Before her could examine them in his mind, unscripted words had already dribbled from his lips. “Why do you love me?” he asked sadly, not really a question, because the answer did not matter to him. “I am not worthy of your love. You don’t know me or my inmost thoughts. If you did, you would loathe me, I am sure.”
The little mermaid shook her head firmly. She wanted to say that she had learned of suicide, and understood sadness now and still she had wanted to take it away from him. That there were parallels between them, solid, concrete parallels that would always exist and why couldn’t he see that? She wanted to plead with him to choose her, not just for love, but because she would soon be dead if he did not. But life without his love would be like death anyway, and it was hopeless. She wanted to say that he had cheated her. That the sea-witch had cheated her. That her father and her nanny and her sisters had all cheated her, because they never told her the truth. Of course, she could not say these words. So she stood there quietly, feeling her heart pealing slowly in her chest, wondering when it would break. Then he said something that truly surprised her.
“I don’t know who you are, or where you have come from. I don’t know how, but I believe you were there the night I nearly drowned. I think I saw your face looking down on me. And I think I felt your skin on my skin. So thank you.”
The sick shadow of gladness filled her. He had finally discovered the truth! He had to love her now! He was going to send the girl back to the convent and he would marry her instead. But her gladness dissolved as he continued, “I have sheltered you and befriended you for the last months. You have had the best of all things. My Uncle and I have arranged a house and a generous living for you. Consider my debt repaid.”
The little mermaid hung her head in humiliation. There was such shame for the empty hope and trust in the schemes of the fiery orb overhead, which she now realised was nothing but the sun. Shame that the only reward for love was a structure that would decay and a handful of coins that would be spent on a few pretty dresses and a fistful of copper bracelets. Worthless.
“You will be notified of the arrangements. Goodbye,” he added and turned away hastily. But the mermaid was not ready to be flung aside so quickly, and she grasped his wrist firmly.
“Now what?” cried the Prince gruffly. “What is it you want? Have I not given you enough? If you ask me, it is love that destroys things. As much as it brings goodness, as it has for me, it also brings devastation. Some people can’t take it. It decays them. It’s so wonderful in the beginning, and then turns sour, like oranges I am too stuffed to eat. Look what it is doing to you! Your love for me, what has it brought you in the end?
“I’m not going to tell you that I love you, even if it is what you want. But I do. It is not the kind of love you want from me. My love for you will never satisfy. I told you before, I never had a friend until you. So if you still want my love, if that kind of love is good enough for you, then you will take the house and in time, you will attend all of the palace functions like a dutiful subject, and you will pretend that you loved me the same way as my little black dog.”
And in the last act of affection, the Prince seized her hand and kissed it gallantly. He was gone before the sun set and all she could hear was the sound of a violin, when it clattered to the floor.
Sixteen
The End of the End
The remaining princesses had come to the end of their tether. The deaths of their three younger sisters had flung them into action that their calm, small minds had never thought possible. Gone were their voracious appetites for heavy feasting, because the kingdom’s hunters had either died of the unknown virus, or lost the necessary limbs in exchange for the Finfolk’s expensive tonic that claimed to slow the disease, but could not cure it. The princesses neither lingered in front of their looking-glasses, because their beauty had diminished rapidly as the disease spread its fingers through their bloodstreams.
After they previously and unsuccessfully visited their sister on land, who did not return with them, they had been at a loss once more, yet strangely relieved to be parted with her company. For there was something about her face that repelled the princesses with every contortion, and it fed the virus inside them. The third sister replayed those facial expressions in her mind all day long, until she finally curled into a tight ball and dissolved into foam before their eyes, the terrible drumming a crescendo into silence. More reports of death had reached the palace, and it was estimated that more than half the merfolk population had either died, or were on the verge of death. No one bothered to shop or eat anymore. Even their father, who had seemed so strong and immortal, complained of splitting headaches and restricted his movements to the perimeters of the palace.
After exhausting the boundaries of their limited imaginations, the two eldest princesses took their very last chance. Taking a lacklustre group of their strongest guardians and leaving their sense behind, they ventured outside the protection of the palace. Over the sleeping city they swam, muffled cries of pain and the chanting of numerals carried in the current. Over the abundant oyster farms, the molluscs yawning to reveal their opulent treasure, with no one to harvest it. Over the barren wastelands and the great, sunken graveyard where a lone gypsy watched from a rig with his one good eye. They were not disturbed by the ear-splitting screeches of the plants with faces, who wavered in their garden as if in a frenzy. They did not rest until they were deep inside the cave of the sea-witch.
There was no glint in her eye as she welcomed them in. Most of her beauty, the eldest thought, was gone.
The Prince and his ordinary bride were quietly wed in the orange grove one fine morning. Much to the mermaid’s disappointment, the grove had not been set alight, its white trees like skeletons amidst the harsh daylight. A string quartet played traditional melancholy tunes, and members of the court milled about mournfully, finding their seats. The fat Countess sat near the front, and wondered whether a mousy thing like that could grant the Prince the physical pleasures he truly deserved. The physician that had attended to the mermaid sat in the middle, and privately rejoiced that his majesty had not married someone with such horrid dental structure. The Personal Maid peered down from where she was jostling overhead to the storage chamber with an armful of rich robes, and shook her head sadly.
The King’s brother stood up for the Prince, gave his blessing, and signed the necessary papers. The newly-married couple turned toward their audience and beamed, but the audience did not beam back. They arose from their seats in a dignified manner, and filled their bellies with orange tart and tea. The Uncle walked among them, sullen and downcast.
The little mermaid was not invited, but she was there nonetheless, hidden in the shadows of the surrounding balconies. The Uncle knew she was watching, but the rest of the court assumed she was packing her things, although she owned nothing of which to take, excepting some copper bracelets and bag of dried flowers. The court did not know what to make of the sudden turn of events. But even the most resistant of women had decided in the mermaid’s favour, simply because they did not believe a plain girl deserved the love of a prince.
The Uncle had tried in vain to persuade the little mermaid to accept the gift of his late wife’s clothes and jewelry. She had shaken her head firmly, staring down at the box of glinting stones, blinking at her like oblivious eyes. She had also refused to view the manor house recently purchased for her, an extravagant complex with a household of trained servants, a well-stocked stable and a feed barn. The mermaid had not sealed herself inside her chambers as expected, but spent most of the day and night upon the old steps at the back of the castle. Sometimes, the Uncle would watch her silently from the upper balconies, her shoulders slumped, hair flying tangled in the wind. It occurred to him that she may simply give up on the human race and return to the depths. So be it, he thought, there is nothing I can do. So he tried to relieve her with music, retrieving his second violin and beginning to play. But when he glanced down to gauge her reaction, the little mermaid was standing up, fists clenched at her sides, glaring up at the turrets. He hastily dropped the bow.