Abalone Moray was angry.
It was the sort of fury and rage that burnt deep, that cut into ones skin, settled into their marrow, and marked them as different – always. It was the sort of vicious anger that could change a person, sinking into their mind and their heart and their spirit, until all that they knew was the deep murky red of the Devil's gate, choked in crimson and festering on without good reason.
The guards escorted him to a small room, just off the side of the main dancing hall where the party and the feast was being held. It was small, but it was far more grand than Abalone’s own home. Gold fabric was draped across the walls, encrusted with flecks of mother of pearl, and the seats were cushioned with a crushed red coral that looked most like the Brittlefin's velvet. A table sat against one wall, and a shelf against the other, both of them filled with books, and scrolls, and pens, and ink vials.
He drifted, tail coiled up in his anger, the tip of it lashing with each passing second, with each brewing minute. As the time passed, Abalone could hear the music quiet, and then stop completely. He imagined that the party must be drawing near an end, and was expecting someone to come fetch him, and take him out of the room.
Soon face appeared.
He was not expecting it to be Queen Conch who opened the door, in all of her glory – and yet, there she was. The Queen looked as though she had been cut from a pearl, and the jewelry hung from her neck was just as opulent as the scales that made up her tail and the silver that formed her crown. It would have been stunning to him, if it weren’t for the knowledge that the old crowns were sunken from wooden ships carrying unnatural beings.
Queen Conch offered him a gentle smile. “I came to speak with you, Abalone. I thought perhaps we might share a story or two before you left.”
“You came to convince me that the Wisemer was right,” countered Abalone, for he was no fool, even at his most infuriated. “But you won’t be able to, Queen Conch. I know better.”
Queen Conch raised a hand, pressing it against her own chest. “Because of this?”
Abalone jerked back. But then he pressed the tips of his fingers to the thick scar on his chest, and bared his teeth, and said, “there are reasons that the water and the air don’t mix. I’m hardly the first mer that has fallen prey to the Brittlefins and their cruelty.”
“They aren’t smart creatures,” admitted the Queen with a soft of pitying smile. “But I do not think them wholly cruel, and I do not think us wholly separated. We have gills, and they are able to swim for minutes at a time. Our worlds are meant to mix, to unify with each other.”
“It’s muddied waters,” said Abalone. “That’s what happens when they come into the ocean! They muddy the waters. They stir the silt until we are left to feel it grating on our lungs with no knowing in which direction is clear.” His lip curled up, jagged teeth showing like rusted, cage bars. “And you mark my words, Queen Conch. That will spread, and it will spread deep. We’ll be lucky if the water stays dark with filth, and it doesn’t grow dark with blood, too.”
“What happened to you was a tragedy.” It sounded as though she truly believed that, perhaps the pearlescent beauty did. The Queen was not cruel, after all. She was gracious, and she cared deeply for all those who lived in the Kingdom of Mer.
In fact, Queen Conch was known just as widely for her kindness as she was for her beauty! That spoke much, because it was claimed from the Atlantic to the Pacific that her image was sprinkled on every piece of mother of pearl, and that the moon’s reflection told Brittlefin’s of her elegance. It was partly why the mer fascinated them so.
The Queen's kindness fell on deaf ears. Abalone could not be swayed, and he had no desire to be. He had felt the tip of the harpoon sink into his skin. He had bled into the ocean waters at the hands of a Brittlefin.
There was no kindness left in him for the surface dwellers. At least the sharks that had circled him did so for a meal.
In that moment, Abalone wasn’t sure there was any kindness left in him at all. And so he bid his farewell to the Queen, dipping into a bow that he barely meant and swimming past her, into the halls.
He meant to leave the castle, to return to his home at the very edge of the kingdom, where none would bother him. But as Abalone was leaving, he was struck by an idea.
A realization, more like.
The mer changed course, tucking himself into the deep shadows of the castle instead and settling in to wait, coiled into a gap so tight a hermit crab would have offered a click of his claws.
And there he waited in the depths of the darkness.
Queen Conch and King Brittlestar met again in their daughter’s nursery. Many of the gifts that the mer had given Turbinella wouldn’t be useful for years to come, and as such had been scattered about the room, serving as decoration. As she grew older, they would also, hopefully, serve as a reminder of their kingdom’s love.
Queen Conch asked, “do you believe what the Wisemer said?” thinking back on the prophecy of the exotic mer.
