Of Neptune (The Syrena Legacy) (30 page)

Especially this one thing.

Grandfather has become special to me in a short amount of time. A couple of nights each week, he sits with me on the beach after dinner, telling me stories of his childhood, of being groomed for kingship, of the times he spent with my grandmother before she died. Of how much my mother is just like me—even if we can’t see it. He’s teaching me how to make Syrena nets and how to make a squid ink itself without much effort.

Galen has had to begrudgingly allow room for Grandfather, to accept that he’ll be taking up some of my time now, too. And Grandfather has come to terms with the fact that I’m not a child—or a fingerling, as he calls it—and that Galen and I need time alone. Oh, at first he was inconsolable. In fact, he threw such a tantrum when he found out we were going to share the same off-campus apartment—separate bedrooms for crying out loud—that we were barely able to get our deposit in on time and almost missed out on our dorm rooms.

Separate dorm rooms. On opposite sides of the campus.

But today everything changes, and Grandfather seems to recognize that. To be honest, he seems almost contented.

So we glide through the water in silence, Grandfather and his self-assurance and me and my jitters and my waterproof pack. The ocean is calm today, in stark contrast to the churning vortex that is my stomach. I try to appreciate the fish around us, the pod of dolphins playing below us, the beauty of the canyon-like drop-off ahead of us. There is more seaweed floating around than usual, which means that a few extra minutes will be devoted to washing it out of my hair tonight. Seaweed is like the Silly String of the ocean—it never comes out.

But those are short, fleeting thoughts. All I can really think of is Galen—and how all of him will be mine in a matter of hours. The delicious contours of his lips when he smiles. The silhouette of his body walking toward me in the moonlight. The way his embrace seems to be the one thing I’ve been missing all my life. Everything that is Galen will belong to me.

And ohmysweetgoodness, I’m nervous.

I feel Grandfather slow down and I peer around him. We’re almost there. The light from the sun becomes brighter, glistening off the surface like a sprinkling of diamonds. Just ahead of us, the ocean floor slants upward toward shallower water. In front of that, a mound of sand piles its way up to the surface, forming an island.

The island Galen picked for us.

Grandfather eases us to the surface, and I think my heart might stop. When we reach the top, I let out a breath I’d been holding for longer than I should. But I can’t help it.

This is the day.

The island is a masterpiece of tropical beauty. Palm trees form a protective wall around the lush forest farther inland. Coconuts freckle the beach sand where low tide leaves a dark wet stripe across the shore. Seagulls overhead squawk in a chorus, lazily gliding in the breeze instead of flapping their wings.

The island is perfect.

Grandfather takes us to the beach where Mom waits for us, waving like a crazed person. As if we could miss the giant pink flower in her hair. Or the immense boat she rented rocking gently a few yards away—it’s way bigger than we talked about. What she could possibly need a boat that humongous for is beyond me. It’s like a three-story house cradled in an overgrown canoe.

When I think I can touch bottom, I let go of Grandfather’s shoulders and fall slightly behind him.

He turns to me and smiles. “It was an honor to bring you to your island, Granddaughter.”

I nod, suddenly feeling excessively shy. “Thank you.” I don’t know if there’s something else I should say. This is a Syrena tradition. Traditionally, my father would be swimming with me to my mating ceremony, supposedly to impart last-minute words of wisdom or something like that. Kind of like how the father escorts the bride down the isle. But since Dad is gone, Grandfather volunteered. And he either forgot the words of wisdom, or he didn’t have any.

He swims away then, probably to the other side of the island, where there is hopefully a change of clothes waiting for him. When he was informed he would be among those standing on the beach, he got all agitated, muttering to himself for a solid hour.

Old people.

I adjust my pack on my shoulders right before Mom slams into me. I’m still knee deep in the waves so the impact makes a healthy splash. Since Mom’s not really a hugger, this affects me down to the most basic of levels. I had counted on her to be my rock today, the stable one. That might not work out.

“Galen is already here,” she says, which I already know, but I feel a flutter in my stomach anyway at the sound of his name.

“What’s with the yacht?”

She leads me by the wrist down the beach and to the plank connected to the boat. “Grom and I are going to have a second honeymoon after the ceremony.”

