Three Rings (The Fairytail Saga) (18 page)

‘Don’t you need me there?’ Ivyanne asked.

But the queen leaned over and kissed your head. ‘Tristan-’ her voice caught briefly on his name. ‘I got an e-mail from Sven yesterday, asking when the group of mers Tristan had rounded up for the event were needed and where.’ She smiled sadly. ‘He’d made some calls, and organized for twelve of our kind to be here, helping you and I with the coral regeneration, in case he wasn’t able to get away from work himself.’

Ivyanne smiled, touched. ‘That man…’

‘Was an angel.’

‘And still is.’

Vana reached out and wrapped her arms around Ivyanne’s head, pulling her into an embrace against the modest breast of her one-piece bathing suit. White lycra absorbed Ivyanne’s tears, and she breathed in the comfort of her mother’s scent-green tea and jasmine and fresh air.

‘I love you baby.’ Her mother said. ‘I really don’t want to leave you alone. Are you sure you don’t want me to bring Lincoln here?’

But Ivyanne shook her head, heart sinking at the thought. ‘No. I can’t face him yet.’

‘Okay. If you insist…’ her mother kissed her forehead. ‘Enjoy the time alone then sweetheart..’

‘Okay.’ Ivyanne pulled back and stood, gazing down at the turquoise water, for a moment then dove, shocked by the warmth of the ocean against her skin, which had felt frigid for days. Because she was so dehydrated, the soothing effect of the water was several times more noticeable than usual, and her entire being seemed to fizz off the negativity like an aspirin effervescing in a glass. A smile swept across her features and she tore off the oversized shirt of her father’s that she’d been wearing for days, flicked her lower body and felt the magic happen. As soon as her tail had formed she flicked again, using everything she had, and darted through the clear, pale green water, watching the coral colors blur as she passed overhead at breakneck speed.

The submerged, rocky foundation of the tiny island was upon her within seconds and she steered around it, looking down to where the coral had always been thicker, and more vibrant than everywhere else, her heart constricting to see those passionate colors subdued to shades of whitish green and the palest blue. Her mother was right-her favorite cove in the whole coast, had born the brunt of a cyclone, with no islands or reef behind it to buffer the shredding currents and unforgiving waves.

Ivyanne swum on until she’d rounded the corner and spotted what she was looking for- a crack in the craggy cliff face, no wider than her shoulders, but twice her height. She slowed and twisted to her side, slipping through-she’d probably lost a few kilos in as many days-and emerging to where the water was a more vivid shade of emerald green than any she’d ever encountered. Once she’d breached the boundaries, she shot towards the surface, breaking it and sinking back down until only her neck and face hovered above, staring up at the domed rock ceiling which shimmered with the reflection of perfection.

‘Tristan,’ she whispered, as moved by the beauty of the secret cavern then as she’d been the first time she’d discovered it. Higher seas and violent winds had carved away at the rocks above like glass being blown into a bubble over time. The cavern had almost four complete sides, cracks of sunlight streaming through in dozens of different places-enough to illuminate but never to glare. The reef beneath was thick and lush with plants, giving the water its jeweled, darker appearance, and the sides  of the rocks outside were so smooth and inconspicuous looking that no one would think from a distance, that they were more than a solid mass. Her ‘Golden Igloo,’ Ardhi had called it, and it was one of the few poetic sentences he’d ever uttered-and he was right. It was. She’d come here in times of strife or joy for decades to sing with abandon, and soak her woes away in silence. Now it had to mend a shattered heart.

‘I hope you saw something this beautiful before you died. And I’m sorry that I never swum here with you, to show you.’

Her voice resonated around her, a humming echo, and a giggle escaped her lips as she imagined what his response would have been: That he had-
her
.

The giggle turned to hiccups, and the hiccups to sobs. Ivyanne sank, reaching down, and pressing her hands into the flowing reeds beneath and to the coral below, focusing her agony into something else living that needed a hand.

