“Perhaps you’ll feel differently in a few more years.” Dauriel closed her fist; the fire extinguished. “You’ll have no kindness from me. Not then.”
Kneeling, Dauriel resumed collecting the remaining chunks of meat.
“So you abdicated your throne willingly?” Tallora asked, content to poke what she saw was a wound. “Adolescent rebellion? Wanted to be a priestess instead?”
Dauriel continued in silence, but the grit of her jaw revealed her curtailed fury. Tallora reveled in her victory.
“Whoring around? Secret child—”
Dauriel slammed the tray with her fist, splattering bits of rotting fish onto the stone. “Shut up!”
Not what Tallora expected. “I see that this is a tender subject—”
“Don’t. I abdicated because it was the noble thing to do when I was told I couldn’t bear children. It’s just as well; I’ve never cared for men. Would’ve never bent for one. I would have stepped down from my birthright either way—for my empty womb or my unwillingness to bear fruit from it anyway. So don’t piss on what you don’t understand.”
Tallora wouldn’t say she felt pity, no. But something else arose, something strange and foreign to feel toward someone she despised. She’d come across a complicated puzzle, one that joined to create the hateful princess she’d been cursed to meet. “I despise you. But I would be foolish to forget you have a soul, even if I haven’t been granted the same kindness.”
Tallora left Dauriel alone, contemplative even after the princess left.
Perhaps those puzzle pieces could be exploited.
* * *
Tallora recalled the first time she’d ever looked at a girl and wanted desperately to know her.
Ironically, she had been with a boy at the time—a beautiful boy with strong arms and a talent for making her laugh for hours on end—adoring the affection that came from young love. She had loved him with all her young heart; she had been a girl, then, not the grown woman she was now.
Once, as she’d held this boy’s hand, a girl floated among a small group, giggling at their words, and Tallora’s breath had caught—oh, how beautiful was her purple hair, as vibrant as the sky at sunset, her eyes the sun itself. Her lips had smiled, alluring and full, and the curiosity of what it might be like to kiss them passed through her head.
And when she and the boy had parted, both their hearts broken, she had found peace kissing those lips; they were as wonderful as she had hoped.
There were cultures who scoffed at such unions. But Tallora had always loved whom she would, and naysayers were uncommon among her people and other long-lived beings. The elves and the angels loved with no prejudice toward their peers, as did most Celestials.
Solviran culture certainly embraced lovers of the same sex, given two of their patron deities were women wedded and in love—and that was a rare thing, she’d heard, for angels to tie themselves together in matrimony.
But Tallora supposed she understood why the inability to bear an heir would destroy Dauriel’s bid to the throne. She had read of the Solviraes bloodline, the inbreeding and murder used to keep the famed Silver Fire potent and exclusive to their family line. Should even one not birth the next generation, they risked utter ruin.
Dauriel only came at night, Tallora reasoned, because she saw nothing of her, but food awaited each morning. It seemed she’d pissed the princess off good, and Tallora reveled in glee at the prospect.
She felt like a new toy—forgotten within hours of her arrival. No one visited for days.
So accustomed she was to silence that as Tallora preened her hair one morning—rather, as well as she could, given her lack of mirror—she thought she imagined the voice from beyond her pen. “You’ll want to present your best self, Mermaid. My mother is entertaining foreign guests; she plans to show you off.”
Tallora slowly tilted her head toward the noise, realizing Dauriel stood beyond the wall of seaweed. She swam out of her barrier, frowning at Dauriel’s palpable annoyance. “What is my ‘best self?’”
“To not hide. To smile and wave. Perhaps present your name.”
“What if I give a false one?”
Dauriel seethed a weighted sigh. “Better than nothing.”
“Call me ‘Staella.’” Tallora grinned at Dauriel’s ever-increasing ire. “What, too blasphemous?” When the princess said nothing, she laughed uproariously—by Staella’s Grace, she’d never tire of this game. “Sincere question,” she managed through her amusement, “why not give me a name? I’m a beast, or so you’ve said. Beasts are given names, stripped of identity.”
“Given names do not work for spells,” Dauriel replied, resignation in her tone. “Has to be your real one.”
Tallora’s smile stretched wider than the barrier. “At least we’re all being honest now.”
“I say this as your caretaker,” Dauriel said, her voice lowering. “Be careful with that sort of thinking. Khastra has my mother convinced to give you time to adjust, but you’ll be held to a different standard sooner than later. Being tamed and being broken are merely a step apart, and torture will do the job either way. Whatever my feelings toward you, no one deserves that.”
“Oh, so I’m someone now? Not a beast? Charming.” Tallora swam away from the wall, content to hide until nightfall, when she heard Dauriel’s reply.
“I ask you only to present yourself before my mother’s guests. Be as stubborn a bitch as you want to me; don’t piss off the people holding the axe.”
Tallora poked her head out from the forest of seaweed. “That’s quite the language for a royal, even a disgraced one.” The insult hit its mark. At Dauriel’s feet, flame simmered. Tallora feigned an oblivious smile and said, “And what must I do? Be a trained clownfish? Do flips above the water?”
“That would certainly do it.” Dauriel stepped back, presumably to walk away.
Tallora poked the wound. “If a different tactic would endear to them more, I have nothing to lose. Your men certainly enjoyed ogling me on your deck; I could give your ambassadors a show.” She swam forward, grinning as she cupped her breasts in her hands and squeezed. “Shall I practice on you?”
“Fuck you,” Dauriel said, already leaving Tallora far behind.
“If that’s what it takes to secure my freedom, please do.”
Dauriel kept walking.
“Not even a rejection? I’m insulted.”
“So am I.”
“It’s fine,” Tallora cried, as Dauriel disappeared from view. “You’re nothing to look at anyway—I’d have to close my eyes and imagine home to stomach you.”
She heard nothing from Dauriel. Tallora hoped she’d struck a nerve.
* * *
As Dauriel said, Empress Vahla’s guests followed her into the menagerie.
Two of them, both human men, wearing gold and white robes emblazoned with the symbol of the goddess Sol Kareena. As the sister to Neoma, her kingdom, the Theocracy of Sol Kareena, stood as tentative allies to Solvira. Tallora watched them from behind the seaweed, disappointed that Dauriel hadn’t accompanied them.