“I’m getting better at this,” she said, turning to face her human friends and twirling the trident.
“I think this is yours,” Vareet said, handing her the glass ampoule and curtsying. “What is it?”
“This, brave girl, is my father,” Ariel said, kissing her on the forehead. She carefully set the jar down on the ground—then shot a bolt at it.
Smoke—no, water vapor—swirled up and up and up into the sky. On the ground, the polyp grew and lengthened and stretched and hardened into a man.
A man that Eric now remembered: he must have been seven or eight feet tall, broad, and somehow lit from within. He seemed more real than the petty humans around him, the cobbled streets, the fountain; as though they were all a child’s drawings while he was the original, badly copied. His beard was white and flowed down over him, looking the way Eric had always imagined the patriarchs in the Old Testament. His skin was a coppery shade, more precious metal than flesh. His eyes were almost hidden beneath a bushy brow, but sparks shone there.
When Eric saw him last, that fateful wedding day, Triton had the tail of a fish. Now he had two broad, strong legs.
“Father,” Ariel said, and a thousand meanings were in that word: apology, sorrow, joy, love.
“Ariel,” her father breathed, choking on the first word he had said in years. Then without a moment’s hesitation he wrapped his arms around her and began to cry.
All the humans around them felt similarly to Eric, he could tell: amazed but vaguely uncomfortable, wanting to leave the two alone. Even in his emotions, the king of the merfolk was mightier than mortals.
“I am so sorry,” Ariel whispered. She, oddly, was not crying, though she hugged her father back firmly. “For everything.”
“You are forgiven. For everything,” he said, stroking her hair.
“How?” she asked in wonder.
“Someday, you will understand,” Triton said with a smile. “Perhaps when you are a mother.”
Then he looked around and seemed to notice the small crowd of mortals.
“Father, this is Prince Eric,” Ariel said smoothly, taking Triton’s hand and indicating Eric with her other. “He has been a great help in your rescue and defeating Ursula.”
“Eric,” Triton said neutrally, “I thank you for all the service you have rendered to my royal self and the mer of the sea.”
“King Triton,” Eric said, bowing his head. “It is an honor to meet you.”
“All of these people, all of these humans, helped save you,” Ariel said. “This is Grimsby, Eric’s right-hand man. This is Vareet, who, despite her age and size, risked her life to get us valuable information. This is Argent, who knew about mermaids and can apparently wield a shillelagh with no small skill. Sebastian and Flounder you already know. Jona the seagull and Max the dog were both instrumental in defeating Ursula. Scuttle is the reason we are all here today, and why you are now free!”
“I did what I could,” Sebastian said modestly from her pocket.
“I thank you all,” Triton said with a bow. “Would that I could stay and reward you as you so honorably deserve right now—but I miss my home, and must needs return to the sea at once. Ariel, my trident.”
She handed it over gracefully and formally, but might have been gritting her back teeth.
“You will be recipients of my gratitude shortly,” the king added, addressing the townspeople in front of him. “The sea does not forget.”
He put his arm out and Ariel took it. But not until after she gave Eric a quick kiss on the cheek. It was so familiar, so Honey, I’m going out for a few minutes, back soon, that Triton—and not a few other people—gasped. Grimsby looked as delighted as a gossipy old hen. Vareet looked embarrassed, disgusted, and vaguely amused. Max barked.
“See you in a few tides,” she whispered.
Eric grinned and then kissed her back firmly on her lips, tipping her head back so he wouldn’t accidentally bleed onto it.
The townsfolk cheered.
When they were done, Ariel scooped Flounder out of the fountain, holding him under her arm. She and her father walked through the crowds—which parted, almost everyone bowing to the mer couple. They went straight to the docks and leapt off together, tails slapping the water as they dove down.
“HA!” shouted the old woman with the club. “I got to see two! TWO mermaids!”
This was the second time in a month that she had been conscripted by a foreign entity to carry a message of grave importance. The gull winged her way out over the sea laden with a sense of historic gravity, the special roll of paper tied to her leg and tucked up into her feathers. She was probably the only bird in the world who carried regular communiqués between two of the major—though somewhat self-important—civilized races of the world. It was something to think about.