The Sea King's Daughter (9 page)

I approached the man and held out the coin. He gave me a handful of sweet figs and several smaller coins as change. I bent down and fed the little boy one of the figs, and ate one myself. Lysander laughed down at us and pulled me up again. I squeezed his fingers and he squeezed back. We stared into each other's eyes. I thought I saw something change in his face.

Would he kiss me now? I stood up on tiptoe, looked straight into his eyes, and wet my lips. The whole world seemed to come to a halt. This was the moment I'd waited for, the moment when everything would change.

"Lysander, my friend." Phidias had slipped up behind us and clasped Lysander's shoulder. Just that quickly, the moment was lost.  "Come quickly-- there's boxing up near the old temple. Hieron has issued a challenge. Will you accept it?"

"Of course I will." Lysander turned to me. "Hurry, little one. I've got to defend my title."

I sighed, disappointed, but I tagged along after them. I would have to learn patience, which had never been one of my virtues. My breath came faster than usual when I remembered the look in Lysander's eyes. He felt something for me. I knew he did.

The temple perched on one of the hills above the village. It was a hard climb, especially on my aching legs. Lysander ran up ahead with his friends. He didn't notice how I struggled. But Phidias took my arm. "Here, lean on me," he said. Gratefully, I slumped against his shoulder.

"You shouldn't be out here," he said. "You're not strong enough yet."

"I'm all right. I want to go along. I want to see Lysander box, and make sure he isn't hurt."

Phidias gave me a look. "I'm sure he appreciates your concern, but you've no cause to make yourself ill again. I'll take you home to the villa, if you wish."

I shook my head. "I won't go. Please, won't you help me to the top?"

Phidias sighed, but he led me along and supported my weight until we crested the hill. My legs shook and wobbled with every step. At last, just when I thought Phidias might need to carry me, we arrived at the ruin.

From this vantage point, I could see the entire island of Theros. The village sprawled out below and to the north. The south side of the island lay empty except for a few scattered flocks of sheep and the occasional goat. Scrub brush clung to the sides of the low mountains, rare patches of green against the bare brown earth. Olive trees clustered in leafy groves behind the village.

"This is the old temple of Athena," Phidias explained as we all gathered near the ragged foundations and tumble-down columns. The sun had bleached the stone white and burnt the grass to pale brown stubble. Phidias pointed out the new temple, on a low hill above the sea to the east.

The makeshift arena stood inside the outer walls, where the altar would have been. I collapsed onto a boulder warmed by the sun. The crowd of young men gathered round as Lysander and another youth -- Hieron, I guessed -- stripped off their tunics. When it came to sport, they seemed to take no shame in nakedness. Phidias produced a small jar of oil. Lysander and Hieron rubbed the oil into their skin until they gleamed.

I watched as Lysander wrapped leather straps around his fists and crouched down to face his opponent. The audience hollered and hooted. They circled the contenders, calling out jeers and insults and encouragement. Sunset cast a soft glow over the scene. It burnished Lysander's skin until he looked a bronze sculpture.

The merfolk had athletics too, but we favored games and races. I'd never seen a fight before. I remembered the boxing scene on the amphora in the sea-witch's cave. When Phidias called for the boxers to begin, I held my breath.

For a long moment, nothing happened. Lysander and his opponent faced each other squarely. Neither moved. Blood pounded in my ears.

Hieron threw the first punch. I sprang to my feet, unable, in my excitement, to keep seated. I didn't even feel the pain in my legs.

Lysander ducked, still grinning. The two young men circled each other. Lysander's first jab caught Hieron on the shoulder. His second hit Hieron' chin and rocked him back on his heels.

I jumped up and down, screaming with the others as they cheered the fighters on. The contestants were well matched. Lysander was taller, Hieron more muscular. Lysander moved with an easy grace, but Hieron swung harder. When he landed his first blow, Lysander staggered back. Blood tricked from one nostril.

