Page 37 of Enslaved

So I have my first look at Queen Seraphine of Ulakrana.

She is taller than any woman I’ve ever met, seven feet high at least. Her limbs are muscular, perfectly formed, her skin a shining silver which glints with flecks of diamond in the glamour glow. Her black hair sweeps back from a face framed by delicate fins that shimmer purple and silver when she flares them. She wears a massive crown of shells and strung pearls, and corresponding jewelry drapes her shoulders, breasts, and loins. Otherwise, she is naked. Magnificent and merciless, heartbreaking and glorious.

Two tall guards walk at her heels. I recognize them as the two lead riders of our escort party. They stand at attention, weapons in hand and faces ferocious, as their queen gives us a long, slow inspection. Her gaze lingers on me, eyes unreadable from behind half-closed lids and green eyelashes. I feel small, foolish, standing here barefoot in my chemise. Despite the serenity of the queen’s countenance, a shiver travels down my spine.

At last, however, she turns to the Prince and offers a smile. The fins around her face flutter delicately. “Castien,” she says with perfect clarity in the common Eledrian tongue. “My dear and beloved friend of yore, why have you broken the sacred laws of peace between our kingdoms?”

My stomach plummets. I’d not expected a warm greeting by any means. But there’s something terrifying about this smooth salutation followed by so cold an accusation.

The Prince, however, offers a gracious bow. “Great queen,” he says around the stem of his flower, “I honor both your laws and your peace. I would never do anything to put either at risk.”

She raises one webbed hand, pointing a finger straight at me. “And yet a human stands before me. Here, in my own realm. Somehow you have brought it through every ward I erected to prevent such an invasion.” She nods to the first of the siren escorts standing behind her. “My daughter Sereia thinks I should have you spit upon her trident and fed to the sharks for your insolence.” She tips her head to the second escort. “My daughter Starreth thinks we should first learn how you broke through our wardsand thenfeed you to the sharks. I am as yet undecided.”

I glance at the Prince over the petals of my flower mask. His expression is as nonchalant as ever, his smile downright flirtatious. “But dearest queen,” he says, “I have broken none of your laws nor any of your wards. You declared that only a drowned human may enter your realm, is that not so?”

“Quite,” the queen replies, the word sharp as a knife.

“And you will find, should you wish to inspect further, that my companion here—a mortal mage of the first order I might add—is in fact drowned. No air fills her lungs, only the water of your own fair realm.”

Seraphine’s eyes widen, long lashes wafting independently from one another like delicate tentacles. Her pale gaze fastens on me once more. Suddenly, she moves toward me. I back up several paces before forcing myself to stand firm and meet her gaze. The merqueen places a hand against my heart. The spread of her palm and fingers is so wide, she covers the whole of my chest. I can all too easily imagine how simple it must be for her to rip out the hearts of the sailors she lures into her depths. My own heart leaps painfully. I am aware of the Prince moving to stand behind me, aware of his hand just touching my elbow. But I cannot tear my gaze away from the queen.

Finally, with a flash of teeth, she steps back, blinking in mute surprise. With a toss of her head, she snarls, “Yet again, your reputation for cunning holds true. A drowned human, alive and standing before me! Clever.” One of her daughters growls and takes a menacing step. The queen raises a hand, stopping her in her tracks, and tips her head. “Very well, beloved Prince, cherished friend. You have found your loophole. Now tell me why. Why have you brought it here? We have no further business, you and I. The debt I once owed I have long since paid.”

This is news to me. I’d not known the Prince and the merqueen had any past dealings. Is this the true reason we were not killed on the spot when found infiltrating the boundaries of Seraphine’s realm? I glance at him, trying to discern some sense of their story in his face. He merely waves a hand in my direction and takes a step back. “I am here but to make introductions. It is my companion who seeks a word with your gracious majesty, who has braved the perils of your realm to come before you.” He glances sharply at me. I can almost hear him say:You’re on your own. Good luck!

I grimace. But I have little choice now other than to meet the queen’s gaze. She stares down at me from her tremendous height, pale eyes like two lanterns in the dark chamber. I’ve been stared at by my share of fae women—Estrilde and Ilusine both spring to mind—but their gazes are more disdainful. They find humans so far beneath them, scarcely sentient beings, worth about as much as a well-bred dog or a valuable horse. Seraphine’s instead looks at me as though I am some sort of disgusting pest, crept in through the crevices and befouling her home. The hatred in her gaze is like daggers of ice.

I shiver. I haven’t planned for what I should say. All my focus was simply on getting to Ulakrana. Now I’m here, standing before the queen, and I cannot very well just ask for a kiss. Can I?

“Speak, human,” the queen says at last. “Speak, for I find my patience swiftly running out.”

