I should have known better than to think I could escape the sea so easily. As my sister leads me along like a fish on a line, pulled towards my doom just as inevitably, I find myself reluctantly sympathetic to her views.

As heir, I've always known the sea held my destiny, and though I sought to escape it for a time, I realize now — too late to do me any good — that I can no more leave it behind than a fish can decide to grow wings and fly.

I may not share her lust for power, but I understand my sister's desire to rule without taking our mother's place, for the gift of our bloodline is in equal part a curse. Whoever sits upon the throne is bound to it and cannot leave the confines of Thassos again — as much a prisoner as a king or a queen; for the life of its ruler sustains our realm.

She may have been lying at the time, but Natalis wasn't wrong. The sea is the source of my magic, my magic is bound to my life, and if I will not serve her, then the sea will take back both.

These are the thoughts that go through my head as Natalis and her guards march me along to the edge of the barrier and push me through it and into the open sea. As salt water envelopes me, I transform, and the guards strip off and cut away my clothes. Their armor is designed to fit either legs or fins, and they adjust it accordingly. Then we continue on, joined by curious citizens as we swim, and by the time we reach the place of execution — a broken promontory of stone overhanging an abyss — a small crowd has gathered to watch the show.

"Citizens! A great tragedy has befallen us," Natalis says, addressing them in stentorian tones amplified by the water. "But before we mourn our queen, let us see justice done!"

A few half-hearted cheers rise from the crowd, but most remain quiet, and the atmosphere is more tense than angry as the assembled wait to see how things will play out. While some Mer are warlike (the ones who gave us the reputation for eating sailors, for example) bloodthirstiness is not typically a Thassian trait.

"My brother, Prince Scyllian," Natalis says, gesturing at me, "returned to us at long last; but instead of loyalty and love, he came bearing murder in his heart."

A few curious faces turn my way, and a few more voices join in with jeers and calls of "death to the traitor," with variations upon that theme, and I have to give Natalis credit. Even without the use of magic, she's a convincing orator. As she relays her version of events — that she and her guards arrived too late to stop me but just in time to see me carry out the deed — the crowd quickly warms to her tone. By the time she gets around to asking them if I ought to be afforded a chance to speak, they're all so thoroughly convinced of my guilt that even I don't see the point.

My father's imitation — the unholy simulacrum spawned from his remains — stands at her side, and a sick feeling slithers around my gut. Mother may have ordered it, but Natalis had carried out his execution, as well. He must have stood where I stand now, the truth locked behind sealed lips, and just as helpless as I am to save himself. I notice he says nothing now, and wonder if it takes much concentration on my sister's part to control her undead puppet and maintain the illusion of life.

I wonder, too, what lies beneath the facade, for the depths are far from lifeless, and scavengers make quick work of any meal sent their way — which purpose I myself shall soon serve.

It will be a painful, but relatively quick death. The Mer body is designed for life in the sea, but not to withstand the pressure of the extreme depths. As I descend, the pressure will increase, causing a range of sensation, from discomfort to agony, until at last something vital ruptures, and I lose consciousness.

Having whipped the crowd into a suitably murderous frenzy, Natalis concludes her speech and approaches me.

"It pains me, brother, to condemn you to this end, but you leave me with no choice."

I glare at her and she shakes her head with a mockery of regret.

"You should not have returned. Now you must face the consequences." She nods to her guards. "Prepare him."

Rather more roughly than is needed (in my opinion, anyway) they obey.

A chain is bound around the base of my tail-fin, the other end of which is fastened to a heavy stone. With my wrists still locked in gilded cuffs, a net of ropes is woven over my torso, from which another rope hauls me up to dangle above the abyss like a prized catch hanging from a fishing vessel's bow.

Natalis holds out her hand and one of her guards passes her a long spear with a wide, flattened blade, designed to be thrown in water. She smiles up at me as she approaches, triumph glinting coldly in her eyes, and reaches into the pouch on her belt where she'd stowed the amulet.

"Something to take with you," she says quietly, so that only I can hear. As she rummages in the pouch, however, her expression changes, and her hand comes out empty. "Damn you, Anemone!" she hisses and scans the crowd, but there's no sign if our youngest sister.

A spark of hope flickers in my heart. If Anemone can get the amulet to mother's real statue, then maybe there's still hope — hope for justice, if not for me.

Natalis must be thinking along the same lines, because she wastes no more time.

"Well, never mind," she says, her smug smile returning. "That silly girl can run in circles all she likes; she'll never find what she's after. In the meantime..."

She steps back and raises her voice, addressing the crowd at large once more.

"Prince Scyllian of Thassos, you are hereby sentenced to death in the crushing deep. May the sea have mercy, and grant you a swift end."

With that, she raises her spear and casts it. Her aim is true; the blade severs the rope, and I sink as fast as the stone tied to my tail can drag me down.

My sister and the other merfolk gathered on the ledge quickly vanish from sight and the walls of the chasm rise on either side of me as I descend. Light fades rapidly, from the bright blue of a sunlit sea to a deeper twilight, and the engulfing darkness yawns beneath.

With every second the pressure increases, making it impossible for my sea-adapted lungs to draw oxygen from the water, and spots and sparkles dance before my eyes. Panic threatens, but I don't want to die with a heart full of fear and rage. Instead, I conjure an image of love: Martin's gentle smile and warm, amber eyes.

I love you.

The words fill my mind as my ears ring with a stabbing pain; but within the ringing is something else: a song full of deep, ancient power: the siren song of the sea herself, calling me home.

And what does it matter now, I think to myself, if I give myself to her? Let her have me, for what it's worth. Perhaps some part of me will remain alive in her; and in the salt spray carried on the wind, one day I may caress the face of my love again.

The sound fills my being, every cell vibrating with its power, and I embrace it with selfless surrender. As the sea takes my heart, and life, and soul, the pain fades, and I am at peace.

It seems that I drift upon a current, at one with the water itself; then, gradually, I become aware that a different sort of pressure surrounds me, that I am not dead, and that I am held in gentle, serpentine coils.