, so unlike him, that she’d only cried harder. It was the first and only time she’d cried in front of him, because he’d gone so rigid against her, she thought he’d snap in two.

“It’s not—not your fault,” he soothed, petting her hair awkwardly. “It’s mine. It was an accident. Just collecting ingredients.”

They both heard the lie, and Aya willed herself back together. He was the one who’d lost a limb!

“I’m… ridiculous,” she coughed, pulling back, but he didn’t let her, holding her stable like the gentleman he always was. She threw her hands behind his head, ranting hysterically. “I mean, look at me! You’re missing an actual limb, and you’re comforting me? How absolutely pathetic! I… I’m sorry. So sorry.”

Tears floating away from her face, and face gone blotchy, she probably looked disgusting. His breath was coming shallow on her face, which affirmed that theory.

“Is there a proper protocol for when someone loses a limb?” she sniffled.

His mouth quirked in that funny smile he sometimes wore.

“It’s not the first one I’ve lost. It’ll be back.”

“Don’t worry, Kai, I’ll always remember you with all eight—Hang on. It will what?”

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“They regenerate.”

She couldn’t believe her ears.

“I mean, if you wanted to hold a funeral or something for the tentacle I lost, then by all means—” he was smiling wider now.

“You—” She struggled in his hold. “Let me go, Kai, I can’t hit you from this close.”

He laughed. “Then why would I let you go?”

That was the first time that traitorous voice in her head had made its appearance, teasing her right along with him.

Yes, argued a part of herself. Why would you want him to let you go?

She felt the heat in her face as his remaining tentacles wrapped around her tail, holding her fast. He was still laughing, the mischief in that sound taking a turn past ‘troublemaking,’ and ending somewhere very close to ‘rouguishness.’

Arms still wrapped around his neck, she was suddenly acutely aware of her heartbeat in her throat, and his bare shoulders beneath his merchant’s vest. Her blouse fluttered below her fins, catching on the end of one of his unsevered tentacles as he closed his hold on her waist.

She swallowed hard.

Say something! she urged herself.

“Sure, we’ll hold a funeral. But only an eighth of one.”

“That makes no sense, Aya,” he scolded, as though entirely unaware of how she felt—of what he was merrily doing to her heartbeat. Still, she didn’t pull away. She knew he would let her. She knew she could, but she didn’t; not until—

“Aya! There you are!” Adin swam in at the worst moment.

Aya jumped back, and just like that, Kai was back to the same polite distance he always held. She’d held some quick, awkward introductions, praying that Adin wouldn’t out her to Kai for who she was. She’d left quickly afterwards, not trusting the little guppy to keep his mouth shut.

Then, the very next week, life began to change for Kai.

“You got a new stall!” she exclaimed, flipping her way into his view. “I had to ask around the outskirts for you. Look at this; it’s almost a shop!”

In place of water-bloated driftwood, Kai’s new stall was made from coral shaped into naturally spiraling shelves. At the heart of the structure, a large, transparent shell served as the counter, its surface smooth and polished. There was even a tiny desk on top, where a tiller shrimp could count the pearls that Kai brought in with his potions. Kai, himself, wore a new vest that matched the quality of the other vendors around him. If Aya didn’t know better, she would say that he was like any other merchant in the city—but she did know better. Kai was quite possibly the best there was.

Kai looked older in his new finery, more relaxed behind the spacious shell counter.

“It’s thanks to you,” he said, shaking his head at her enthusiasm, but at least he wasn’t scowling. “It turns out, if you have enough meteorite, even the papering officials in registration don’t ask questions.”

She stuck her tongue out at him through her grin. “To think you doubted me.”

He scooped up her fingers and kissed her hand, giving her a dramatic, teasing bow.

“Aya, if I trusted every crazy urchin who swam past my shop, I would probably be getting served in a sashimi shop—and not in the fun way.”

She rolled her eyes. “Graphic.”

“I strive to impress.”

Aya tightened her fingers around his, noticing that he hadn’t let go.