The stem of the flower tickles against the back of my throat as I swallow. There’s nothing for it, though; I’ve come this far. Pushing the stem as far to one side as I can, I speak awkwardly around it: “I have come from Skullkreg, your majesty. From the house of Lord Vokarum. He, who has not forgotten the great love he bears for you, O glorious queen.” I glance at the Prince. He raises an eyebrow at me, but offers nothing else. Drawing a breath through the tickling stamens in my nostrils, I take the plunge. “He has charged me to grant him his greatest desire: a single kiss from your lips.” Seraphine’s cheek fins flare. Hastily, I add: “I am come to bargain with you. To offer my services as mage to accomplish whatever task you name in exchange for said kiss.”

The queen is silent. Her cheek fins continue to flutter for some moments before settling back against the sides of her face. Finally in a voice as deep as the ocean trenches: “I find human dishonesty distasteful.”

My heart tightens in my water-logged chest. “Your majesty, what I tell you is true!”

“It is not.” Seraphine lifts her chin. “You have not come on behalf of Vokarum. Anyone can see you are not one of his beguiled brides; you would not risk your own life for his sake. You want something. Something for yourself. Something you are willing to die for.” She crosses her arms, the jewels and pearls draped across her body glinting in the light of my glamour. “If you would ask the Queen of the Deep for a boon, you must speak only truthful words.”

My mouth is dry. I can almost feel the stem withering against my tongue. How many minutes remain to the three hours of life it grants me? It’s all slipping away so fast.

“Vokarum possesses something I need,” I say, my voice thin, desperate. “Something I must have in order to save a good man from slavery. But he will only part with this treasure in exchange for what he desires most in this world—your kiss, great queen.” I fight the urge to clasp my hands, to sink to my knees and plead. Something tells me this would not go over well with the merqueen. “Thus I have come to bargain with you. Thus I have come to offer you my service. Name your price, and if it is within my power, I shall fulfill it.”

Two translucent eyelids flick sideways across Seraphine’s cold eyes. When they part, the fixed intensity of her stare has not abated. She is so cold, so otherworldly. So utterly without mercy or concern. My story holds no interest for her, and my powers, such as they are, must seem pathetic to her eye. Hopelessness wells inside me, threatening to choke me. Or is the water in my lungs, beginning to increase in pressure as the flower fails?

Then, to my surprise, the queen says, “You bargained with Vokarum to give him his heart’s desire. Will you make such a bargain with me?”

The Prince curses softly. I feel his gaze on the side of my face, but refuse to look at him. “Yes, great queen. Your heart’s desire.”

The queen maintains that cold, silent stare for what feels like an age. The precious seconds of my life count down, pounding a pulse in my temples. Does she plan to keep me here, waiting on her word, until the magic wears off? Has she realized how little time I have left? Is this how she means to kill me? Panic coils in my gut, spreads through my veins. I’m just about to make a break, run for the door, and try for a desperate swim to the surface, when Seraphine turns abruptly. “Come!” she calls back over her shoulder and strides from the chamber.

The Prince is at my elbow in an instant. “Now you’ve done it!” he hisses. “Just when I think you can’t get in any deeper.”

I don’t have the strength to speak, so I ignore him and hasten after the queen. I expect to plunge back into sea water, but instead, wherever Seraphine walks, the waters part and drain away before her, rushing and foamy at her feet. The Prince and I splash in her wake through dripping halls. All is echoing and damp, and the smell of salt permeates even through the stamens in my nostrils. The floors are rough; they were never intended to be walked upon. Everything is built and shaped to accommodate swimmers. I would guess they are emptied now only out of courtesy to the Prince, for Seraphine certainly wouldn’t concern herself with my comfort. There are no windows, but globe lights—miniatures of the great globes illuminating the city—hang at intervals from the ceiling. Sea creatures for which I have no names cling to the water-carved stones. Decorative shells create elaborate murals, so intricate it would take an age to fully understand them.

But there is no time to stop or admire anything. The queen leads us swiftly on, her long strides forcing me to trot to keep up. At last we come to a door which opens into a large round chamber beneath a domed ceiling. This is the first chamber which feels properly dry—as though it’s never been filled with water unlike the other flushed-out passages. I stop in the doorway, gaping around me. The dome overhead and the encircling walls are all clear as glass, affording a view of the brilliant lights and the city and the ocean life swimming by. It’s breathtaking and terrifying. What material are these walls made of that they can withstand the pressure of these depths?

The center of the room is dominated by a giant, open shell, the bottom portion of which is piled high with silken cushions. A figure lies there. A human. A living, breathing human. He’s a young man, Oscar’s age or a little younger. Painfully beautiful with the kind of heart-wrenching, fragile beauty that would inspire poets and songwriters alike. His dark hair is brushed back from a pale brow, his delicate features sunken into his lovely face. Merwomen surround him, soothing his fevered skin with cloths, holding his hands, massaging his feet. He pays them no attention, but lies perfectly still with his eyes closed.

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