I can’t because Father will be there, and he will expect us to be properly attired.
I can’t because the Sea King will be angry if we do not do as he wishes. He will not stand for female insubordination, today of all days.
And we know what happens when our father is angry.
“Let’s not talk about this any more,” Sophia says, quick to make peace. “You look beautiful, birthday girl. Zale won’t be able to take his eyes off you.”
“I think Zale has more important things on his mind,” Cosima says, her jaw tightening. Yet another thing she can be angry with me about. I wish Zale would take his eyes off me and put them back on Cosima. At least she enjoyed it.
“Oh,” I say. “Cosima is entirely correct. I’m sure Zale won’t even notice me.” I hope he won’t. “Too busy trying to figure out a way to kill every Rusalka under the sea, no doubt.”
“And why shouldn’t he?” Cosima asks. “Zale is just trying to protect us. The Salkas are dangerous. They’re not like us. They were not born of the sea, as we were.”
She says this as if it is new information, as if we have not been told this story since we were children. Or versions of it, anyway. Grandmother’s version was more compassionate; the Salkas are wretched, she would say. They have been hurt, and therefore they lash out. Be kind. The Rusalkas have been in these seas as long as the mer-folk have, but they are not of salt. They were human women once, but they sinned. They had to be punished, as fallen women must be, and they died crying, sobs caught in their throats, tearing the life out of their chests. The drowning girls, my grandmother calls them. The dead who somehow found a way to breathe under water, even before the Sea Witch decided to become their champion. Grandmother was the only one who thought the Salkas deserved pity, despite the fact that they had taken the life of her only son during the war. Why are you not angry with the Rusalkas after what happened with Uncle Manannán? I once asked her, but she said that I was too young to understand.
The other version is what everyone else told us. Stories about the Salkas’ behaviour when we were at war, the damage they had wreaked and how they had smiled for the duration, hungry for more blood to be shed.
“The Salkas must be controlled,” Cosima says, twirling a blonde curl around her finger, still gazing into her mirror.
“Lucky we have Zale, then,” I say. “He enjoys nothing more than controlling women.” My other sisters laugh, then stop instantly. We are not allowed laugh at the mer-men, no matter how high our birth.
“Enough of this,” Talia says. “We’re late. The light is shifting in the water.” She herds Nia and Arianna from their beds, pulling Cosima away from her reflection. “We’re going to get in trouble.” She turns at the door to stare at Sophia and me. “Well? Are you coming?”
“Just a minute,” I say. I need to gather my strength before this spectacle begins.
“Muirgen, I forbid you from delaying any longer.”
“I’m fifteen now, Talia. You can’t ‘forbid’ me from doing anything. You’re not my mother.”
“I am very much aware of that,” she says quietly, and I wish I hadn’t said that. Not to Talia. “Very well, then. I forbid nothing; but I’m advising you that being late would be a grave mistake.”
“I won’t be late.”
“This is your birthday, Muirgen. You can’t be late for your own party.” I almost laugh. Whatever tonight is, it has very little to do with my birthday. “I’m serious,” she continues. “Father will—”
“Father will be fine,” I say. “I will join you at court in five minutes.”
With an exaggerated exhale, she leaves, the others close behind, waves of thick hair swishing in their wake.
“Seven pearls,” I can hear Cosima complaining. “And a ball thrown to celebrate her bir…” Her voice fades away and the room becomes peaceful, for once.
“I’m so glad I don’t have to sleep in the dormitory any more,” I had told my grandmother when I was moving to the tower. “I need to be alone, sometimes, to think my thoughts.”
She touched her hand to my cheek. “You are so like your mother,” she said. Why? I wanted to ask her. And in what way? Tell me about her, Grandmother. Tell me about the day she was born and what she was like as a child and what her favourite games were and her favourite foods, what songs she liked to sing. Tell me, tell me, tell me. I have so many questions and I know none of them will ever be answered. Not down here, at least.
“Cosima needs to stop this, I don’t get any preferential treatment. Not from Grandmother, anyway,” I say, when I am sure they are out of earshot.
“You know why she behaves in such a way,” Sophia says quietly. “Try and understand.”
“That doesn’t excuse her from being rude,” I argue. “Or Talia for being so bossy. Hurry up, Muirgen. You’ll be late, Muirgen. She’ll never get a mer-man if she keeps acting like that. And Nia is worse, always agreeing with everything Talia says. She should develop a backbone.”
“Be kind,” Sophia says. She wraps her hair up into a bun, holding it in place with a piece of broken conch. “Talia is twenty-one and not yet betrothed. She knows she is the talk of the court; it is all she can think about.”
“Maybe she’s better off,” I say, and we fall silent. There is nothing that can be done to save me now, and we both know it.
“And as for Nia…” she continues. “Well. Nia has her own problems.”
“What do you mean?” I ask. “Nia is betrothed to Marlin. Her future is secure.”
“And do you believe that Nia wants to be bonded with Marlin?”
“I—” (The palace kitchens. Last year. Nia sobbing, her skin blotchy – Father would not have been happy if he had seen her like that. Please, Grandmother, Nia had begged. Please don’t make me. I can’t. I’m not like that, do you understand me? I’m not— Grandmother silent. Then she saw me. Muirgen, she snapped. What are you doing? Stop eavesdropping.)
“Sophia,” I say now. “What do you mean?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she says. Her eyes meet mine, blue on blue on blue again. I wish mine were another colour. Up there, the stories go, the women have eyes of brown and green and violet and hazel. Their skin is brown and black and pink and white. Up there, the women are allowed to be different.
“What do you think Mama would say if she was here today?” I ask and Sophia glances behind her nervously. We all do this, I’ve noticed; as if we are afraid our father will be there, waiting for us to make a mistake.
“I think she would kiss you and wish you a happy birthday,” she says. “And then she would tell you she loves you.”
But she didn’t love me enough to stay.
Sometimes I wonder if I should be angry with my mother for that, like Cosima is. But I’m not. I miss her. And I want to know the truth about what happened to her.
The court room is shimmering; gem stones embedded in the coral walls. Blood-red streamers hanging from the ceiling, woven from every sea-flower within the vicinity of the palace, swaying in the fluttering water. Enormous cockle-shells have been prised open and dug into a circle on the sand, mer-people nestled in their hearts, wishing me a happy birthday as I pass.