Mermaid_ A Twist on the Classic Tale - Carolyn Turgeon [85]
“You will teach him.”
“He seemed different, when I met him. But he was wounded, and afraid. He was not himself.”
“But it shows what he might be, does it not?”
There was a rap on the door then, and one of the servant girls walked in, carrying a jug of wine and a small platter of treats.
“This will make you feel better,” Edele said. “Wine and sweets. And we can play cards. Yes?”
“Yes.” Margrethe nodded. But she had no appetite, no desire for anything in the world except to be as far away from this place, from the prince and that woman, as she could.
The servant girl lingered at the door nervously.
“That is all,” Edele said, waving her hand, and the girl ducked out.
Edele lifted a piece of cake and held it out to Margrethe. “Some sweets?”
Margrethe shook her head. “No. Maybe I’ll have some wine later.”
“All right,” Edele said, pouring a large glass for herself.
Margrethe watched her, jealous of her happiness. She was loved. Loved. Edele. To some people, it came so easily. That day with the prince in the garden, she had thought that she, too, was one of them. The kind of girl men fell in love with and desired.
Edele was choking. Margrethe snapped out of her reverie and looked at her friend in shock. Edele clutched her throat. Her face was turning red. She gasped out Margrethe’s name as she fell to the floor.
“Edele!” Margrethe cried, leaping up and running to the door. The girl was waiting outside. “Get help, now!” she screamed.
The servant ran to the top of the stairs, calling down to the two guards at the bottom. “Get the doctor!”
And then there was commotion, men running into the room, a doctor, who ran to Edele and took her in his arms.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The Mermaid
THE ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT ON MARGRETHE AND HER lady altered the whole mood of the castle. All the tensions flowing under the surface were brought into relief at once. The king ordered that anyone involved in the crime be hanged immediately. Edele survived, but she had to stay in the infirmary for a few days, recovering from the poison. The servant girl who’d served the wine quickly confessed her involvement and named the noble who’d engaged her, and, in the end, four nobles and two servants were hanged behind the castle.
Lenia watched with the other ladies-in-waiting as the criminals were led to the scaffold, their faces covered in hoods. She watched as the executioner came out and slipped the nooses around their necks, and as the trap door opened and the criminals dropped. The sharp crack of their necks, their swinging bodies—she took all of it in, watching for their souls. Like in a shipwreck at the bottom of the sea.
Before, the king had been content to allow Margrethe to stay in the tower, waiting for the decision of the Northern king. Now he made a great show of including her in activities, and Margrethe watched from his side as the traitors swung from the scaffold.
And more reports were coming in, every day, that the Northern king was relenting, and that the details of the marriage alliance were being discussed.
Lenia could walk only with great effort by now. Her body was heavy, unbearable.
It was monstrous, this fish growing inside her, flopping and twisting in her womb. Her legs, already so painful, were heavy and awkward, and she dreamed every night of the sea, thought longingly of the days when she’d had no legs and no womb, just her powerful, sleek, perfect tail pushing her through the water, the thick skin that never felt pain. Her sister’s eggs glittering from the rocks, whole and perfect.
One afternoon, as Lenia lay resting, the curtains drawn about her bed, there was a knock on the door. One of the servants answered, then came back and drew the curtain.
“It is the prince, my lady.”
He walked in and made his way to the bed. She watched him as if he were a stranger, someone she’d heard about in a song. He was as handsome as ever. Strong. It seemed unbelievable that this was the man she’d seen dying in the water, that she’d carried for countless miles in her arms. Her body had been indestructible