Adrift: A Little Mermaid Retelling

18: Daniel

I hated Captain Dremmer from the moment I saw him that night. He had his arm around Agnes, and when he helped her down from the horse, his hands lingered on her waist. He was altogether too familiar for my comfort, and it should have been too much for Agnes's, too.

She was only sixteen. That's why I was upset, I told myself. The man could be her father. I saw him glance at her as she went toward the house—biddable, for once in her life—and the proprietorial look he cast her way made me sick to my stomach.

I took his horse up to the house and gave it some water while the captain and Cuthbert talked out by the road. They both came up to the house some time later, but by then I could see Agnes's light on in her window and knew, at least, that a door stood between her and the captain.

The next day, I was up at dawn, as usual. I was still thinking of what had happened the night before as I carried in water for the day. I knelt to feed and stoke the fire in the kitchen before Sorla came up from her cabin, my mind a snarl of confused thoughts that I couldn't put straight.

"Dannie."

The sound of her voice in the silence startled me near out of my wits. I turned, the fire poker still clutched in my hand. Agnes was standing there barefoot, pale as a ghost in her white nightgown, with her tangled black hair hanging down over her shoulders.

"God's eyes, Miss Agnes, where's your robe?" I asked. I had never seen her in as little. I blushed and looked away from her, back toward the fireplace.

She was quiet, and although I wasn't looking at her, I knew she was frowning at me—but I wasn't disposed to be kind, and there was no one else around, so I didn't have to be polite, either. She had not shown me kindness nor politeness for a very long time. I focused on stoking the fire.

At length, Agnes said, "I have been very cruel to you, Dannie. I wanted to say I'm sorry."

I paused in the process of reaching for another piece of wood. I dropped my hand and turned to look at her. She regarded me with those fathomless eyes of hers; her face was free of any emotion. "Why are you doing this?" I asked.

Her silence was a question.

"You haven't looked twice at me for—" I dropped my voice. "I kissed you, and you pushed me away. You kissed me, and you—you pushed me away, too. Ever since then, you've treated me as if I were dirt beneath your shoe, and now you're—what—apologizing? What do you want from me, Agnes? Do you want to be friends? We can't be friends. You're a lady. I'm the kitchen boy. We aren't children any more."

"I miss you." She met my gaze, apparently unperturbed.

The words shuddered through me, snagging at my insides, and I tried to push them away. "I don't understand you."

"I'm just ... sorry, Dannie. I haven't been myself."

I was beginning to soften toward her, beginning to believe that maybe she meant it. "I was beginning to think you had become someone new."

"I think I started to. But I don't want to be angry any more. I'm tired."

I set the poker aside and stood up. She took a few steps toward me; her feet were silent on the flagstones. I stepped back, raising my hands to ward her off. Hurt crossed her features. "Ness ... what is it you want?"

Agnes took another step toward me. I was against the stone wall to the side of the hearth. There was nowhere for me to go. She reached out her hand and placed it against one of mine. Her palm was cool. In contrast, I felt too warm.

"I want things to be like they were before," she said. "I want to laugh again. I want to sing again. I want you as my friend."

"I can't be your friend, Agnes. Don't touch me."

At once, she dropped her hand. A shadow of confusion crossed her features. She took two steps back from me, taking a piece of my heart with her. I felt it—felt her pulling it out of my chest—and I knew I was hers all over again.

The words came before I could stop them, swept along on a tide of emotion, and I don't know if I was trying to explain to her or to myself. "I can't be your friend because it's dangerous, Agnes. I don't want to hold your hand, I want you to kiss me—"

Her lips were cold, just like her hands, but the touch of them flooded me with heat. I met her kiss and her embrace without thinking, acting on some instinct that was too deep and vital for me to understand.

We shared a small eternity that morning, lost in that kiss, but at the same time, it felt cruelly brief.

When Ness broke away from me, she looked up at me with startled eyes, her sooty lashes casting shadows down her cheeks. She seemed just as surprised as I by what had happened, although she had initiated the kiss.

I opened my mouth to speak. No words came at first; I felt sluggish and stupid. At last, something foolish sprang to mind, and, naturally, I said it. "I have your ribbon."

The kiss had put me in mind of the morning on the cliffs. That day, I'd run my fingers through her hair and had accidentally stolen her ribbon. I'd kept it with me ever since. I could tell she hadn't missed it by the look she gave me, but I produced it from my pocket anyway.

"Where'd you get this?" she asked. She seemed confused now, by the ribbon or the kiss—I couldn't tell. "I haven't seen it in ages."

I felt awkward. "I wanted to give it back. There was never a good time."

She extended her hand, and I let the ribbon fall into her palm. Hesitantly, I placed my hand beneath hers and folded her fingers over the pretty thing, looking down into her eyes. She gave me a tentative smile. "Thank you, Dannie," she said.

"Sorla's going to be here any minute. If she—if we ..."

She took my meaning. She darted away from me as quick as a startled fish in a pond, pausing only once to glance over her shoulder with uncertain eyes.