I let out a strangled cry and launched myself forward, as if to throw myself between the fighters. Phidias caught my arm and held me back. Wincing in sympathy, I watched as Hieron hit Lysander again. I could hardly bear it. The sound of leather smacking skin -- Lysander's skin -- drove chills down my spine.

Hieron swung again, hard, and Lysander danced away. He came back with a mighty punch that snapped Hieron's head around and sent beads of sweat arching through the air. Blood welled from a cut in Hieron's cheek. Lysander's opponent dropped like an anchor cast into the sea. At last, he raised one finger to signal his defeat.

I screamed and rushed to throw my arms around Lysander's waist. He smiled down at me and mussed my hair with dusty fingers. His friends closed in to slap him on the back.

"Still the champion," a boy named Cleomenes hollered. "Who will crown the victor? Here, girl, will you do the honors?" He handed me a wreath made of olive leaves and slender branches.

Lysander knelt before me. I settled the wreath onto his head and tenderly rearranged a lock of his hair under the leafy crown. "Thank you, little one," he murmured.

"Give her a kiss, Lysander," Cleomenes said. "Go on now -- won't you thank her properly?"

"Kiss her! Kiss her!" the others urged. Even Hieron, now mostly recovered, took up the chant. I felt the heat rise to my cheeks and knew I was blushing a deep crimson.

Lysander stood, caught my face in his hands, and tilted my chin up. I stared into his eyes. My knees turned weak and rubbery as seaweed stalks. I no longer heard the whooping, laughing crowd.

Lysander's lips brushed mine, a whisper of warmth in a cold world. It was a brief kiss, lasting less than a second, but it seemed like forever before I was able to draw my next breath.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The next few weeks melted away like foam on the waves. Gradually I learned to accept the roughness of cloth against my skin and the piercing glare of the sun. But I never grew to like the taste of charred flesh, or -- after a lifetime drinking seawater laced with salt -- the flat and empty water drawn up from the wells.

Soon I took to sneaking into the kitchen to gorge on raw tunny and sardines. I gulped down sweet shrimp and oysters glistening gray on their shells like fat, salty little tongues, seeking comfort in the flavors of home.

The stillness, too, began to unnerve me. On the bottom of the sea everything swayed and danced to the current's silent music. The same current once cradled me and rocked me to sleep at night; on Theros I lay in bed and felt terribly alone. Only the thought of Lysander, asleep a few doors down, could console me in those moments.

As the wonder of the upper world wore thin, I grew more and more restless. It rained for three days and I was forced to stay in, though I laughed at the reason -- "You don't want to get wet," Corinna scolded, when she caught me standing out in the garden. "Come inside, dear, before your dress is soaked clean through."

Life for the women of Theros, I quickly learned, felt just as narrow and cloistered as life in Father's palace. Corinna was kind, but she had little time for idle chatter as she labored to run a bustling household and provide for the comforts of her husband and son.

One hot day, growing bored, I wandered down to the beach to watch Lysander and the crew load one of Philemon's ships. The men filled the salty air with shouts and grunts and laughter as they worked. Lysander hoisted an amphora of wine and lugged it to the ship, which stood on the shore propped up against a sand bank. A crewman took the jug and stowed it in the hold.

I watched from my perch on a rock above the beach, well out of the way. I particularly wanted to avoid Lysander's father. Philemon strutted around giving orders. His face glistened red and he sported a ferocious frown. I kept my eyes on Lysander instead. I hoped he would look up and wave to me, but he didn't.

In the weeks since the boxing match, I'd waited and hoped for another kiss. I ached to feel his lips on mine again, to have his arms around me. But he treated me with the same fond indifference as before.

The sun was fierce. I was afraid I might suffer from another sunburn, and besides, the afternoon dragged on and on. I slid down onto the ground, dusted off the back of my tunic, and crossed the beach to where Lysander worked stacking boxes.

I crept up behind him and slipped my hands over his eyes. "Guess who?" I sang out.

