Chapter 2

Lenalia breathed a sigh of relief when she rounded the last bend in the road into West Haven. She hadn't realized how difficult having legs could be, and her feet hurt. Fortunately, the townsfolk at the town she surfaced at assumed she'd been in a shipwreck during the thunderstorm that night, and clothed her before sending her away. The next village down the road had a sick child that she helped, and had given her a few coins to get her to her destination. The dark-haired general dug in her skirt pocket for the coins and scowled at them when she opened her hand.

She only had three of the silver coins and eight of the copper coins left, but she'd be damned if she knew what she was going to do with them. Apparently, they were a type of money, similar to the merfolk's trions and skels. Based on her experiences from the past few days, the silver coins, called shillings, were good for a night's rest at a way-house, including a warm bath and a small dinner. The coppers were much less useful, and failed to interest her.

Lenalia got to the town's entrance, marked only by a better constructed road, and stopped. The streets were filled with laughing humans and screeching children, not exactly what she'd been hoping for. She wanted a nice, quiet night to rethink her plans for finding out what her mother wanted with the strange creatures. The gods were obviously testing her, and she straightened up and strode forward with confidence.

She would have blended in well, if it weren't for the human legs Lenalia found herself stuck with. The general of the mer armies managed to land perfectly on her rump in a puddle of water. She tried to right herself, but her feet got tangled in her skirts and each other and she merely flopped back into the puddle.

“Careful, lass, that cobble's slick! Oy, Richard, help the wee lass up, will ye?!” Lenalia turned toward the richly accented voice and saw an old man leaning on his cane, and a similar looking younger man reaching forward to help her to her feet.

She blushed and tried to smooth her skirts as the men looked her over. “Thank you, sir. My feet are sore from my travels, and I didn't feel them slip.”

The old man smiled kindly at her. “I haven't heard your accent before, lass. Where do ye hail from?”

Lenalia blinked, struggling with the man's rolled rs. “Pardon me?”

The younger man laughed and assisted her. “Sorry, miss, Grandfather's a Scotsman. He's hard to understand when he's excited.”

The raven-haired mer smiled nervously, not wanting to come up with an origin for herself. She certainly hadn't thought about that question. “Excited about what, exactly?”

The men looked at each other before taking up spots on either side of her. The younger man, whose name Lenalia remembered was Richard, extended a bent arm towards her. She looked at it for a moment before realizing she was supposed to hold onto it. She gently placed a hand on his arm and found herself led down the street.

“Well, lass, the pride o' the town's come in at last. We thought her and her crew to be harmed in the storm a few nights ago, but she's still afloat!” The old man waved his cane in the air before leaning back onto his cane.

“Our lovely town's a merchant town, miss. We trade with others on the island or on the mainland by using our lord's ship, the Journeyman's Leaf. We have a few smaller vessels about, but they're fishing vessels, mostly. Others are too small to trade further than Pearl Cove. That's a village about two day's ride down this road.” Lenalia nodded. That was the village she'd first surfaced at. “Now, with the horrid squall gone through, and no word from any safe harbor along the Leaf's course, we thought we might've lost them. Fortunately, that ship's too strong to be floundered by that little shower, and here she is, coming home to us.” Richard stopped and looked at her. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to ramble.”

Lenalia looked up from her feet, startled. “I find this conversation quite interesting, actually. I've never lived near ships before.”

Both men looked appalled by that statement. “Lass, you have been missin' quite the excitement.” The old man shook his head. “See, Captain Jonathan, good man--”

Lenalia couldn't help but smile as the two men spoke of the ship's crew and led her towards the docks.



Jonathan looked at his father's anxious face on the docks and winced. He was hoping both his sons were safe and sound, but he was about to be disappointed. Samuel had been rushed to Daniel's cabin after he collapsed while coughing blood, and hadn't stirred since. His breathing was shallow and quick, almost constantly interrupted by coughs that tore through his entire body. The two days it took to come home seemed like an eternity to the captain and worried crew, and it seemed like they would make it home just in time to let Sam die in the same house he was born in.

Father will die. I know it. John hung his head and waited for the crew to lower the gangplank so they could carry his brother to land and his father. How the man hadn't heard the coughs already was beyond him. The green-eyed captain strode forward as the gangplank was secured and walked down it to greet his father.

The older man smiled at his son and embraced him tightly. “My boy! Good to see you in one piece! Why, it doesn't look like you did any work at all!” The man looked his son over quickly. “Not even a hole in your clothes. Where's your brother? No, let me guess: harassing the crew below decks?”

John stopped his father's babbling with a look. “Father, Sam is very ill.” The older man paled. “He stayed on deck when I ordered his watch below. He must have climbed the nets while I had my back turned. Sam was out there all night, and he must have gotten sick from that blasted storm!”

“How bad is it, Jonathan?” His father's eyes held his, and John was forced to look away.

“He's going to die, Father. Daniel's the only doctor in the area, and he's at a loss. He might survive the night, but not tomorrow.” John's eyes filled with tears. “I don't want to lose him, Father. He's all we have.”

His father gripped his arm and watched the crew disembark and run to embrace their families and friends. The last two crewmen came down to the dock with a stretcher carrying Sam between them. The coughs coming from the stretcher were now audible, and the crowd closest to the sick man fell silent. “We'll still have each other, John, we'll still have each other.”

Lenalia, who had been dragged through the crowd by her escorts, surveyed the scene before her, wondering why the townsfolk had become so quiet. The two blond men off to one side were looking at the other blond in the stretcher, and were carrying on a hushed conversation. When the townsfolk behind her heard the news about the ill man and became silent, her besieged ears adjusted, and she heard the wet coughs.