“Do you like it?” she asked earnestly.

“It’s a bit blustery,” he said with a shrug, “but at least it’s not down-current from the fisheries.”

“Or the cleaning canals,” she added, scrunching her nose at the memory.

He shook his head, tentacles curling beneath him to push himself up to sit with her on the counter. Her tail brushed the backs of his black lower limbs, and she tugged her blouse down around her scales self-consciously. They’d already gone red down past her dressline, and she was determined to hide it as long as possible. It was embarrassing in the palace, being so far behind her time to turn, and out here? She could only imagine what she might hear whispered around them. Fortunately, Kai hadn’t noticed.

“Or those. I think I might actually get my sense of smell back,” he agreed.

She snorted. “In this city? Should I be offering my apologies or congratulations?”

Just then, a rampant current blustered through, strong enough to sweep her along the counter, and right into him. She tumbled over his lap, and he caught her with ease.

“Fins. So unstable,” he teased, balancing them both.

“Going to agree with that one,” she mumbled, embarrassed. “I think there’s a storm coming in. Or maybe there’s a problem with the current-sweeping system?”

“That’s what happens when you don’t have enough mages for the city,” he said matter-of-factly, balancing her semi-upright on his lap.

“There’s one more, now,” she pointed out, trying to right herself and failing. “—Even if he’s a bit pompous.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” he responded cheekily. “And, charming, I believe, is the word you’re looking for."

"Delusional."

“And you know this because….” he prompted.

“You’d be amazed what I can tell from this view,” she said, gesturing to how he’d trapped her.

Chuckling, Kai reached out to help her up, but he didn’t set her back on the counter. Instead, he pulled her flush against himself, almost eye-level. His arms tightened slightly around her waist, keeping her perfectly anchored in his lap.

“Say it again, but softer. I might mistake it for a term of endearment.”

Willfully ignoring the blood shooting to her face, Aya scrunched her brow. He was trying to get a rise out of her—again. Even if his tactics had changed a bit, she wasn’t going to let him.

“Pompous,” she nodded emphatically. “Incorrigible. Overly poetic. Probably have a secret shrine to your own reflection."

He blinked. “Only a small one. Tastefully lit.”

She smirked into his shoulder. “Any credit left for the mermaid who did the paperwork for this, or is that kind of thing just silt under the tide these days?”

“Actually I was planning on thanking you,” he said sarcastically, mouth brushing her ear. “But with all the excess flattery, there just wasn’t any room.”

Aya rolled her eyes and made to stand—but he shifted just enough to keep her in place, his arm light around her waist, almost as if he wasn’t entirely aware of it. She glanced at it. He didn’t move.

“Typical,” she muttered. “You come in all charming sarcasm, and you think I’ll just—”

“Fall for it?” he offered, entirely too pleased with himself.

She gave him a look. “I was going to say ‘throw something at your head,’ but sure. Delusion’s still a good theme for you. Goes with the vest.”

He grinned. “Ah, but you’re still in my lap, aren’t you?”

She paused. He had her there.

“It’s the fins,” she sighed eventually. “Not as practical as tentacles. Great for distance. Not the best for quick escapes.”

Kai actually laughed. “I know. Believe me.”

She shifted self-consciously to get off of him. She’d never asked him what he thought of regular tails, and really at this point, she was afraid to. He stopped her again, however, this time deliberately.

“The fins are beautiful,” he said simply.

The water in the quiet stall thickened around them, just a little—enough to notice. Neither of them moved, not right away. His smile faltered, not into a frown, but into something quieter. Less smug.

“You really are impossible,” she said again, testing.

“And you,” he murmured, easily shifting her back into him, “are still breathtaking when you're annoyed.”

Her brow furrowed, some stubborn part of her brain still trying to drag this back into safe territory. Banter. Teasing. Distance.

But then his fingers softly brushed against her spine—barely there—and her mouth stopped knowing what to say. She looked at him, hoping to deliver a snarky comeback, willing the words back until she saw his expression. Not teasing, not ribbing—just still. Quiet. Watching her with an unspoken question.