“Ew.”

Rayna materializes on the deck of the boat wearing honest-to-God coconut boobs and a grass skirt. She gives us the classic princess wave, all wrist wrist, elbow elbow. I toss Mom a questioning look. She shrugs. “She wanted to help with something, and Galen already ran her off the other side of the island. Something about catching the decorations on fire.”

“Fan-flipping-tastic.”

“Hush. She’s just going to do your nails and hair.” Just? She caught fire to decorations, and now she’s going be to wielding a flat iron near my head mere hours before my mating ceremony? If there was a time when I didn’t need singed hair, it would be rightfreakingnow.

Everyone is going to be at this ceremony. The Triton kingdom. The Poseidon kingdom. Half the town of Neptune, at least. All eyes on me. That’s how I know something is going to happen. Rayna will crisp my hair, or burn a welt into the side of my face. A seagull will relieve itself on my dress. Or what could be more fitting than me tripping into Galen on our wedding day? Just like old times’ sake.

“Emma, if you don’t want to do this, you have to tell me right now.”

That’s when I notice I’ve stopped making progress in the sand toward the boat. I must look like a startled cat. “I’m just nervous,” I tell her, licking lips gone dust dry. “What if something goes wrong?”

She smiles. “Years from now, you’ll be able to look back on this day and laugh. No matter what happens.” So she thinks today has disaster potential, too.

“Laugh at how I sobbed myself to sleep on my wedding day?”

She grasps a tendril of my hair being thrown around in the breeze and tucks it behind my ear. “In a few hours, all this will be behind you. Just hang on for a few more hours. And it’s not likely you’ll be sleeping anyway—”

“Mom!”

We take a few more steps and start up the plank, the heat of my blush creeping down my neck and up to my ears. Rayna has already disappeared inside the cabin. We hear the sound of something heavy being mishandled, possibly dropped.

“How has school been?” Mom says quickly. “Are your professors nice? Is Galen adjusting to college life?” This isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation, but the questions must come easily to her, just as the answers come easily to me. It’s effortless chit-chat, which is what we both need right now.

“It’s fine. I have a few cool professors, and then there are some who act like morticians. Galen … Galen is being a good sport.” He’s great at his classes and politely evading the female population of Monmouth University. His weaknesses are not quite being able to choke down the cafeteria food and keeping his fists to himself when an intoxicated undergrad propositions me.

But he’s getting better. With the cafeteria food.

Once inside the boat, I follow Mom down the narrow hallway that leads to a rickety set of winding stairs, which takes us down to the next floor. At the bottom is one big room, probably meant for entertaining but that is now repurposed for the singular objective of prepping me for my wedding ceremony.

And it’s beautiful.

The carpet is sprinkled with flower petals, and there are black and white and violet balloons floating everywhere in different states of levitation. Matching streamers hang from the ceiling, along with crystalline balls, which cast a kaleidoscope of light spinning around the room. It’s all basic party gear, and taken separately it might be considered cheesy, but taken as a whole—including the fact that Mom and Rayna got along long enough for this to be done for me—brings it to a new level of special.

“Wow,” is all I can get out. Mom is pleased.

Rayna grins. “It’s going to be a girl party. You’ll see. Your mom brought all my nail polish, and I found these super-shiny shells by the reef that I think would go great in your hair.” Without asking, she comes right up to me, grabs a painful handful of hair, then pulls it back toward the crown of my head. “I’m thinking an updo like this. And forget the tiara. That’s too fancy for Galen.”

“I agree,” Mom says, but she won’t make eye contact with me.

Oh schnap.

*   *   *

The mirror must be mistaken. The girl in the reflection cannot possibly be me. Because the girl staring back at me looks so … so … glamorous. But in ways that are so subtle I wouldn’t have thought the sum of the parts could ever equal this whole image. The tiny shells in my hair—which is swept back into submission and curled into soft ringlets—look like shimmering gems in the light of the cabin. Though Mom took the simple approach with my makeup, it has a certain elegance to it. A touch of blush, a few swipes of mascara, and tinted lip gloss to complete the natural effect. (She was either going for natural, or this application represents the scope of her makeup knowledge. Either way, I’m happy with it.) I’m also the grateful recipient of Rayna’s best French mani-pedi to date.