Ivyanne knew that her grief would abate-mermaids were built to move on and adapt-but that was what she feared the most-forgetting Tristan, forgetting her pain. So long as she clung to it, he was still present.

That was why she was afraid of seeing Lincoln. She knew she would look into his truffle-brown eyes and for a moment, there would be only him. And in that moment, she’d begin to let Tristan go and Ivyanne just wasn’t ready for that.

⁓

Drifting, sinking, swimming, drifting. The ocean grew colder and darker for awhile, until he remembered that it wasn’t supposed to be, that he needed the light. He broke for the surface, head spinning, and thrust his face out, drawing a deep breath into his scorching lungs before sinking again. On and on, the cruel process repeated itself. Sometimes, he’d remember to use his tail, and give his lower body a half-hearted flick-but at other times, he forgot, and his weakened form shifted back to its human state, clawing at the water with trembling hands, getting nowhere.

That’s when he’d see her face in his mind, and the fight would flare up in him again. But that only lasted so long. Seconds turned into minutes-chaos was everywhere. At one point, the ocean felt like it was boiling, and then suddenly he was so cold that he began to shake violently.

His skull was a mess-he could feel the hole in the back every now and then, like it was a gash in a boat, filling his head with water, sinking him. He could even smell his own blood in the ocean around him-it smelled like rusted and torn metal. Like the plane. He screamed every now and then, making his head throb harder, but knowing he had to if he didn’t want to end up at the bottom of the oceanic food-chain.

The plane. The plane had gone down, and taken him with it. He struggled to remember the experience, but a wall would come down between his consciousness and those memories like a guillotine. All he could recall was a moment of clarity, in which he’d realized that he had been led into a trap. And if there was a trap, somewhere nearby, there would be a hunter.

That clarity had been enough to motivate him to get away from the wreck when he’d first come to, putting as much distance between him and the ruined plane as he could. He had to get to her, he had to warn
everybody
.

Eventually, his limbs began to feel as heavy as lead.
I need to rest for awhile,
he thought dazedly, dropping his limbs vertically, holding his head above the water.
If I don’t rest, I’ll die.

But he wasn’t prepared to feel something solid under his feet. The impact went from his toes to his ankles and jolted him to the very core. He pressed against it, and his shoulders cleared the unforgiving water.

Land!
Part of him was aware enough to rejoice as he stumbled forward.
I found land!

He clawed at the waves again, pushing himself forward until the cool afternoon breeze was hitting his chest, then his waist. He squinted through stinging eyes and was able to make out the blurry form of palm trees and yellowy sand. Tristan didn’t know where he was, and had no idea how safe he was, but the moment his feet scuffed up a rain of hot sand, he knew that it would have to do-he couldn’t go a step further.

Tristan collapsed on the beach, his weary mind praying that the hunter wouldn’t find him there.

Vana led Ivyanne by the hand as she walked up the front steps of the modern, two level home before her on Thursday afternoon.

‘I know it’s not exactly pretty on the outside...’ her mother was saying to her as they stepped into the small alcove at the inlaid front door. ‘But it’s nice in.’

‘It’s not your usual taste at all,’ Ivyanne agreed, gaping at the monstrosity. The bottom half of the structure seemed completely enclosed by one solid rendered wall, with exception to the inlaid front door. The top was constructed completely from glass. Glass balcony fencing off full length glass doors. It sparkled in the sunlight.

‘Wow,’ Ivyanne shook her head, turning around to check out the plainly landscaped front yard-all three meters of it, separating the house from the sand. ‘What possessed you to get it?’

‘It brings in a phenomenal amount of rent,’ Vana smirked, unlocking the front
door. ‘It only has two bedrooms upstairs-small ones, so tourists love it.

‘Is there any privacy though?’ Ivyanne couldn’t help but ask. ‘All of those windows...’ 

‘They’re tinted-that’s why you can’t see through there now,’ Vana pushed the door open. ‘But with the lights on at night, it’s as good as an x-ray. There are thick white curtains up there to pull across though. The two bedrooms and en-suite are behind a wall at the back. You’ll see for yourself when we get up there.’