There was a moment—a fragile little beat where she could still laugh it off. Call him something dramatic and wave the tension away.

But instead, her gaze dropped to his mouth.

She hesitated.

And that’s when he kissed her.

His breath brushed against hers, salt and warmth, and her heart clenched like it didn’t know what rhythm it was supposed to follow anymore. Kai was slow and deliberate, like he didn’t want to startle her—but he wanted. She felt it in the way his fingers curled, barely brushing her lower back, the way his mouth pressed into hers with aching, searching care.

Aya breathed in sharply, and his hand rose, brushing her jaw, anchoring her in the moment. The kiss deepened, melting from surprise to something fuller. Her fingers gripped his shoulder. His lips parted, slow, tasting her name in the silence.

It was the last piece of stillness that Aya could truly remember, before the ocean around them rushed up again to steal the moment away. Another rush of current flooded into the shop, tossing Aya’s tail-length blouse around her waist, and throwing her hair into Kai’s face.

Starting to laugh at the abysmal timing of it all, Kai kept them steady until the bluster died down, and caught sight of the red staining the top of her tail. Shoving her off of him with more force than necessary, he snatched his hands back.

“Your blouse,” he said, his tone suddenly drained of all emotion.

Aya glanced down with some annoyance. Her blouse had blown up from around her tail, but not far enough to fluster anyone. She shoved the material back down past her hips, where crimson red scales had already covered most of the blue that had once been there. The change was slow, and irritating, and she didn’t need her flashy new color helping her to be spotted by the guards when she snuck out of the palace.

“There, better?” she asked, shrugging back into Kai, who bolted away from her, and back into the stall like she’d burned him.

“Kai, what—?”

“You’re one of Titus’ princesses,” he half-whispered, half-snarled.

She flinched, pulling back from where she’d been reaching for him.

“I—yes. I thought—” she spluttered, confused. “I thought you knew.”

“Aya…. Ayalina. Princess Ayalina,” he said, as though it were some filthy secret.

“I’ve never tried to hide that. I just—What’s wrong?” she repeated the question, this time pleading.

Kai calmed down, and moved a shell’s length closer to her, back toward the counter. A plastic smile that didn’t touch his eyes spread over his mouth.

“It’s nothing,” he said, voice smooth and unwavering, every appendage perfectly poised to be of service—to sell. “I just didn’t realize how rude I’ve been this last while, Princess.”

“Don’t call me that,” she begged. “Not ever.”

“It is your title, Princess.”

Aya would have preferred if he’d slapped her.

He ran a hand through his hair, that horrible false grin still doing manic things with his mouth as he spoke.

“To think, that day, I was abetting a princess. Why were you escaping from the guards? Did you miss tea time?”

She wanted to scream. She wanted to lob every bottle of Rogue-begone within reach at his petty, insolent head. However, he was right. She was a princess, and that meant that she’d been forced to learn control—if only barely.

“If I had been caught that day, I’d have been imprisoned just like anyone else. I would have been monitored, the guard outside my barred window changed, and Marlin wouldn’t have been able to convince the staff that I’d never left in the first place. Just because my cell is pretty doesn’t change what it is, Kai. To my parents and my supervisors, I have only even been a trading piece. I’m a pawn, Kai. I’m an ingredient.”

His purple gaze was wary, but something in him flickered at her declaration.

“You have guaranteed survival, Princess Ayalina. Is that not worth it?”

She gasped.

“Is that worth it? Why would you want to survive at all, Kai, if that was worth it?” she snapped. “Shall we put you in a nice, comfy box, with food and simpering servants and a panel of eyes to watch you and prod you and make sure you’re behaving for the rest of your life, and sell you to a stranger to make heirs, and then, Kai—”

“Aya,” he interjected, eyes widening as tears salted her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. She was too angry.

“—I’m not done! Tell me truly, if that was your existence would you be happy to just survive?”