He peeled my fingers away from his face. "Not now, little one," he said. "Why don't you go back up the hill and help my mother? She'll miss your company."

I pushed out my lower lip. "Can't I help you here?"

He laughed and shook his head. "This is men's work." He lifted another box. "Go on, now. You'll only get underfoot."

I scowled but didn't protest. I could see that arguing would get me nowhere. Instead, I started down the beach, leaving Lysander behind. I hated the way he patronized me. Sometimes he treated me like an annoying younger sister.

I loved Lysander, but the human world was not what I'd imagined. I'd thought I could leave boredom, pain, and confusion behind in the depths of the sea. Escaping from myself was harder. I'd brought all my sadness and despair right along with me up into the air and sunlight.

I was homesick. I hadn't expected that. I longed for familiar things: my mirror with the statue of my mother, the paintings in the great hall, even the chatter of my sisters' voices in the tower room. Most of all, I remembered my strong, star-scaled tail flashing silver as I sped through the sea. Now I tottered about on weak, always-aching human legs.

Now I rounded a bend in the beach and found myself on a rocky bluff. It protruded into the sea, so the water came all the way up to meet the land. Scrubby patches of grass poked up from the dust. At the tip of the promontory, a flat rock, like a flagstone, made a natural seat. Recklessly, almost forgetting the danger, I crossed to the rock and squatted down to stare into the water. I found a fist-sized stone and flung it toward the horizon, just to watch it break the surface of the sea.

Suddenly I heard a plaintive squeak in the distance. Squinting into the reflected light, I made out a sleek blue-black head in the water. "Ios!" I called. "Ios, I'm here! Come closer!"

The heaviness in my heart lifted just a little as Ios' body cut a swathe through the waves. But she couldn't -- or wouldn't -- come too close to shore. She stopped a few yards out and cocked her head, as if she meant to scold  me. She squeaked again.

I spoke over the lump in my throat. "I can't come in the water. I'd love to, Ios, but I can't. Never again."

Ios just stared at me. She didn't understand.

The water was so lovely. I knew it would feel silky and clean against my skin. I longed to swim with Ios again, just one last time.

"I'm sorry," I said aloud. "Oh, great Poseidon, what have I done?"

Ios made another puzzled noise, then slipped under the water. I waited for her to resurface. She never did. She'd given up on me.

I wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn't come. I'd thrown away everything with barely a thought. I'd hoped for a place to belong, but I didn't fit in on Theros, either. Maybe I would have been better off if I'd gone straight home from the sea sorceress's cave. I could have confronted Father and the others and made them explain. Now the dark secrets I'd learned that day cast a pall over all my memories, even the pleasant ones.

I turned around and walked slowly back toward the village, my eyes on the stony ground. The sun slowly broiled my in my own sweat. It was too late now, too late for regrets and second thoughts. If only Lysander would say he loved me. That would solve everything. I knew it would. But how? How could I turn Lysander's friendship into something deeper?

I knew Lysander must have feelings for me. He'd nearly said as much to Phidias that day on the beach. He was in love with the girl from his vision -- from the dream that wasn't really a dream, that was actually our meeting under the sea. I didn't understand why Lysander never spoke of it, or acted out his love.

The answer struck me like a spear hurled by one of Father's guards.

Lysander didn't know I loved him back. He was too much a gentleman to offend me with passionate declarations. Or perhaps he thought me too young, and was simply waiting for
me to grow up. Suddenly, the world was bright and lovely again. I laughed aloud. The way Lysander treated me -- it was respect, not indifference!

It was all so simple now. I couldn't believe I hadn't seen it before. All I had to do was let Lysander know how I felt. I had to tell him I loved him, and that would make everything all right.

Back on the beach, I found the day's work done. Lysander and his friends whooped, splashed, wrestled, and hollered in the surf as they washed away the dust and sweat. Lysander saw me and called to me from the water. I waved back, shyly, blushing a little because I was still rehearsing in my head the words I would use to confess my love. I swallowed my disappointment at not finding him alone.