My white strapless dress falls just above the knee, hugging my curves, but the outer sheer material flows long in back, just past my ankles. I feel I’ve been transformed into a real princess, instead of just being one on a technicality.

I wonder if all brides feel this way.

“You’re gorgeous,” Mom says, and since she almost chokes on the words, I almost cry and ruin my mascara. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“You and me both.”

“Tell me about it,” Rayna says. “I never thought Galen would be able to trick anyone into mating with him.”

We all laugh then, because the idea is so ridiculous and because it’s better than crying anyway, right? Mom lets out a big breath. “Are you ready? The sun is about to set. We still have to get you through the trees to the other side.”

We walk the plank, so to speak, and plant our feet in the soft sand. I decide that whoever cleared the path from one side of the island to the other is an expert. I know the Syrena are skilled at prepping islands for mating ceremonies, but I don’t think they’ve ever prepared one quite like this—making accommodations for barefoot Half-Breeds was probably never on their to-do list before. Still, my feet encounter nothing but velvety white sand, warmed by the setting sun.

The walk is single file and quiet, Mom taking the lead, Rayna in the middle, and me last. I’m supposed to be lagging behind a little more, but it’s getting darker, and I’m just clumsy enough to trip over nothing at all, let alone some tropical obstacle blown in my way by the breeze or fate or whatever.

Through the trees ahead, I see a pathway of torches leading to the beach, to where I hear the waves lapping against the shore. Probably most beach weddings don’t lure the bride and groom to the water—but this is not most beach weddings. After all, the majority of our guest list will be attending in the shallow water, sporting fins instead of tuxedos and dresses.

When we reach the edge of the tree line, I stay behind, giving Rayna and Mom time to take their places at the front of the procession. And by procession, I mean me. I don’t know how long to wait—was it fifteen seconds or fifteen minutes? My lungs forget to breathe with my new dilemma. My heartbeat threatens the boundary of my veins. I’m going to make a fool of myself.

I’m going to make a fool of myself.

And all at once, I hear humming. It’s soft but distinct, coming from the water. The gentle rise and fall of harmony. A song. They’re giving me my cue.

And so I walk, using the pathway of torches as my guide, trying to fit my stride to match the rhythm of the gentle tune. I wonder if this is a traditional Syrena mating-ceremony song and conclude that it must be. They all know it so well. They all contribute to it so beautifully.

There is a slight hump in the sand before the beach can be seen, and as I make my way over it, my eyes are inevitably drawn to the figure on the right. Galen.

My destination.

My destiny.

He stands in low tide wearing a tuxedo tailor-made to hug his physical perfection. His expression is the only thing not sharp about him. I thought—worried—that today he might adapt Grom’s impassive expression or maybe don an unruffled smile. That today would not be as nerve-racking for him as it is for me, and for some silly reason equating to something less special. I hoped that he would show some emotion. That he would reassure me with his eyes or a quick squeeze of my hand. That he wouldn’t be the statue he’s capable of being.

What I never expected to see is this kind of tenderness radiating from him, the profoundness of vulnerability on his face. His eyes are intense glowing orbs in the torchlight, and they show me everything. How he feels about me, what he thinks about my dress, and a slight impatience for me to reach him. I feel the worry leave me like beads from a broken necklace.

This is right. Galen knows it. I know it.

Behind Galen is the setting sun, which illuminates hundreds of heads bobbing just above the water. Dark Syrena hair intermittent with the shocking white of Half-Breed hair. Hundreds of guests, but I’m undaunted because with each step I get closer and closer to the thing I must have. To the thing I don’t think I can live without.

Beside Galen, Toraf gives me a playful, brotherly wink. And I notice that Toraf cleans up nice. In a tux, he resembles a big, handsome child. I can tell he’s uncomfortable wearing long pants, because he keeps scratching at his knees. His sleeves are a tad short, and he tugs them down obsessively. Rayna grabs his hand then to stop his fidgeting: A crooked smile spreads across her face when she sees me.