“Aya,” he repeated, coming a little close, he reached for her, and she batted him away.

“Give me that vest, Kai! We’ll have you fitted for dresses tomorrow, and you’ll make a nice political marriage by the end of the year if we cinch that waist in.” She gave his waist a hard pinch, and then pulled back again, because even though his tentacles bent toward her in trite apology, Kai no longer responded to her touch the way that he did before.

“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to hurt,” she apologized immediately, the anger evaporating somewhat. “Got any more of that bruise cream? We’ll catch it early.”

Kai sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose—the first of many times.

“Princess—Aya—I didn’t mean it like that.”

She swallowed. “I know. I know that what you have to do every day is grueling. I won’t pretend to understand even a fraction of what you have to do. But Kai, you have to understand that I’m not just trying to play when I’m out here. I’m trying to find a use that’s big enough to buy my own freedom. I’m trying to work.”

It sounded immature, even to her own ears, but it was still her only shot.

“You’re doing a terrible job of it,” he said bluntly. That false smile was gone, fortunately, but the sincerity and warmth of before had gone with it.

Once more, more firmly, she tugged her blouse down to hide her royal coloring.

“I know.”

After that day, Kai continued to show interest in her studies and predictions, but it was no longer with the same playfulness as before. Something between them had changed, and no matter what she did, she couldn’t bring back the mischievous, hopeful Kai that she’d known.

When Cirrina had found a second apprentice in Krill, Aya thought Kai’s workload would diminish, but in fact he’d been busier. The feeling of warm safety that she felt around Kai was no longer just for her. As curmudgeonly as Kai could be, Kai had protected Krill just as well.

A year had gone by since then, and Aya was no closer to finding a true escape from her position. She couldn’t just leave, either. If she did, she would be hunted, as they all were, now.

Ellian represented the world she so desperately wanted to run from, and Kai was everything good in the people that she knew in the reefs of her own city. She wanted to protect that. To live in that. To be a part of that little world in some beautifully menial way. In that, Kai had always made her feel valuable.

When her memories caught up to the things she had said while under the influence, Aya wanted to bury herself under the monolith so that he would never have to look at her again.

This is the future Prince Ellian has set for me, if Kai can’t break this curse… she thought.

Any warmth she’d taken from those memories was being eaten through with despair, when Adin flopped over on the sand with the loudest snort she’d ever heard.

At the noise, Aya let out a small cry and jumped backward away from Adin—and landed on Kai.

“Mmph,” he grumbled awake.

Once his eyes opened, she immediately saw the hard edge of suspicion.

“Sorry!” she blurted.

Glancing over, Adin was still dead asleep. Aya held up her hands in peace, trying to convince Kai that she wasn’t trying to attack him, as he seemed to have concluded.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

Something in Aya still hoped that she would wake up from all of this, and it would be over.

But it was all too complex to have just been dreamt up, said the Voice of Reason.

Kai gave her a narrow look, his purple eyes glittering in the light of the little magical fire.

“I should hope so, Princess. I’d hate to think you wake up like that normally.”

She groaned dramatically, and gave him a playful shove.

“Don’t ever call me that. Ever.”

Closing his eyes again, Kai let out a stream of bubbles in a sigh that seemed to take all of the tension of his muscles with it.

“You’re back,” he said simply, tiredly. “Is there a particular reason you’re lying on me, Aya?”

She crossed her arms, willing the blush that threatened to creep up her tail to go away. She hadn’t realized she was still perched on his lap, but she also wasn’t ready to move.

“What, are you disappointed you rank above the silt to me?”

“You certainly didn’t think so a few hours ago,” he pointed out.

She winced, and dipped her head in shame. Her fins were heavy, and the cold that was setting into her tail was starting to make her feel numb. Cold and grieving for something she didn’t know how she’d lost, she tucked her head under his chin, wondering if he would let her.

“Sorry,” he amended, before she could come up with a response. “I know it wasn’t…you.”

