My mother's funeral was, in all definitions of the word, normal.
They are solemn ceremonies—merfolk funerals.
We gathered at nautical twilight, when the sky was beginning to shift from its purples into its soft blacks, when stars were trying to stick their shiny heads above the velvet curtain of daylight. The fish had settled in to sleep; children had been told their bedtime stories. As both the sea and the land said their goodnights, a kingdom full of merfolk picked up their magicked torches, held tight to their spouses, and swam to the very edge of the Sailor's Trench.
Papa gathered all of his children, dried all of our tears, gave us all a kiss on the cheek, and told us how much he loved all of us. How proud he was of us for being so brave in these troubling times. How time would soften this pain—if we would let it.
And then, he took my hand and led us to the edge.
I never understood why he chose my hand to hold, but I was thankful. The days following the arrival of Mama's body felt like I was being sucked into an abyss. They passed in slow motion, and everything was impossibly heavy. The days were darker without her smile to light everything up. So when Papa took my hand, when he chose me to walk beside, the ocean brightened a tad.
I wasn't alone. Neither was he.
Papa and I always had each other.
The royal family brought up the tail end of the procession. It was an eel-shaped line of pale-blue torches all the way through the Vandyan darkness. Mama's favorite color created a path for her towards eternity. It helped her see the way, and I remember thinking, She would love this.
But she'd never see it because her body was wrapped in silk wrappings and laid on a litter of gold. Six royal guards carried the platform along the path, directly in front of Papa and I. My beautiful, charismatic, intelligent mother was nothing more than a shape on a table. Nothing more than an empty shell.
We weren't allowed to see her. Papa said the accident left her body in a horrible shape. I know now that it was because, after King Soren killed her, Mama's head couldn't be reconnected without the use of Divine magic. And death was one area the Divine couldn't interfere in. She could give life; She could take life away. She could heal wounds, conquer mighty storms, initiate tidal waves—but She could not bring my mother back.
That didn't stop me from wishing She could.
At the edge of the trench, the entirety of Vandya hovered, shrouded in darkness and veiled in ceremonial black. The edges of their shawls, pieces of clothing we really only brought out for funerals, were hastily embroidered in pale blue. The silk thread shimmered in the Divine light, making each merfolk look like a tiny star.
A galaxy, just for my mama. Exactly what she deserved.
Then, as we drew closer, I heard the singing. It was low, breathy, pushed through throats full of tears and longing. It was a mournful shanty, a story of immense loss. The multitude of voices all rising together couldn't lack harmony because it was just one big sound. I hummed it along with them and let myself cry, let myself miss her, let myself be sad.
And when I looked up, Papa was crying, too. His lips were moving in silent song; his eyes were glued on the covered figure of his wife. How it must have felt to lose the person you'd been promised to spend eternity with, a person who was matched to you by the Divine, a person who had meant everything to you. Even my pain felt shallow compared to his.
The guards carried Mama to the edge of the precipice and laid the platform down with caution and reverence. Then, they stepped back so that Papa could approach. Only then did he let go of my hand. I sank into the background with my siblings and watched.
The crowd sang as Papa fell onto the ground by her side and wept across Mama's body. They cried with him as he spoke his final goodbyes. They mourned with him as darkness fell over the ocean. I remember that it felt like the sun would never rise again. How could it, when Mama wasn't there to sing me awake?
Twilight ended, and night settled over all of us. One of the guards touched Papa's shoulder, and he rose from his position of grief. The mourners stopped their singing. It was time. The final goodbye.
"Queen Athalia," Papa said, quiet but I bet even the farthest corners of the ocean still craned their necks to listen. "My Thalie—there isn't a word in any language that can describe the loss Vandya feels. Forces of light and darkness mourn you, and we promise to remember and honor you until our kingdom is no more. We send you to eternal peace with immeasurable love and respect. Sleep, my love, and when we meet again, let it be daylight at last."
Then, he reached down, picked up Mama's body, and placed a lingering kiss on the shrouds covering her forehead. His eyes fluttered closed, and his shoulders trembled. A long minute passed until, finally, he swam over the edge of the trench and let her go.
Our people began to sing again, but their song was shattered by hundreds of soft wails. Everyone just watched as her body—silk wrappings and all—succumbed to the water's gravity and pressure. My beautiful Mama, the one who brought light to any room she entered, was swallowed by the darkness of rest and the trench.
Everything felt a little dimmer without her.
Including me.
In that moment, I thought to myself, Nothing could be harder than this. Nothing could hurt more than this. And Blessed Divine, I prayed I was right.
##
I was wrong.
Horribly wrong.
Because as I watch my father's head separate from his body and fall onto the frost-covered grass, a pain unlike any other splits my body in two. A scream from the darkest pits of All Hells tears out of my chest, causing what few birds were left in the trees to burst into flight.
The sound continues, one long, sad soprano, as I climb to my feet and run towards Zula. I jump, and our bodies slam together in mid-air because he hasn't even recovered from murdering his brother yet. I hear someone shouting my name—multiple someones, really—but it's all just background noise.
He's dead.
My father is dead.
And Zula killed him.
Zula lets out a muffled oomph, and we hit the ground in a mess of tangled limbs and knotted magic. His icy touch grapples to defend my rage-induced searing. My gold has taken tangible form and is now zapping in white-hot flashes between us. He tries to contain the little bolts with his purple tentacles but it's no good. They move too fast for him.