Ivyanne followed her mother inside, her eyebrows lifting up. ‘It looks like the kind of place Tristan would have loved,’ she said softly, taking in the pale minimalist furniture and sleek kitchen appliances.

Vana laughed. ‘Who do you think found it for me?’

Ivyanne stared at her. ‘He did? When?’

‘Years ago,’ Vana swiped her finger over the back of a long white armchair, inspecting it for dust. Of course there was none- the home was immaculate. ‘He travels so often that I started asking him back in ‘oh nine to keep an eye out for bargains. This is just one of
many
that he found for me.’

‘How many?’

‘Hmm...fifteen or so?’ Her mother smiled at her stunned expression. ‘When you’re going to live for centuries, no investment makes sense more than real estate honey. Remember that.’

Ivyanne shook her head and followed her mother up the stairs, warming to the building which had seemed so cold and sterile when she had first scrutinized it. Little touches of Tristan were everywhere, especially in the art on the walls. They were all bright colors and geometric shapes, a tribute to the way he valued modernism-all clean lines and bold colors.

‘Why didn’t he just stay
here
instead of getting a boat?’

‘We had tenants, who only moved out this weekend,’ Vana padded up the stairs, stopping at the top to let Ivyanne pass. ‘Plus he really wanted that boat.’

Ivyanne thought of Tristan’s boat, and blushed. She made a mental note to ask her mother to buy it from his parents, when everything had calmed down. It seemed like a nice thing to have, to be passed down to his child eventually. She smiled wryly, imagining that moment:
‘Here’s where you were conceived honey! Happy Eighteenth Birthday!’
Ivyanne almost giggled, but caught herself in time. Still, it was a joke Tristan would have appreciated.

Ivyanne’s stomach cramped uncomfortably and she held her hand against it, reminding herself yet again that she had more than
one
reason to stay as calm as she could. She tilted her head back and blinked the tears away, all too aware that her mother was watching her sadly.

‘Are you sure you’re up for this darling?’ The queen asked softly.

Ivyanne nodded. She’d caused her mother reason enough to worry to last a thousand lifetimes. Shielding her from her inner trauma was the least Ivyanne could do. ‘Yes mum, I’m sure. I’m excited about this...really.’

Vana pointed downwards as she ascended. ‘That’s the living room, and the kitchen and dining are over there. The laundry is to the side. Now
up
stairs....’

‘It’s nice,’ Ivyanne said, leaning against the railing. The wall that divided the front room from the private ones was one long and glaringly white bookshelf, filled with a few books, C.D’s, DVD’s and bits and pieces of art or votive candles. There was another couch, positioned in front of a massive, fluffy white mat that took up most of the floor. Aside from one or two standing lamps and end tables, and an entertainment system on the wall, there was little else to distract from the main feature of the room-the
view
.

Ivyanne turned to the back and peered around the bookcase, finding herself standing in a small corridor with three doors. She checked them out quickly- pleased to see that they were all nice, white rooms. At a glance, they looked clinical and monochromatic, but the homy touches were found in the textures-such as the thick carpeting and heavy linen sheets. She walked back out into the main room. ‘Did Tristan fix them up too?’

Vana nodded. ‘He hired a decorator he trusted. She did both of his houses.’

Ivyanne smirked, wondering what
else
the decorator had done for Tristan. It was highly probable that she’d exchanged trade for skill. Funny, but that bothered her less now.

Her mother looked at her. ‘So....can you see yourself living here?’

Ivyanne nodded eagerly, moving to the front doors and pushing them open. Instantly, she was buffeted by the ocean breezes. ‘I can’t imagine living anywhere
else
,’ she turned back to her mother. ‘Is it okay with you, if I do?’

Vana smiled sadly. ‘I’ll miss you honey, but you won’t be far away. These last few weeks, being separated from you, have been preparing me for this.’ Vana joined her on the balcony. ‘There’s a beautiful symmetry, to you living here. Because of Tristan and all.’