He wasn’t pushing her away yet.

“Nothing I said yesterday is how I feel—or think,” she said quietly, not quite ready to look him in the eye. “I…I’m sorry, Kai. There really are no words.”

He made some strangled sound of disbelief. “Oh, but there were. In fact, I didn’t know you possessed quite so many words, and that really is saying something.”

She made an embarrassed sound into his neck, and had just decided that she should keep her face there permanently, when Kai hooked her chin with one finger and lifted her face to look at him—and she saw the smirk.

It rallied something in her, and she managed to pinch his ear before he could swat her away.

“And you said I had cheek!”

“You do,” he said, poking her cheek.

“Funny.”

“Hm,” he hummed, closing his eyes again.

“Kai,” she whispered, before he could fall asleep again. “I’m—I’m mortified, really.”

“About what was said, in particular, or the rather colorful way you’re able to express the sentiments?” Kai needled, his smirk spreading even with his eyes closed to her.

One of his tentacles reached up and flicked her nose, and she realized with that small gesture that Kai was laughing at her. Relief flooded her fins.

“Wow, you’ve mastered the art of being pompous and difficult,” she teased back, eager not to push him back into his scowly mood.

“I had ample instruction yesterday,” he rebutted, giving her hair the kind of fond ruffle she’d seen him do to Krill.

That simple feeling of his fingers and his directness about the whole thing made her feel better, if just a bit. However, waltzing along with that comfort was the tiniest bit of shock. Kai never touched her casually like that. Kai never touched her at all.

Not since…

Sensing some sort of change, she leaned forward, wondering if he would let her.

“Um, Kai, would you mind if I—?”

Aya put her arms around his middle and tucked her head back beneath his chin. The cold had spread from her fins to her tail. Pushing her cheek as far into the shelter of him as she could go, her teeth chattered hard enough to rattle his jaw.

“It’s completely freezing down here,” she offered by way of explanation.

She regretted giving up her view of his face when it took Kai a little longer than she’d have thought to respond. He didn’t push her away, for which she was grateful, but he had gone so tense that the occasional shallow breath was the only evidence he hadn’t turned into searock. She was about to ask what was wrong, when, with a click of his teeth, a small puff of black water descended over her face.

“What—ack!” Aya coughed heartily when Kai’s ink hit her nose.

“I’d forgotten it was about time to renew you and Adin,” Kai said stiffly into her hair. “He’ll have a few more minutes than you, but even so, I won’t cut things so close tomorrow.”

Breathing in the black cloud was a slimy, oily feeling around her gills, and she squirmed under the sensation until the cold abated, her fins relaxed, and the pressure in her ears regulated to normal levels. Eventually, her teeth went still enough to talk through again.

“Better,” she sighed, icy tension leaving her limbs with every heartbeat. “Is this how you always feel?”

A muscle in his jaw twitched.

“I usually have one less mermaid on me.”

“Usually?” she reached up to flick his ear again.

He caught her hand before she could do any damage.

“Right now being the sole exception,” he clarified, his voice rumbling through her like a tremor beneath her skin. “Mermaids don’t usually like cecaelia, Aya—much less try to use one as a blanket.”

Warm enough to move, Aya pushed herself to her elbows, so that her eyes were level with his.

“It’s just that I’d hate to think that there were other blankets in your life,” she drawled.

Kai rolled his eyes sleepily. At last, he relaxed under her.

“I know how you feel about job security.”

For a precious moment, he was just Kai, and she was just Aya, like all those months before he’d found out she was a princess, and that unspoken distance between them began to grow.

I’ve missed this.

The realization hummed through her nerves, wrapping up any errant emotions and neatly putting them back in place like potion bottles on a stall shelf. Kai cleared his throat unsteadily as she wrapped her free arm around his neck, where her forearm rested on the cool silt beneath his head. She didn’t realize quite how close they’d gotten, until he spoke again, bubbles tickling her cheeks with each word.

“Do you know what you’re doing, Princess?”

