All this beauty was the result of many thousands of years of art, peace, and patience—and little to no contact with the rest of the world. If Atlantica was an unimaginable, dreamy splendor to the few humans who had gazed upon it before drowning, it was also unchanged by the centuries; magnificently, eternally the same.
The creatures who built and ruled this underwater world were long-lived and content, with nothing but time and aesthetics on their mmds, governed by longs and queens of the same bent.
Or so it had once been.
Now Atlantica was ruled by a queen who had seen another world, and been betrayed by it, and who would live with the consequences—forever.
The usual crowd gathered on the throne dais: merfolk of even* hue, several dolphins who occasionally flipped up to the surface for a breath, a solitary oarfish, a thin group of sculpin. the queen was holding court on the Ritual of the June Tide: one of the most important and solemn ordinances of the Sevarene Rites.
And she sorely wished she were anywhere else.
Kmgs and queens had to address crowds—that was part of the job. Most of the ceremonial aspects could be dealt with by just swimming someplace, looking regal, nodding seriously, occasion called for a speech...
...and you couldn't speak...
Annio was chosen to be the acting priest of the Ritual, so it will be he, and not Laiae, who draws from the Well of Hades.
She said this with her hands, carefully spelling out the priests' names alphabetically m the old runes.
Sebastian and Flounder and Threll, the little seahorse messenger, were placed around the outside edges of the crowd, interpreting what she said aloud. They and Ariel's sisters were the only ones who had bothered to learn the ancient, signed version of the mer language—but only the fish and crab and seahorse volunteered to translate.
Primarily the occupants were mer, for
and smiling at babies. But when the
None of them shouted loud enough—not the way her father had—so not everyone could hear if only one of them spoke for her.
(The one time they had tried to use a conch to amplify' Flounder's voice had just been a disaster. He had sounded ridiculous.)
In a perfect world, her sisters would be the ones domg it. Those who grew up with her and had similar voices could speak more easily for her—and smce they were princesses themselves, everyone was more likely to listen.
But it was too much like work.
And the one thing her sisters tended to avoid—more than the advances of unwanted suitors—was work.
And so Ariel signed, and the interpreters interpreted, and various parts of the crowds listened to different voices trying to speak for her, and their attention was on the interpreters, and their questions were directed to them, and it was all a mess.
"Which Annio? The elder?"
"Was ray child m the running, my darling Ferestia?"
"But at what hour?"
Her only recourse when everyone started talking at once was to blow loudly on the golden conch she wore around her neck as a symbol of office. She felt more like a silly ship's captain than a queen.
I will send out tablets with the details, posted in the usual public locations, she signed wearily. That is all.
After her helpers spoke and everyone thought about it for a moment—it was like waiting for the thunder after lightning, watchmg the meaning of her words sink in seconds later—the crowd made murmurs both negative and positive, and began to disperse.
Ariel sat back in her throne, leaning tiredly on one elbow, unconsciously assuming the exact position her father always had at the end of an exhausting day. Threll darted from one lingering mer to the next, making sure everyone understood and felt like she or he had been heard. He was a good little messenger, and had proven surprisingly useful in his new role. Flounder was in the back, having a low conversation with a fish she didn't recognize.
Sebastian came scuttling over to her, kicking himself up through the water to sit on her armrest.
"Ah, the Saga at the end of the Rites will be outstanding this year," he declared, parading back and forth in front of Ariel, claws gesticulating m the air. "So much talent. So much enthusiasm! Nothing could make it better. The sardines are in sync, the trumpet fish are terrific. Everything is perfect. Well, there is one thmg that could make it better, of course...if only you had your lovely voice."
Ariel raised an eyebrow at Sebastian. Even if she had her voice, she doubted very much if she could have said anything that would have successfully interrupted his monologue. She shifted uncomfortably in her throne. The little crab didn't notice. Although he could expertly mterpret her signs, read her lips, and decipher her moods—it was only when he was paying strict attention.
"Ahh, what a loss that was for de world...." He put a claw on her shoulder and finally noticed her scowl. "Er, of course, in return, we received the best, most excellent queen in de world."
The best, most excellent queen m the world tapped her trident, idly considering turning him mto a sea cucumber for a few minutes to think about what he had said.
But he was only echoing something Ariel thought about all the time, herself: whether or not she was any sort of decent queen. Since she never should have been queen to begin with.
When she had returned to her sisters five years before, voiceless and deep in despair over what had happened to her, she'd fully expected banishment, punishment—at the very least, severe chastisement. Instead her family did something utterly unexpected: they made her ruler over all of Atlantica. There was no precedent for this; as the youngest child of the mer-king it would normally have taken the deaths of all six older sisters before the crown
came to her.
"You're responsible for the murder of our father," they had said. "It's only right that you take on his burdens."
Privately Ariel wondered if it was less punishment for her than a relief for them. None of her sisters wanted the job. As royal princesses they could sing and play all day, dress up m fancy shells, wear crowns, oversee dances and parades and balls... and never actually have to do any real work. These days she often watched her sisters laughing and singing and wondered at the gulf that had grown between them. Here she was, the youngest, some would say the prettiest—at one time perhaps most thoughtless of the lot—and now she sat on a throne, envying them.
The merfolk adored their queen despite her silence and melancholic air. Or perhaps because of it. Mer poets and musicians wrote odes and epics to the tragedy of her existence, the romance that had almost caused a kingdom's downfall.
She did not enjoy these.
She did not enjoy the attention of the mermen, either. Once upon a time, as a younger, more innocent thing, she had never even noticed boys. Mer boys, at least.
Now she was forced to notice them, to keep an eye on them, to be aware of what ulterior motives they had: to wed the queen, maybe to become king.
Ha, she thought bitterly. If only they knew what a pain it is to rule.
She hadn't been even a tide-cycle into her new office before she had begun to understand her father's temper and moods. He had been a firm leader who rarely smiled, presenting the perfect image of an old god: stony- faced, bearded, permanent. Prone to glowering and frowning. She and her sisters always teased him, trying to win smiles from him, trying to get him to steal an hour from his duties to play with them. Mostly they had to content themselves with his presence at official functions, banquets, and performances like the one Ariel had skipped—the one that had started the whole thmg.