With the setting sun came the rise of the waxing moon, its glow bright enough to outshine the smaller, celestial bodies surrounding it. Was this the fate of stars, to be subsumed by the moon’s light? Tallora wondered, not for the first time, if this were the true relationship of the deities—a gentle goddess overshadowed by a powerful, tyrannical figure, whose people nearly ruled the world. Neoma was not wicked, or so she had been taught. She was justice incarnate, but to a system different than Tallora’s.
As it was, Neoma’s people had stolen Tallora and kept her imprisoned. She couldn’t fathom the justice in that. “Goddess Staella,” she continued, pleading now as more stars broke through the lingering sunlight and the encompassing moon, “I know not what to ask for. But grant me aid, I beg of you.”
Tallora’s world fell silent, the animals in their cages settling in to sleep. She refused to join them, but her body failed her—she drifted in and out, hunger preventing true rest. She lay suspended, nothing to place her head upon.
At least, lost among the watery cage, they wouldn’t see her tears.
* * *
No one delivered breakfast. Tallora was not surprised.
Instead, when the heat of midday beat down upon her, her prison steadily growing close to boiling, workers wheeled in a series of steel beams, gilded and decorated with gems and silver. Dauriel was with them, shouting orders left and right—“The general herself will come inspect your work; if you’ve messed anything up, she’ll personally—”—and so on.
Though Tallora refused to succumb to intrigue, she watched from the corner of her eye as they assembled the beams into a hexagonal shape, far larger than her bubble. When the sun had left its position directly above, Magister Adrael joined them. “Exceptional,” he mused, surveying the enormous stakes. “Continue. Best we bring the décor before it all wilts.”
Tallora now openly watched, fascinated when entire wagons full of ocean plants were wheeled in, as well as a few stone structures, placed sporadically within the confines of the beam. Coral and other pastel life decorated the enclosure, and though Tallora refused to admit it was lovely, she appreciated the attention to detail—someone knowledgeable of her homeland had designed what she suspected was her new cage.
By nightfall, they had finished, except for the rather important detail of water.
Magister Adrael approached Tallora’s bubble. “Brace yourself, Mermaid. Wouldn’t want to lose you after all that.”
Tallora’s stomach lurched as her bubble floated away, the turbulent water forcing her from side to side. It settled between the hexagon, then expanded, filling the space but stopping abruptly at invisible barriers between the beams.
Tallora quickly studied this new environment, relishing the wall of seaweed blocking the outside world and the great stone tablet for her bed—although it lay in the open—admiring an plot of idle sand, perfect for a garden . . .
She swallowed her smile. This was Dauriel’s plan. Instead, she bolted behind the blockade of seaweed.
Fury aside, she could have melted from the relief of touching something solid. Tallora’s body relaxed for the first time in days, aching muscles singing praises to the soft sand.
She shut her eyes, not asleep but drifting. She heard the guttural accent of the general surveying the scenery, and later the empress, irate to find Tallora could hide within her own new home. No young princes, but Dauriel’s voice passively trying to appease her, unenthused repetitions of, “Give her time,” and, “We can’t starve her forever.”
Damn them all. But at least Tallora could shit in peace.
Eventually, darkness settled. The voices disappeared. Despite her exhaustion, Tallora couldn’t sleep.
Alone, or so she hoped, she peeked her head from the tangle of seaweed, savoring the feeling and scent of salt. Nothing but the typical inhabitants, the lifeless beasts she was deemed equal to. Tallora swam to inspect a beam, touched it, and felt nothing but smooth metal. Some enchantment must have been present, but Tallora held no talent for deciphering anything like that. She swam to the next beam, her hand trailing against the wall of water, like skimming the air.
The second beam was as the first. Tallora gripped it for support, then pushed against the wall of water.
It held, but it bent, moving with her hand as it pushed against the barrier. She swam to the top, realizing she could touch the sky, the air, and gasp for breath.
She had not felt the wind in days. It caressed her waterlogged locks of white, stinging her skin, yet she savored the sensation, relishing the pleasant chill after the heat of the day. The moon remained bright, prepared to slowly grow as the days went on. There, too, were the stars, breaking through the moon’s light, ever-present.
Tallora swam to the side, head still above water. At the beam, she reached her hand across the barrier where it brushed past with ease. Nothing stopped her.
She was easily twenty feet above the ground, likely to break her neck should she jump. Death was well worth the risk.
She dried her hands in the air, praying it would be enough to secure her grip. Foolhardy or not, Tallora clutched the beam, hoisting herself up with her lingering strength and pure desperation. When she twisted, her arms already ached, but no use in crying now—not when her entire body dangled beyond her pen.
She gripped the decals of the beam, lowering herself in agonized motions. Her fingers burned, nails chipping as she went. Her tail dangled uselessly, reflecting the moon in distracting rays of light.
She swore it took hours. Tears seeped from her eyes. She wept, praying she was heard by only the gods and not those who would proclaim themselves among them. Her hair tangled around her arms and face, sticky as it slowly dried. Tallora released a whispered cry: “Staella, grant me strength!”
Her tail touched stone. Tallora collapsed, body smacking the slippery tiles, but she lived. Shaken, but not defeated, she began step two of her impossible plan.
She inched forward, using her tail to help push as she pulled herself along. She moved in painfully slow degrees, and her skin burned as it rubbed against the stone. Streaks of red shone beneath her pearlescent skin, her breasts and stomach and scales in agony.
She measured progress in tiles. Decorating the floor in sandy shades, the square pieces were nearly as long as she. Her burst of strength threatened to give out by tile five, but she pushed onward, prepared to die here.
Then, her hand touched a leather boot. Tallora looked up, only to face Princess Dauriel, who raised a patronizing eyebrow.
Exhausted, defeated, Tallora collapsed, weeping on the cut stone.
Dauriel stepped aside, a metallic clink echoing from whatever platter she held. “No, no—do continue.”
Tallora knew she was being mocked. Cheeks burning, she spat at Dauriel’s feet, making certain it splattered her perfectly polished boot, before inching forward once again, faster now with an audience.
“Tell you what—if you can make it to the sea, I’ll let you go. It’s only a thousand miles away. You’re making excellent time.”
Tallora ignored her, continuing her foolish quest. Let this bitch know her as spiteful above all else.
Dauriel’s footsteps disappeared, following the path Tallora had crawled. The air dried out her sensitive skin, the stone chafing her stomach and breasts. But she could see the door. That much spurred her onward.