Aya inhaled sharply, her stomach twisting like a tangled net. Frustration flooded her veins like boiling water.

“What do I have to do, Kai,” she groaned into his shoulder. “What would I have to say to get you to stop calling me—”

She thrashed her tail in agitation, tearing it free of Kai’s stable hold, and knocking into Adin’s head—hard.

“Poseidon’s lopsided tailfins!” Adin yelped, shoving himself up abruptly from his sleeping place. “Is something attacking? What—O—oh! You two are—are…”

Adin and his timing, Aya inwardly groaned.

It seemed Adin couldn’t quite put words to the scene of Aya perched on Kai’s tentacles, nor the sight of her wrapped around his torso. There was something in the way that Adin’s eyes darted faster and faster between those two particular things that told her that Adin was seeing something he shouldn’t. She began to disentangle herself when Kai beat her to it. He unwrapped her from his middle and deliberately placed himself several feet away. The natural warming that came from being next to Kai faded almost instantly once her fins hit the chilled sand.

Adin spluttered, raising his hands in a confused gesture.

“Wait, I didn’t mean let her free completely! I mean, I don’t want her head getting bashed when she swims off! It’s just—” Adin blushed deeply, and his mouth flopped several times as he searched for the words. “Just—You were—”

“Adin, I’m back. It’s just me, now,” Aya tried to explain before Adin said something she’d regret. “I’m not going to bolt, or try to swim back or—or insult either of you. I’m so so sorry for earlier.”

Stern lines returned to Kai’s face in full depth, he seemed the only one of their party unaffected by the stifling awkwardness of Adin’s assumptions, but he didn’t mediate as she would have liked. Instead, he sat there, letting Adin voice anything he liked.

“Yes, Princess,” Adin stammered. “I can see that, but—”

“Dear Poseidon ascended! Adin, please don’t call me that.”

It wasn’t fair to Adin that her patience met its limit with him, but Aya had had enough.

“Adin—no, both of you!” She pushed herself off the silt and glowered at them both. “We’re going to get this curse fixed, and we’re doing it as jolly friends who hopefully won’t freeze or get crushed to death or eaten along the way. So if I’m a princess to you, then fine. I order you both to never call me that again, because we are friends! And so help me, even if I’m being a good little trinket for my father to sell off when we get back, then I at least deserve that choice.”

She swallowed, willing her decorum back to her. Like a bad catfish, it didn’t come.

“Haven’t either of you ever considered that the only people I’ve ever been able to choose have been you? You, Kai, and Adin, and Krill, and the mer-folk on the reefs.”

It would have been comical, the two mermen blinking up in unison at her, had she not been so frustrated.

“Adin,” she said, willing herself to sound calm. “I am not above you. I am not above anyone in skill or in competence unless I’ve earned it. And I haven’t earned it! So don’t turn to me for orders like I’m in a position that I am neither qualified for, nor asked for. Not yet!”

“I—erm,” Adin didn’t seem to be able to process what he’d heard. Kai, too, was now refusing to look anywhere but at the conflict before him.

“Alright, Aya,” he said, nodding at last.

The anger flaring in her gills left as abruptly as a scattered shoal of fish.

“Alright?” she asked. “Just like that?”

“That seems fair for now,” said Kai, back to his scowly grumble.

“That’s it? No more fighting? We can get back to swimming for my life?” Aya breathed. “Um…Anything you two need?”

Adin was hesitant, but apparently eager for a change of subject. “Now you mention it, I am cold.”

Kai was ready this time. He spat ink in Adin’s face like if he did it vigorously enough, the cloud he produced would let them both escape. In a way, it reset them all. Adin warmed up, and Kai had a brief reason to busy himself with something else. Best of all, Adin didn’t ask any more questions about what he’d seen.

“Well,” Kai slid back to his cool, business-like self before Adin could breathe enough to keep speaking. “Seeing as we’re all awake—”

Kai offered her his hand, though he no longer looked at her directly. She took it, and let him lead them into the next current.