Those aren't normal. Lenalia thought, trying to listen carefully. She pushed her way through the men still in front of her. He's ill. Not normal ill, either. Magic ill. She couldn't suppress the gasp when she realized that Evana's magic—the smell of it—was all around the sick men.

Her gasp attracted the attention of the two blond men near the stretcher. Lenalia squared her shoulders and took a step forward, out of the crowd. “Excuse me, sirs, what illness has taken hold of that man?”

The younger man strode forward, stopping uncomfortably close to Lenalia. “Why do you wish to know? My brother is dying, miss, and he is not something to be gawked at.”

The mer raised an eyebrow. “Why don't you swallow your pride for one moment, sir? Perhaps then he won't die while the entire town watches.” The man gaped at her, but Lenalia only rolled her grey eyes. “By the looks of it, he's been sick only for two nights, three at most. I take it he's been coughing up blood, and I can hear how shallow his breathing is from here. He needs to be brought inside, now. The salty air is going to do him more harm than good.”

The man didn't move. “Miss, I doubt you can do any good here. You're only a woman, after all.”

Lenalia's eyes hardened. She'd dealt with fussier mermen than this human, and she'd be cursed by the gods if she gave up so easily now. She shoved past the man, making his stumble backward into the crewmen nearby, and knelt by the stretcher, feeling the sick man's forehead. She knew by looking at him that he had a high fever, but she wanted to feel for her mother's magic. It was curled around the poor man's lungs, infecting them and slowly killing him. She stood and turned towards the other blond.

“If you can deal with me being a woman, hear me out.” She paused and the man crossed his arms, waiting. “Good. I know the cure.”



Mitchell Wash, Lord Mayor of West Haven, looked at the newcomer as she took over his large kitchen and thought she was different in some way from others like her. He knew what she was, at least partially. Black hair, grey eyes, and a way with words that would make any man quiver with fear meant she was definitely a royal. The fact that she was stumbling every few steps merely confirmed that. He chuckled and strode forward to help the girl fend off his irate cook.

“Margaret, please go home. It's been a long day, and I'm sure your husband would like to see you a little early.” The large woman huffed and curtsied before leaving. Mitchell turned his charms to the girl bustling about in his cupboards. “If I may, milady, I know my way around this maze and could speed up the process.”

The girl glared at him. “I've told everyone that's come through to help that I can manage just fine on my own.” She reached for the cupboard next to her left leg and lost her balance, falling into Mitchell's waiting arms. “Gods curse it all! This damned dress is much too long! 'It'll fit you perfectly, miss', she said. 'It's not to long, miss', she said. What I would give for a pair of trousers!” She righted herself and yanked open the cupboard door, grabbed a large pot from inside, and slammed it shut.

“Perhaps you'd do better with your tail instead of legs, yes?” Mitchell said calmly.

The girl froze completely before her legs gave out. “W-what did you say?”

“Tut-tut, my dear, human women don't rumple their skirts like that. Take my hand, and I'll help you up. There's a girl.” The Lord Mayor's eyes glinted mischievously.

“You are a very bad man, sir.” She said as she stood. “How did you know?”

“Milady, you look like your father. How is King Verilan?” The man sat at the large servant's table and crossed his legs. “He was the one who suggested I repair this part of Haven and found it, after all. Also, a name for you other than 'milady' or 'my dear' would be nice.”

The girl's eyes darkened and her face showed her grief. “My name is Lenalia, and my father is dead, sir. He died several weeks ago.”

Mitchell patted a chair next to his, but Lenalia shook her head. “He was a good king, I'm truly sorry to hear of his passing. How did he die? It was my understanding that you merfolk lived for centuries.”

The girl lifted the bucket of water she'd pumped earlier onto the wooden counter and filled the pot. As she set it in the hole on the stove, she shook her head. “Most of them do, my lord. I suspect, as do others, that my father was murdered by the sorceress-Queen Evana.”

“I know of her. Verilan used to tell me tales of her failed schemes. He seemed amused rather than concerned. Go on, Lenalia.” Mitchell watched the girl crush herbs into the pot and steady herself.

“He was always curious about her. One day, almost twenty years ago, he bedded her. I think he was hoping to forge a truce between the two realms, but others believe Evana seduced him. Personally, I think it was a bit of both. He loved her, or so he told me at one point, and they had a truce for three years after that. Once Evana realized that he wasn't going to wed her, she attacked one of the border villages and that ended the truce. We've been at war ever since.” She stirred the pot before placing her hand over it. “This might look painful, but, I assure you, it's not.”

Mitchell winced as she submerged her hand into the hot water. A moment later, she lifted the hand and shook it. “Are you alright, dear?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes. It's sticky, that's all.” She examined her hand as if it wasn't attached and then tasted some of the liquid. She shuddered and nodded. “Perfect.”

The man looked the girl over and realized that she couldn't be older than nineteen. A revelation came to him as Lenalia wiped her hand off with a damp towel. “You're the result of that day, aren't you? Evana's your mother.”

The girl looked at him suspiciously. “You are far too perceptive for your own good, my lord.”

“Stop calling me 'my lord'. My name's Mitchell.” He saw the steam coming up from the pot. “If that's done, you should go give it to my son.”

“He's not going to enjoy this treatment, sir. It'll last a couple of weeks at least, and this isn't the most pleasant potion.”

“Good. Maybe then he won't disobey his brother anymore. Goodness knows we don't need any more swordfish problems!”

Lenalia cocked her head, confused. “Swordfish problems, sir?”

“I'll explain later.”