She wished she could tell him she understood. Being a ruler was hard. It made one frown, turn pensive, grumpy.
It should have been an easy job; the merfolk and their allies were the happiest, most carefree peoples in the world.
Well, until a tribe of branzinos moved a little too close to the viewing garden of a royal cousin.
Or the shark-magister insisted on expanding his people's hunting rights all the way to Greydeep Canyon.
Or, far more importantly, a reef suddenly turned white and died for no apparent cause. Or the diamondback terrapins couldn't make it to their favorite nesting place because there were houses there now. Or the humans had managed to catch—and eat—an entire delegation from the northern seas. Or the number of fishing vessels was getting too large to ignore, to relegate to the unwritten and ancient Dry World-Sea World laws of yore.
Yet despite these much more pressing concerns, cousin Yerena still complained about the branzinos and her garden and "their ugly faces."
It made Ariel irritable just thinking about it.
Besides general grumpiness, there was another more serious similarity between the king and his daughter. Any joy Triton had taken in life, even with his daughters, was constantly shadowed by sorrow over his dead wife.
Any respite Ariel took in her new life was constantly shadowed by her sorrow and guilt over her dead father.
And so she ruled, firmly and well, but silently and with much melancholy.
She cleared her throat, one of the few noises she could still make, and was leaning forward to give the little crab a piece of her mmd when Flounder came swimming up.
Her old friend was larger and happily fatter than when they had first set out to the surface years ago. He had a medallion around his neck to show rank; the imprmt of the trident meant he was in the innermost ring of the royal circle. But unlike the adorable little helper fish and servant seahorses, he didn't turn his chest mto the light or waggle to make the golden disk extra obvious. He remained, despite the years and accumulated wisdom, likable, down-to-seafloor Flounder.
"My Queen!"
He swooped m front of her, ignoring Sebastian, and gave the low bow that was required of all but Ariel usually tried to stop—at least from him and Sebastian.
Ariel cocked her head at him: go on.
"I've just had some strange—really, really strange—news from a plaice, who heard it from a turtle, who heard it from a dolphin....Wait: I think it was the plaice from the turtle. There might have been another messenger in between. A bluefish, maybe?"
He felt Ariel's impatience before she even displayed it.
"There is a seagull on the surface who claims to have news for your ears only."
Ariel's eyes widened.
She signed carefully, spelling out the name.
Is it Scuttle?
"No, My Queen," Flounder said, trying not to show his own disappointment. "It was hard to make out through all of the...parties involved, but I believe it is a younger one, and a female."
Ariel practically wilted.
Seagulls were useless. Scuttle was a rare bird. Scattered but goodhearted, prone to flights of exaggeration, but a true friend. It should have been him commg to visit.
For several years after the day she lost her father, Ariel had tried to return to the land to see Eric and to take revenge on Ursula. But the wily sea witch had used her now very prosaic powers as a human princess to set guards all along the coast—officially, in "case of an enemy kingdom attack, or pirates." In some cases, close to the castle, guards were literally stationed in the water, up to their calves.
With Scuttle's help Ariel had tried to evade the guards, sneaking in while the gull whipped up a distraction. But it was never enough, and the men were all on high alert for strange, witchy red-haired girls.
After a while, and after much msistence from Sebastian and her sisters, Ariel gave up and returned to her life under the sea permanently. At the very least she could respect the memory of her father by devoting herself to her duties as queen. She had vowed to forget the Dry World forever.
Even Scuttle.
"But.. .it's a seagull. So doesn't that mean Scuttle has to be involved somehow?" Flounder pointed out, trying to cheer her up. "It would be realty, really bizarre if some random gull came to talk to you. But I didn't double- check on the origm of the story. I didn't want to break your ban on gomg to the surface."
Ariel swished her tail thoughtfully.
"Don't even think about it," Sebastian growled. "I know what you're thinking. It's just a silly seabird. Don't even consider it, young lady."
Ariel raised an eyebrow at him incredulously. Young lady? In the years that had passed smce the duel with the sea witch, she had aged. Not dramatically, but far more than a mostly immortal mermaid should have. There was something about her eyes—they were deeper, wiser, and wearier than when she was a young mer who had never been on dry land. Her cheeks weren't quite as plump anymore; the angles of her face were more pronounced. Sometimes she wondered if she looked like her mother... aside from her own unreliable memories, the only physical evidence of the former queen was a statue m the castle of her and Triton dancing together. But it was all pale milk}- marble, no colors at all. Dead.
Ariel's hair no longer flowed behind her as it once had; handmaidens and decorator crabs kept it braided and coiffed, snug and businesslike under the great golden crown that sat on her temples, like the gods wore. Small gold and aquamarine earrings sparkled regally but didn't tinkle; they were quite understated and professional. Her only real nod to youth was the golden ring m the upper part of her left ear.
"Young lady," indeed.
She didn't even have to sign. You cannot talk to me that way anymore, little crab. I am queen now.
Sebastian sighed, sounding old m his exasperation. "I'm sorry for speaking out of turn. I can't help it. Nothing good comes out of you going up there... nothing ever has. I just...I just don't want to see you hurt or disappointed again."
Ariel gave him the tiniest smile and tapped him once on the back fondly. Sometimes it was hard to remember that much of Sebastian's attitude was only for show. Underneath, he really did have—what he thought were— her best interests at heart.
But she was a grown-up now, and queen, and her best interests were none of his business. She turned to sign to the little seahorse who floated silently at attention, fins quivering, waiting for orders.
Threll, please tell the Queen's Council that I will be taking this afternoon off. Flounder will be accompanying me. Sebastian is nominally in charge until I return, though no votes or decisions are to be made in my absence.
"Yes, Your Majesty." The little seahorse bowed and zoomed off mto the water.
"My Queen, as thrilled as I am..." Sebastian began.
But Ariel was already turned upward, and kicking hard to the surface.
Mermaid queens didn't often have a reason to move quickly. There were no wars to direct, no assassination attempts to evade, no crowds of clamoring admirers to avoid among the merfolk. In fact, slowness and calm were expected of royalty.
So Ariel found herself thoroughly enjoying the exercise as she beat her tail against the water—even as it winded her a little. She missed dashing through shipwrecks with Flounder, fleeing sharks, trying to scoot back home before curfew. She loved the feel of her powerful muscles, the way the current cut around her when she twisted her shoulders to go faster.