“Do not bring your mother into this,” Father barked. “She is gone. She’s been gone for nearly sixteen years.”
Coral’s eyes burned with each retort. Her throat tightened.
Their sister grew quieter. Withdrawing. Sinking into herself until she was drowning inside.
“Why won’t you listen?” the crown princess asked.
Father’s response, ever the same, ramped Coral’s irritation. She didn’t need to listen to hear him say, “Why won’t you obey?”
But the little mermaid did listen. And this time, their father kept silent.
Coral opened the door wide enough to swim a few feet into the corridor outside the bedchamber.
“What are you doing?” Jordan spat, swimming up behind her. “If Father were to catch you—”
“Shhhh.” Coral waved her off. Now was not the time to suddenly care if she got caught. This was the part where Father would ask his question, then leave their sister be. But . . .
“I’m sick, Father.” Her sister’s words became stones, weighing on Coral’s heart. “I feel like I’m dying. Please, don’t make me sing. Jordan can do it solo.”
Their defenses lowered. Jordan reached out and grasped Coral’s hand. A split second of unity, maybe even love.
Coral squeezed her hand, wishing their temporary bond would last.
“You are fine.” Father’s resignation was an iron anchor. “You’d be fine if you’d only choose to be.”
Choose? Does he believe the Disease is a choice?
“It isn’t so simple,” the crown princess said.
“But it is. You’re making yourself sick. The Disease takes those who are too weak to rise above their feelings. This is all in your head.”
“Maybe.” The answer bled of resolve. “But the Disease affects the heart, Father. And mine is breaking. If only you could understand—”
“You will sing, Daughter. Tonight.”
The crown princess did not respond to his final word. He’d silenced her. She would sing. Then she wouldn’t speak again until morning.
It took everything in Coral’s deepest fathoms not to swim down the hall, barge into the sitting room, and defend their oldest sister. She hated that they weren’t even allowed to use her given name anymore. She was simply “the crown princess” or “the future queen.”
The king was detaching himself. They all were.
“Will Father sit by and wait for Red Tide to come as it has for others before her?” Coral whispered. “We’ve heard the stories. The Disease spares no one who contracts it. If our sister is ill, if she’s getting worse . . . How long before Red Tide takes her too?”
Was that disappointment lingering behind Jordan’s gaze? “I told you he’d calm her.” She released Coral’s hand, backed away, and found the sand-length mirror as if it had been waiting all along.
“You wanted the solo. You were hoping Father would allow our sister’s request.” Coral’s ears burned. How could Jordan be so selfish?
“There you go again with your make-believe ideas.” The middle mersister combed her fingers through her hair, then touched her fingertips to the corners of her eyes, lifting the skin at the nonexistent creases ever so slightly. “You worry too much, little sister. The crown princess has her spirals, but she comes back. She’ll be fine. We’ll all be fine.”
Fine. A word Coral had come to loathe. A word so yellow, so cowardly, it couldn’t carry its weight in goldfish.
She released a long sigh. Bubbles rose. One, two, three, four . . .
Jordan lowered her hands and smoothed them over the scales on her tail. “What you should be worried about is your performance.” Her deadpan expression chilled the room. She eyed Coral through her reflection. “Or have you forgotten what’s expected of you?”
Coral broke eye contact. “Of course I haven’t forgotten.” Jordan would never let her. “I know my place.”
“Good.” Jordan’s gaze shifted and shadows lay to rest across her lashes. “We’ve waited a long time to show off that pretty little voice of yours. We are our father’s daughters. And so we sing.”
Her voice. Her vice. A curse of its own. Coral swam to her pallet, sat, and drew her tail to her chest. The bedclothes were wrinkled and her pillow slept in the sand. She shuddered. When had the water grown so cold?
“Have you thought of what you will sing for your first concert? We’ve traveled all the way here to our Pacific palace for the occasion.” Jordan twirled before the mirror, a whirlpool of muted silver and green. With each swirl burst a symphony. Silver was the spray of a whale at the surface. Green became fins grazing grains of sand.
“I have a few selections in mind.” The lie was easy, another added to the bucket of fibs Coral had learned to tell over the years.
Jordan joined her on the pallet, plucked a red flower from a pore in the wall, and stuck it into the hair tucked behind her right ear. Jordan may have seen the color, but she had no idea what sound it produced.
Another curse, but this one extended to Coral alone.
Her senses intertwined, two playing as one. The colors made sounds and the sounds created colors. Yet another oddity that would only serve to raise suspicion. Every shade had a note, a melody distinguished by its particular hue.
The Diseased were different, as unique and one of a kind as a mermaid out of water.
“I hope, for your sake, the song you choose is one approved by Father.” Jordan plucked another red flower from the wall and placed it between her silvery locks.
With every wave of the flower’s delicate petals, Coral heard a clap of rolling thunder.
This sort of red boomed. Even with the melodic differences between hues, every shade of red was brash. “I aim to please. I’d never dream of singing something forbidden.” No romance ballads. No heartfelt limericks. Nothing too emotional. Or moving. Or goose-bump inducing.
A simple song to draw sailors to her father’s waters. To drown them in her voice and make them forget who they were. Where they were. Just as they threw themselves at Coral’s sisters each time, along with any treasures they possessed. The sailors belonged to the merfolk before the concert was finished.
Coral was permitted to do whatever it took to keep the humans trapped within their depths.
She was not, however, allowed to speak to them. Or touch them. Or breathe near them. Or do anything with them. Not if her father had anything to say about it.
Draw them in, then leave them stranded. Always wanting more.
“May I tell you a secret?” Jordan’s monotone played in harmony with her somber personality. Her gaze relaxed then, her gray eyes appearing almost blue.
The shift in color played a calming cadence across Coral’s vision. She watched. Waited. Glanced in the mirror. Her own Eyris pearl eyes—not quite green nor blue nor violet—widened in anticipation. Just once she wanted Jordan to admit she, too, hid symptoms of the Disease. Coral would never tell Father. No. But if Jordan shared her secret, then Coral would know for certain.
The Disease was not as much of an anomaly as everyone said.
And everything she’d ever been taught was a lie.
But Jordan never failed to disappoint. “As long as you get past that first note, it’s all downstream from there. Easy as a kelp pie.” She drew in three long breaths and her shoulders visibly relaxed. Grandmother had taught them this technique to prepare for their debuts.