Her Eyes

It was a hot, dark day near the end of summer when she first saw her father’s sadness. A late season storm rattled the windows and the rain thrashed madly against the castle walls. Her father stood near the doorway of the room, his low voice rumbling like scattered thunder, cutting through the nasally tones of his newest ex-advisor.

“Sire, one last thing if I may be so bold,” the driveling little man stood up straight for the first time that afternoon. Alric made no motion to stop him, so the man folded his hands and continued. “You really ought to give the princess a proper Vyrean name. Given the general feeling about her… particular heritage, a name that befits her proper people would be most welcome.”

“Her name,” Alric said darkly, “is Merise. And it is good enough for the princess of Vyren.”

The man “I only-”

“You are dismissed.”

“Your Grace.” the man bowed and scuttled from the room.

Merise watched her father walk to the window and rest his head against the cool stone sill. He looked tired, like he’d stayed up all night. He hadn’t, he just always looked like. Or maybe he really was tired. He tried to not show it, but she was old enough now to see. He was sad, too.

Her dolls laid out before her suddenly jumbled in childish chaos. There was too much to be serious about, and toys were a silly distraction. She stood up, brushing dolls and ribbons and small, frilly dresses from her simple skirt, and joined her father at the window.

“I didn’t like him,” she said, “he had a funny voice.”

“We don’t speak like that,” the king corrected, but he smiled a very little, “and we also don’t say he was a mooning, selfish, whining prig with the backbone of a spring lily. We say that he simply served the extent of his use to the crown.”

The image of a man with a stem for a back, leaves for arms, and a lily for a head made her giggle. He had even smelled like one, and it made her head hurt.

“Your mother wouldn’t have liked him either.”

The princess held very, very still, and hoped he didn’t stop. Any little detail she could scavenge about the queen was a precious gem.

“She liked when people were honest. If she sensed you were hiding something, she wouldn’t give you the time of day. Maybe that’s why she trusted me; back then I was about as secretive as sunlight.”

She stared up at him, willing him to look her in the eyes. One of her royal nannies had once said that Merise had her mother’s eyes, and she’d never forgotten it. If she had her mothers eyes, then surely someday she’d come back for them, so she’d keep them safe until she did. Now with nine summers to her name, she knew that’s not what the lady had meant. But she wondered that if her father saw her eyes, he’d think of mother, and miss her a little less. So she always looked him in the eye. Maybe someday he’d look and see that she missed mother too.

“Would she have liked me?” Merise whispered.

He sighed and ran a thumb over the back of her hand, over the patch of bluish scales and webbing that bound her last two fingers together. “My Merise, she adored you. You were her joy, and the most precious gift she ever gave me. Nothing will ever make me stop loving you.” His grip tightened on her hand. “You are who you are, and that is all you need to be.”

“But I’m only me.” She whispered, chin trembling.

“You-” he swept her into his arms and held her tight. She buried her face in his shoulder and he rumbled into her hair, “-are the princess of Vyren. You are descended from kings. But above all else, you are my daughter, and I love you.”

“I love you too.”

<>

Alric watched from the window as Merise darted into the gardens, cloak hanging half-fastened from her shoulders, and her governess shouting at her to come in from the rain. The storm had blown itself out, and the western sky had begun to clear. Afternoon sunlight turned the dripping rain golden, clinging to the trees and grass, and catching in his daughter’s loose hair like a netted crown.

Merise deserved to know. About Avalyn, about the whispers, about the river, about… he rubbed a hand over his face. She was still too young to carry such grief.

Avalyn would have known what to do. And if she didn’t, she’d have taken his hand and told him they’d figure it out, together. He would have taken it, and stared into her piercing blue eyes, and trusted her with all his heart.

“Merise!” The governess’s voice was shrill enough to be heard through the thick glass window.

He couldn’t see her anywhere in the small garden. Instinct drew his eye to the back wall and the gap he’d let be grown over with a bramble. The princess’s cloak lay tangled in the snagging branches of the bush.

Something just beyond caught his eye, a little girl missing a cloak, with golden light in her hair, running for the river.

Running, as she could only distantly understand it, for home.

<>

Standing with the deep blue ice thick under her feet, Merise wondered what that might have looked like to see the river flow. It had frozen when the naiads left, never to return to the world of men. Even in high summer, the ice held fast, and the slowing rain fell and hissed against the freezing surface.

The air was thick and warm in sharp contrast, and the sun shone through the ragged, tired clouds in a rich yellow. She’d left her cloak behind in her escape attempt, but the ice didn’t bother her. The cold was nice.

She knelt and lay her hand against the frozen river. The scaly part of her hand turned the same deep blue as the ice, the tips of each scale as white as the frosty surface. She’d never been allowed to come here, but it felt right.

Her father had said she was the daughter of kings. He had left out the part that she was also the river’s child. Avalyn was a naiad, and here now, alone, she could almost hear her mother’s voice, singing a lullaby through the rain.

“Mama,” Merise’s eyes watered, “come home. We miss you.” A tear slid from her eyes to the tip of her nose, then dropped to the ice, beading between her fingers.

Underneath her left hand was a patch of ice that was thinner, or perhaps clearer, than the rest. She could see water flowing far below, dark and fast.

Her brow furrowed, and she leaned down, nose nearly to the ice. Her breath fogged on the surface and she swiped it away with a fist. There was a face. A boy, the same age as she, drifted slowly into view, unbothered by the raging current. His dark hair flowed like the water, and his skin was translucent, nearly white in contrast to the dark river. She held her breath, not wanting to lose sight of him for even a moment.

His eyes opened, staring back at her with icy eyes. She gasped. There were few mirrors in the castle, but she’d seen her reflection enough to know where she’d seen them before. Those were her eyes.

Avalyn’s eyes.