King Brittlestar answered, “I think that our daughter is going to be very special to a great many mer, my love. And I hope that her path will lead her to greatness.”
“Do you believe... that we can make peace with the Brittle Fins?”
The King chuckled lightly. “You spoke to Abalone?”
“I did.”
“I imagine he was unswayed by your words,” he gave a heavy sigh. “I remember when he was first caught by the surface dwellers. It was Abalone, and it was his brother, Junonia.”
Queen Conch said, “I do not recall someone of that name attending the festivities tonight.”
“Junonia did not survive. Losing a brother, that is something that can sour the soul. No matter what we face in the coming years, Abalone will never forgive the Brittlefins for taking his family.” The King cast a forlorn look down at his daughter. “And I doubt he will ever be able to forgive ours, should we go seeking peace and unity.”
It was a sad thing, knowing that some mer would always be lost to their anger. Cold blooded creatures that they were, a loathing once seeded would be rooted forever.
But looking at their daughter, sleeping sound in her cradle, gave the King and Queen hope. They loved each other very much, and they loved their daughter twice that amount, if not more.
If she was meant to bring peace to the lands, then they would support her, no matter what.
“Amazing, isn’t it?” the Queen began. “That our child will be the one to unite land and sea.”
The King was too lost in his love for his newest child to reply.
Clash! Sway!
In the middle of the night, the King and Queen were roused from their kelp-bed. The door to their chambers had being flung open. One of the guards from the hammerhead unit, Murex, dipped into a hasty bow, talking before his head sink to the appropriate level for a royal. “My King, my Queen, apologies for interrupting your slumber! There has been an incident!”
And thus, still rubbing the sleep from their eyes, the King and Queen were led to Turbinella’s nursery. There, they found Abalone, snarling and held captive by two more guards.
King Brittlestar demanded, “what is the meaning of this?”
Murex explained, “we found him trying to smother the young Princess Turbinella with a sea-sponge.”
Queen Conch gasped, pressing a hand to her mouth. “Tell me this isn’t so!”
Abalone bared his teeth. He jerked in his bonds, but could not break free of the guards. “Your weakness will be your downfall! We cannot bond with the Brittlefins! It will be death to all in your kingdom! You will unite in the cursed grave of the locker with naught but barnacles on your bones for company!”
King Brittlestar swore, loudly. “I gave you forgiveness when you had an outburst at my daughter’s party! I have given you leniency time and again, Abalone Moray! But leniency will not be given for this! How dare you try and harm my daughter!”
Abalone said, “then have me killed! I would rather die than watch you let the kingdom fall to the Brittlefins!”
“I do not bow to predators,” said King Brittlestar, surging towards the incongruous eel. “And I do not allow them to sway my hand. No, Abalone. You will not see death. Not today, at least. Not at my word. But you will see an end to your life here, in the Kingdom of Mer. And should you ever break your banishment and return to our lands – death will be too kind of a fate for you. Mark those words. Mark them, and be gone.”
The Queen, who had already picked up Turbinella and was hugging her close, looked at Abalone. It was not out if desire, but out of strange tides that could sometimes pull a mother.
She saw it, then.
She saw that sometimes; madness could take over. That your anger and hate could block out the rest of your mind. This was a wounded man, yes, but it was a wound that had festered. It was a wound that had been allowed to rot. And it had nearly killed her daughter, the heir.
There would be no healing. Not for Abalone Moray.
Queen Conch could only hope that being alone would stop the infection from spreading.
When the guards had escorted Abalone out of the nursery, the King joined his wife beside the crib. Turbinella had gone back to sleep, exhausted by the encounter.
Softly, Queen Conch said, “should something happen to her, I fear that my heart will break.”
King Brittlestar promised, “nothing will happen to her. There is no other in all the lands who would wish harm upon the princess.”
Tears welled and joined the waters, lost immediately. “Can you promise me that? Can you promise my daughter will always be safe? That she will always be happy?” Queen Conch gently put Turbinella back into the crib and tucked her in.
The mighty King took his wife’s hands in his own, and he told her, “my love, I can promise you that the ocean will run dry before I let someone hurt our fry. Unicorn of the sea or not, peace-bringer or not, she is my daughter. She is my pearl. And I will always protect her.”
Eased by his husband’s words, the Queen allowed King Brittlestar to lead her back to bed – and a guard was set up outside of the nursery every night from then on.
Just in case.
