Peter grit his teeth as shards of glass seemed to cut into him from all sides.
The break hadn't been clean at all. Shards of the window still clung to the frame, falling out at the slightest shake. He wiped blood from his forehead carefully. The first time had taken him by surprise.
Now, he stood with a duvet in one hand, shielding his face, and a fire poker in the other, running it along the frame to rid it of clinging glass.
Thrusting his head through the new opening, he considered the distance from the moat to the edge of the forest. He would have to cut through the water in moments to avoid being seen.
I could wait until nightfall...
But there was no time for that. Stefan could move Adva from the mill at any time. He needed to move now.
He cast the poker aside and dropped the blanket, glancing again into the moat and judging the distance. A running leap should get him over the fence and into the water without a problem.
Simmering anger suddenly reached a boil as he looked over his shoulder at the dingy room that he had made into a prison. Except for the desk, flung on its side and spilling its contents, and the shattered window, everything was in order. Perfectly made bedclothes, books neatly stacked in their shelves, the fireplace untouched and swept of ashes, polished ornaments resting orderly on their glossy perches.
Much like a tomb, he thought.
He bent to his knees to retrieve a sheet of paper and a slender black pen, hastily scribbling a few words and resting the note on his upturned desk.
This business managed, he turned his face to the window, eyes narrowing. The last light of the sun was streaming freely through the window, lighting a path from the depths of the room to the edge of the window frame.
Peter braced himself, took off at a run, and soared through the opening.
No turning back—
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“—after this.”
Youngest trembled. She was once again holding herself. The cavern had suddenly become extremely cold. The darkness had not diminished in the slightest.
“Yes,” she murmured.
The sea witch's ears perked at the girl's resigned tone.
“You have second thoughts?” she questioned, carefully. Mathis slid a nail down the length of the glass bottle whose contents she had spent the last several hours creating. Fifteen years living in the dark of the grotto had adjusted her eyes and ears to its tricks, and she could see the girl huddled against herself, biting her lip.
“No!” Youngest exclaimed. “No. Please, what do you have for me?”
Mathis swam around the little princess, grinning fiercely at the girl's shudder, before placing the phial in her hand.
“This.”
Youngest's hands moved to tighten over the glass, but Mathis snatched it away.
“No.”
The princess's face twisted with confusion and distress. “But you said that it was finished! You said that there was no turning back!”
Mathis smiled. “What do you think I have made for you, Youngest?”
The mermaid lifted her hands. “Something to make me human.”
The sea witch tapped her fingers against the bottle idly. “I can give you legs, dear. But I cannot make you human.”
Youngest's hands fell to her lap. “What do you mean?”
“That there is much difference between a mermaid and a human girl in every way. Your aspect, your mind, your affections, are entirely inhuman.” At her daughter's confused look, Mathis chuckled. “If I give you what I have here, you will shed your tail, yet retain the appearance of a mercreature in every other way. Your face will bewitch or repulse every human you meet.” She paused and grinned. “And I assure you, you will not find human emotions to be the same as your own. Greed, ambition, faithlessness, deceit—all those things that are such aberrations in your kind, you will find to be the rule among mankind.”
“Peter is not like that,” Youngest said, eyes softening.
“So much faith!” the witch laughed. Her voice became syrupy. “Yes, dear, you should hope you are right.” She began to hum cheerfully to herself.
There was an edge to her voice that alerted Youngest.
“Why?”
The witch paused her humming long enough to cackle. “Ask! Ask me again, Youngest! Beg me to tell you!”
The princess ground her teeth, unnerved by the dark and Mathis's new antics. “Please tell me, Mother.”
Suddenly the witch's face was a breath away from hers, and in the previously impenetrable dark, Youngest saw a flash of long, sharp, gleaming white teeth.
“Because,” breathed the sea witch, “your mermaid's affections and constitution are such that, should this Prince Peter ever betray you, you will shortly thereafter be reduced to nothing but sea foam, scattered across the seven oceans. Frail human bodies are too weak to hold the heart of a grieving mermaid.”
Youngest inhaled sharply, eyes squeezing shut. Her heart pounded in her ears.
“Oh,” she gasped.
“The transformation will be permanent. No turning back, as I said. And, of course, we still haven't agreed upon payment.”
Playing with the phial in her hands, the sea witch's smile widened as she removed herself. She waited.
The princess fought to calm her heartbeat, to quell her trembling.
Is this really the right thing to do?
She thought of his smile, his flashing black eyes. Her mind turned to nights spent watching the castle, straining to see through windows as Peter lived peacefully and happily with his brother and father. Following ships at a distance where he directed the crew, played his music, laughed and wept and talked and simply watched the sea. Seeing love, anger, sadness, and joy pass over his face through seasons on the shore in the year since the shipwreck.
Lost. She was lost.
Is this really the right thing to do? her heart repeated.
I don't know, she answered herself silently.
“Name your price.”
The sea witch smiled.
This was going to go perfectly. The idea that had been forming in her mind ever since she had heard Youngest fumbling her way into the grotto had been finished and polished over the past several hours was simple...but she hadn't counted on the mermaid making things as easy as all this.
“I've quite enjoyed hearing your singing these long hours. Perhaps you'll consider exchanging that to me?”
“It?”
“Your voice.”
There was a long pause as Youngest's hand flew to her throat.
“Not...not that.”
Mathis shrugged. “I have given you my price.”
More silence. The princess bit her lip, pressing her palms into her eyes, where tears had sprung up.
“How will I speak to him?”
“That's no concern of mine.”
“This isn't a fair trade!”
“Perhaps not,” the sea witch said, licking her lips. “But there you are.”
Mathis returned to her previous place a hairsbreadth away from the little mermaid. Youngest's tail twitched with aggravation, then she became incredibly still.
“Take it.”
Teeth bared in a wicked grin, her mother reached for her throat.
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As the princess ascended out of the cavern clutching her bruised neck with one hand and a small glass phial with the other, the sea witch turned away to her materials, running her hands along the stone table there until she found what she was looking for under the cover of a cluster of sea-weeds.
There was much to be done, and much to be done quickly.
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