Fear washed over Tallora, colder than the icy spray of the sea. It stiffened her tongue; when Princess Dauriel signaled for her men to take Tallora below deck, she could not manage a scream as she batted away their hands. Her tail knocked one back, but she could not fight them all. A rough hand grabbed her hair and dragged her forward—she clawed at him with her nails, but a man twice her girth nearly crushed her against his bare, weather-beaten chest. She trembled and covered herself, exposed among her clothed captors. Light appeared as he stepped through a doorframe, the dark clouds replaced by glowing receptacles lining a narrow wooden hallway.
She was taken to a small room—a storage closet, filled with supplies Tallora had never seen before. When she was unceremoniously dropped, she released a slight cry, biting back tears at the throbbing pain in her head and back. Already, her skin itched from dryness, and she wondered if she would waste away, crusted and starved.
The magister had followed, studying her from the doorway as the large man stepped aside. “Do you speak?” he asked.
She merely stared, struck dumb by fear. The magister released a disappointed, “Hmm,” then held his arms aloft. From the very walls, damp and moist, water emerged, collecting in an ever-expanding ball floating above Tallora’s head. When it matched her in size and a little bit more, the magister beckoned to his burly companion. “Put her in. This will serve her well enough.”
Tallora braced herself as work-worn hands lifted her once more, shutting her eyes until wetness enveloped her entire form. When the man placed her within the globe of water, she remained suspended—a bubbled prison undulating like the waves themselves. “It’ll only be a few days in here,” the magister said, his voice palpably bored despite the storm. “You’ll see the sun again.”
That did nothing to soothe her. Beyond, the seas still heaved, thunder bellowing across the sky. The door shut, leaving her alone and drenched in darkness.
* * *
Tallora had little to do but sob. She thought of her home, of her mother all alone in the world without her. She craved the seafoam, the stone castles of Stelune, decorated with a rainbow array of coral and life. She thought of Yaleris, the dragon within the Canyon of the Great Mother, whose scales glittered in opalescent shades of blue and white, who protected her people from evil and wondered if he could save her.
But he was not a god to pray to. Instead, Tallora prayed to her beloved Staella, Goddess of Stars, who painted the sky in illuminate art, used by her people to navigate the open waters, and known for her mercy and her gentle heart. “Mother Staella,” she recited, unable to summon the heart to sing, “deliver me. Take my burdens; set me free . . .”
The passage of time was felt only in the growing, gnawing hunger in Tallora’s stomach.
When light expanded from the door, Tallora cowered, hiding her head behind her arms, her back facing the interloper. The light burned her eyes, and a familiar, feminine voice said, “If you ignore me, you’ll starve.”
The seconds grew long, tension settling. Tallora covered her eyes, letting them slowly adjust to the light and the princess’ silhouette in the doorframe. Though she’d tried a thousand times, she pressed once more against the swelling walls of her prison, but never touched air—the water merely shifted around her. “What do you want from me?” she managed to whimper.
Even as she spoke the question, countless horror-filled options flooded her mind: to be eaten, to be displayed, to be held as a pet until the end of her days.
“Your name, actually,” Princess Dauriel replied.
There was magic in names. Names could bind. Tallora merely stared, tongue stiff.
“No?”
Tallora shook her head, daring to stare into her captor’s silhouette.
“Lost your tongue? Fine.”
The door shut, and Tallora sobbed in her dreary cage.
Her hunger grew. She had nowhere to relieve herself save her magical pen, and her stomach and bowels ached in her stubborn refusal to swim in her own shit.
Tallora thought often of her mother, surely out of her mind from grief and worry. Once, her mother had said to move through hardship one day at a time, lest you lose your mind from grief. Tallora wasn’t sure how to apply that counsel when she couldn’t tell day from night.
Light filtered through the door once more, and this time Tallora did not flinch, instead forcing her composure to steady.
Princess Dauriel entered, holding two buckets. When she placed them down, she said, “Good evening.” From her hand, Tallora saw a spark, then a burst of silver flame. She touched some sort of receptacle with her fingers, which quickly caught fire—first silver, then fading to orange. Dauriel’s eyes reflected the vibrant colors, the fiery tones mingling with what Tallora realized was a striking silver.
Whatever their soft color, they held cruelty unmatched. “I brought supper.” She gave Tallora an expectant stare, eyebrow raising in the ensuing silence. “Nothing? No greeting? No gratitude?”
Tallora’s mouth filled with obscenities, but she swallowed them back. This woman was irked to be ignored, and so she merely crossed her arms and sneered.
Dauriel lifted the two buckets. “I don’t quite know what merfolk eat,” she continued, and Tallora glared at the cruel twist of her lip. “I brought options, one alive and one dead.” She held up one. “Blue Flounder, caught this morning by an off-duty sailor with a penchant for fishing. He said you might like it—it’s raw but prepared, wrapped in seaweed and given a hint of Zauleen spice.”
Tallora’s mouth watered, but she held to her pride and said nothing at all.
“This one’s alive,” Dauriel continued, holding up the second. “Onian Octopi—”
Tallora’s skin crawled at the mere name.
“. . . starved a day or two but just a beauty, don’t you think?”
The poisonous octopi promised boils to last for days, and if ingested would cause a miserable death spent puking blood and your own ravaged entrails.
“Which would you prefer?” Dauriel kept her mischief, either a fool or as evil a person as Tallora had ever met. “I wouldn’t want you to starve—I suppose I could dump both inside your pen if you refuse to tell me.”
Tallora fought to control her breathing, instinctively floating to the edge of her prison when Dauriel hoisted up the bucket with the Onian Octopi. She had tried time and time again to breach the barrier, but though her cage pulsed like the waves, it held a wall stronger than stone.
Dauriel held the bucket against the cage and tilted it, the water within steadily spilling inside. The multi-limbed monstrosity flopped and pulled itself closer—
“No!” Tallora cried, shaking at her own weakness.
The bucket fell back; Dauriel placed it onto the floor. “There’s your lovely voice,” Tallora heard, victory in every hateful word. “Blue Flounder?”
Tallora cursed her tears as she twisted away from her heartless captor. Clenching her fists, she bit back the urge to sob. “Why are you doing this?”
“I’ll do all manner of things if it gets me what I want,” Dauriel said, holding up the bucket. “I’ll take your name in exchange for a meal.”
Her stomach weakened her will, but she was not defeated yet. “Go to hell.”