After a while, and after much insistence from Sebastian and her sisters, Ariel gave up and returned to her life under the sea permanently. At the very least she could respect the memory of her father by devoting herself to her duties as queen. She had vowed to forget the Dry World forever.
Even Scuttle.
“But…it’s a seagull. So doesn’t that mean Scuttle has to be involved somehow?” Flounder pointed out, trying to cheer her up. “It would be really, really bizarre if some random gull came to talk to you. But I didn’t double-check on the origin of the story. I didn’t want to break your ban on going to the surface.”
Ariel swished her tail thoughtfully.
“Don’t even think about it,” Sebastian growled. “I know what you’re thinking. It’s just a silly seabird. Don’t even consider it, young lady.”
Ariel raised an eyebrow at him incredulously. Young lady? In the years that had passed since the duel with the sea witch, she had aged. Not dramatically, but far more than a mostly immortal mermaid should have. There was something about her eyes—they were deeper, wiser, and wearier than when she was a young mer who had never been on dry land. Her cheeks weren’t quite as plump anymore; the angles of her face were more pronounced. Sometimes she wondered if she looked like her mother…aside from her own unreliable memories, the only physical evidence of the former queen was a statue in the castle of her and Triton dancing together. But it was all pale milky marble, no colors at all. Dead.
Ariel’s hair no longer flowed behind her as it once had; handmaidens and decorator crabs kept it braided and coiffed, snug and businesslike under the great golden crown that sat on her temples, like the gods wore. Small gold and aquamarine earrings sparkled regally but didn’t tinkle; they were quite understated and professional. Her only real nod to youth was the golden ring in the upper part of her left ear.
“Young lady,” indeed.
She didn’t even have to sign, You cannot talk to me that way anymore, little crab. I am queen now.
Sebastian sighed, sounding old in his exasperation. “I’m sorry for speaking out of turn. I can’t help it. Nothing good comes out of you going up there…nothing ever has. I just…I just don’t want to see you hurt or disappointed again.”
Ariel gave him the tiniest smile and tapped him once on the back fondly. Sometimes it was hard to remember that much of Sebastian’s attitude was only for show. Underneath, he really did have—what he thought were—her best interests at heart.
But she was a grown-up now, and queen, and her best interests were none of his business. She turned to sign to the little seahorse who floated silently at attention, fins quivering, waiting for orders.
Threll, please tell the Queen’s Council that I will be taking this afternoon off. Flounder will be accompanying me. Sebastian is nominally in charge until I return, though no votes or decisions are to be made in my absence.
“Yes, Your Majesty.” The little seahorse bowed and zoomed off into the water.
“My Queen, as thrilled as I am…” Sebastian began.
But Ariel was already turned upward, and kicking hard to the surface.
Mermaid queens didn’t often have a reason to move quickly. There were no wars to direct, no assassination attempts to evade, no crowds of clamoring admirers to avoid among the merfolk. In fact, slowness and calm were expected of royalty.
So Ariel found herself thoroughly enjoying the exercise as she beat her tail against the water—even as it winded her a little. She missed dashing through shipwrecks with Flounder, fleeing sharks, trying to scoot back home before curfew. She loved the feel of her powerful muscles, the way the current cut around her when she twisted her shoulders to go faster.
She hadn’t been this far up in years and gulped as the pressure of the deep faded. She clicked her ears, readying them for the change of environment. Colors faded and transformed around her from the dark, heady slate of the ocean bottom to the soothing azure of the middle depths and finally lightening to the electric, magical periwinkle that heralded the burst into daylight.
She hadn’t planned to break through the surface triumphantly. She wouldn’t give it that power. Her plan was to take it slow and rise like a whale. Casually, unperturbed, like Ooh, here I am.
But somehow her tail kicked in twice as hard the last few feet, and she exploded into the warm sunlit air like she had been drowning.
She gulped again and tasted the breeze—dry in her mouth; salt and pine and far-distant fires and a thousand alien scents…