Throwing every ounce of training I've had out the window, I just hit—his chest, his face, his throat,. Whatever I can reach as I manage to kneel on his chest and hold him down with a trembling knee. He protects his eyes; his mouth moves in muted words.
I don't care what he's saying.
He killed Papa.
A tendril of lilac wraps itself around my waist and starts to tug me backwards, but I grab it with both hands and tear it in half. It shrivels with an angry hiss. Before another can replace it, I lunge for Zula's throat.
If he can't breathe, he can't fight back.
I have both hands wrapped around his freakishly white throat when I realize—he isn't fighting back.
The purple has stopped attacking me. The ice isn't spreading. Instead, it has domed over us, casting an odd pale blue light on the two of us. The air hums with static and the Divine. I reach for her, reach for that stupid Divine flame, desperate, and She rushes to my rescue.
Golden magic glitters in my palm. It runs up my arms in waves, heating my chest and lungs. I've never felt this powerful before.
Zula stares up at me, his white hair glistening against the blackened grass. His chest heaves with the effort of breathing around my grip, but I don't relent. He deserves to die. This has to happen. He can't get away with this.
I focus the energy into my hands, watch golden lightning race under my skin, feel the energy billow my hair around me. Vibrating from the energy surplus, I look down at my uncle.
And Zula smiles.
Smiles.
"Manslaughter must run in our family," he whispers. "Will you really kneel to my level, Arielle?"
My grip falters.
No.
Yes?
"If that's what it takes," I hiss back, "to rid the world of you once and for all."
Zula's figure shimmers for a second and then disappears. When he materializes again, he's standing on the other side of the ice enclosure. Figures move like shadows outside our prison. Their muffled shouts try to reach us, but it's too thick.
"Am I really the bad guy here?" Zula asks, clutching his chest. I push myself to my feet.
"Yes! You just murdered your own brother."
Zula scoffs. "He had it coming." After a moment's breath, he adds, "And it's not like I wanted to. He was my brother, after all. I loved him, too."
I gape at him. "How can you so casually kill someone you love?"
Purple springs up from the ground around his feet, and his black trident materializes again. His eyes lock onto mine; his jaw tenses.
"The world isn't black and white, princess," he says, voice thick with venom. He's talking to me like I'm nothing more than scum on the bottom of a ship, a sucker fish leeching off a shark. "Love can only go so far, and it will fail you eventually."
He slams the butt of the trident into the ground, and its tips glow. From nowhere, a scroll appears.
"We had a contract." He isn't smiling anymore, thank the Divine. But his limitless, dark blue eyes are glowing with energy. Are mine? "Do you remember the terms, or should I read them to you?"
"Our contract is void." It's a stretch, I know. That was never clarified.
"Says who?" His lips curl up into that infuriating smile. Tips of his teeth show between his lips. "Oh no, dear, the contract was never void. You failed to deliver the prince's head. End of story. Now, your father is dead. So, my reward is..."
He rolls his hand in front of him expectantly.
My title.
No, my place on the throne when Papa died.
I was so willing to sign that away because I knew Papa would never die. I was sure of it.
And here we are.
"Vandya will never be yours," I hiss, pulling Divine energy closer to me.
Zula laughs. Just once. It's cold and high and every hair on my body stands on end.
"Sorry to break it to you, but I think it already is."
He hoists the trident above his head, and the purple follows. The tendrils gather around his skull. They twist and bend into the shape of a perfectly round, glittering crown.
Papa's crown.
The one I only see him wear for ceremonies and celebrations.
The one that was forged from Divine-blessed gold and embedded with precious gemstones from the distant corners of the ocean.
The one I'm not even allowed to touch lest I get fingerprints on it.
It isn't the exact crown because this one is black instead of gold, but it's close enough that my anger takes tangible form. A loud crack forces both of us to look up, and we see cracks spreading across the ice dome.
"Take it off," I whisper, voice tight. Every muscle in me is quivering.
Zula meets my eyes. He smirks, lowers his trident, leans forward a little, and whispers, "No."
The energy I've been holding around myself launches at him. It takes the form of a giant system of lightning, branching off as it shatters the ice. The grass catches fire under its force; the air heats to near scorching. Even I have to cover my face to protect myself. Half a second later, thunder follows, and the ground trembles. Ice rains down over me, melting into rain.
When the chaos slows, I cautiously lift my head and look across the clearing, hoping to see my uncle's body.
Instead, there's just a hole.
It's big enough to fit at least four people, and the edges are still burning from the lightning strike. Smoke rises in massive plumes. I rush to the edge and crawl on trembling knees to look over the edge.
Zula is nowhere to be seen.
I scream in frustration. How did I let this happen again? How did he manage to get away from me? If I'd killed him, there'd be a body, a trace of something. No, my uncle managed to get away from me a second time.
Trembling, I push away from the edge and spin around to look at the carnage. Where the ground isn't burnt, it's slick with mud. Trees lie sideways along the perimeter, splintered into fragments. I start to look for the others—Jett, Lott, Eero, or Magnus—but a form on the ground catches my attention.
My legs give out, and I slam to my knees. Pain radiates up the fragile limbs, spiraling across my entire body. I want to move, need to move, need to save him.
But everything in my body is solidifying—one nerve ending at a time. A fog is settling over my mind; ice has taken residence in my chest where my heart used to. I should pick myself up and walk over to my father, a respect he more than deserves.
Instead, I use all the strength that remains in my muscles to crawl across the grass towards him.
And I stare.
Absolutely numb.