The Octopus Queen (A Little Mermaid Retelling)

19 - Betrayal

I feel alive.

More alive than I've ever thought possible.

The sea sings in my heart and magic flows through my veins like blood. Spells come to light with merely a whisper, potions are brewed in less than half the time.

"I can do anything!" I exclaim to Bippi as the black octopus regards me solemnly a few days later.

"I urge you to be cautious, Sina," he tells me, blue eyes hooded as he sits in the corner of my room.

I chuckle and pat Bippi on the head as I stuff charms and vials into my satchel. Klaus told me to bring them by the castle today; he said he has a slew of castle staff and other members of the nobility lined up to purchase my wares.

"Who is more cautious than I, Bippi?"

The octopus curls his front two tentacles together, his demeanor like a stuffy matron. "Just keep my words in mind," is all he says.

"I will," I promise, waving goodbye to my cephalopod mentor as I leave my room.

Bippi's worries are just that—worries. I understand that I have been growing in strength by leaps and bounds, but I have always tread carefully with my abilities. The only time I was ever truly spontaneous was with Klaus.

And that was a different brand of magic.

Papa is, as per usual, in his workshop. I did not tell him what transpired between Klaus and I that night, and if he suspected anything, he has not brought it up.

I stick my head inside the door and say, "I'm off to Rollinsville, Papa."

His head lifted from a trap and he nods. "Good luck, Sina."

Clutching my satchel, I hustle up the dunes to where Farmer Johansson is waiting with his cart. I climb onto the rickety seat—such a far cry from Klaus's elegant chaise—and settle myself for the journey. The old farmer smiles at me and clucks to his horse, Sodor.

The road into Rollinsville is mostly clear, but as soon as we hit the trade roads, everything becomes congested. Again, I find myself comparing my ride with Klaus to this one: wealth and poverty, noble and peasant, the haves and the haves not. I noticed it before, of course, but now the differences take on a more stark contrast. I have experienced how the other side operates; it's hard going back to how everything usually works.

When we finally get to the market, I bid farewell to Farmer Johansson and make my way to the castle. Only tradesmen with special permits are allowed beyond the market boundaries, and the good farmer does not possess one. It's all right, however; I am not so coddled that I cannot walk.

The journey is a long one and I am once again in the midst of magnificent townhouses and estates. Members of the elite stare at me in my good brown travel gown while they go about their business in gaudy silk and brocade, with fine leather shoes and boots made from calfskin. The scent of their perfume and cologne nearly chokes me with its intensity and I wonder why no one can wear Klaus's simple sandalwood. Do they smell themselves? So many prideful peacocks and not a lick of sense between them.

"Wrong way to the shirtwaist factory, dear!" an old man with a massive grey mustache and mutton chops calls out.

I ignore him and continue to my destination. Perhaps he is well-meaning, but I prefer not to answer either way.

I have seen the duke's castle from afar—who could not?—but this is the first time I have ever approached it directly. Merchants with shiny wagons and respectable suits wait in a line by a massive arching gate. A dozen guards in the duke's black and orange livery and armor watch over everything, directing wagons and foot traffic inside. As I move closer, I notice that there are, in fact, two gates; I join the line for those on foot and wait.