For several heartbeats, no one moves as the queen rises slowly from below, like some angel of the sea, her long hair and delicate fins catching the light from above. Natalis and her guards remain frozen with shock, and only Shanti continues to move, her long coils undulating as she maintains her position at my side.

Most eyes are on the queen, but mine are on Martin. Spurred by concern for him, I break free of the hold my mother's voice has on me, and approach.

"Mother. Do you know me?"

She looks up, locking star-bright eyes with mine.

"Yes, Scyllian, I know you, as I know my daughters: sweet Anemone, and Natalis, whose ambitions have gotten the better of her, it seems"

As she speaks, Natalis' guards regroup and look on in awe. Other merfolk approach as well, drawn by the commotion and spectacle.

The shockwaves of my mother's awakening were likely felt across the whole of Thassos.

"You have done well, Scyllian," my mother says. "You brought me a pure heart; one who gives himself willingly to the sea."

She looks down on Martin's face, the stillness of which makes my own heart seize with dread, and smiles sadly.

"Please," I say, moving a little closer and reaching towards him. "He gave everything to free you. You must help him now."

She inclines her head. "I will do what I can; first, though, there is another matter to attend."

As she speaks, her gaze shifts to something behind and above me, and I turn to see the unholy simulacrum of my father drawing nigh, no doubt summoned by its master. He wears the full, regal armor of his rank, and cuts an impressive and imposing figure. The other mer fall back before him, and I have to give Natalis credit where it's due. She had created his likeness so true to life that it had fooled me completely the first time I encountered him.

Now, confronted with the mockery of a noble man, condemned by malice and folly to an ignoble end, my heart constricts with guilt, and as I glance back at my mother, I see her face marked by pain.

"It isn't him," I say quietly.

"I know," she whispers.

Taking advantage of our momentary distraction, Natalis makes a last, desperate attempt to salvage her swiftly sinking plans.

"Do not believe your eyes!" she commands, putting enough power in her voice to make it ring in my ears. "The traitor has created a blasphemous illusion in the image of our queen. Destroy him and his false servants!"

She raises her spear and casts it at the center of my chest.

My mother raises one hand, still supporting Martin with the other, and flicks her wrist almost casually, as if batting aside a troublesome fly. The spear veers to the side, pushed by the force of water like an airborne missile nudged off course by a gust of wind, and passes me harmlessly before sinking out of sight.

My mother bows her head. "So may all deceptions fall away."

Once again, she waves her hand; and as all magic in the sea is her magic, Natalis' spells come undone.

My father's simulacrum disintegrates, his hair turning back into the seaweed from which it was made, his armor and clothing falling away as audible gasps and cries of dismay rise from the gathered crowd. At last, the shape loses cohesion, and the thing at the heart of the dark spell tumbles free.

My father's skull sinks, the white bone flashing in the sunlit blue water, eyeless sockets turned to the sky. Anemone swims after it, having recovered from her battle with Natalis, and catches it bravely in her outstretched hands.

Spear or not, a pain lances my chest; our father died dishonored, his remains were desecrated, and I will always carry guilt for my part in it. That can't be undone or put right, but I make myself a promise that his memory will be honored, henceforth.

Meanwhile, as shock and horror ripple through the gathering, more and more eyes turn to Natalis, as the significance of this revelation dawns.

For her part, she appears unrepentant, and turns to me with an expression of deep and abiding hatred.

"You think you're so much better than I?" she asks. "You did nothing to earn father's love. He gave it to you anyway — his precious firstborn son."

She sneers at me.

"I was always at his side. I was his protégé. I fought my way through the ranks; I earned my place fair and square. And yet it was you he praised. Scyllian and his art. How talented!" She scoffs. "He loved you and you barely spared him the time of day; I loved him and he barely acknowledged I existed, much less listened to my advice. I worked hard for what he gave you for free; I wanted what you took for granted. But when I brought my ideas to him — to take the power from the throne; separate what protects us from what makes us strong; strengthen our ties to our realm while keeping our people safe — he dismissed me as if I were a prattling child. So, yes, I betrayed him; but you broke his heart. You turned him in without a second thought. So, which of us is really worse, brother?"

"Well, to be fair, I didn't kill him," I say. "Or retrieve his bones and turn him into a puppet."

I make myself a mental note that if I end up forced to take the throne, my first decree will be to send everyone to the surface for therapy.

"No. But you're the reason he's dead."

"And you're the reason I'll never have the chance to set things right."

My mother sighs. "How long has it been, Scyllian? How long was I a captive of my own short-sightedness?"

"Many years, Mother," I say.

"And yet the two of you still bicker as children. Come; this one is out of time," she says, looking down at Martin's limp form, "and I must ponder the meaning and measure of justice." She looks to the guards. "Do you recognize your queen?"

Bowing their heads, they speak in unison. "Your majesty."

"Secure my daughter. Listen to nothing she may say. You are immune to her words. Do you understand?"

They nod. "Yes, your majesty."

As they move towards her, however, Natalis backs away, shaking her head.

"No — No, I won't surrender. I refuse to bow before everything I despise. I won't."

She pulls something from a recess of her armor and I recognize a weapon I thought only existed in legend.

It's small — resembling a sea-urchin in both shape and size — but if it's what I think it is, it packs a punch that would put the most powerful naval mines to shame.

If it goes off, it will kill us all.

Wild-eyed, Natalis raises it overhead.

Amid the shouts of alarm and attempts to flee, I turn aside in a vain hope of shielding my mother and Martin from the blast. Before I can do anything, however, a blur of motion disrupts the water in a froth of bubbles and something rushes by so fast I'm cast aside, caught in a vortex swirl.

Righting myself, I discover I'm uninjured.

Natalis, however, is gone.

Or rather, I just glimpse the end of her tail as it disappears inside Shanti's enormous snake's jaws.

The other mer have backed off to a safe distance, but my mother stays at my side as Shanti rejoins us.

"Did you... did you just eat her?" I ask.

Shanti's serpent's tongue, as long as my arm, flicks forth and her voice reverberates in the water.

No; I merely sent her to another realm.

"Is that different from killing her?"

Shanti inclines her spade-shaped head.

It depends on your perspective; but I like to think that the balance of kama, or as you might say, her fate, will take her where she needs to go. Perhaps you will see her again someday; perhaps you will not.

"I'm not complaining, but I thought your kind was against direct action."

We abstain from judgment, from reaction, and yes — from action — but only when the harm resulting from such judgment, reaction, or action is unclear. Nonaction is often the best way to avoid harm; but not always. Sometimes, action is called for. This was one of those times.

I rest a hand on the jeweled scales between her wide snake's eyes.

"Thank you, Shanti. It is fortunate we have made your acquaintance, I think."

My interest is perhaps too personal, she says. After reconnecting with my cousin, I have formed strong ties with this realm; and those whom my cousin cares for, I have come to care for, as well.

Her attention moves to Martin and, at last, I give him my full attention, though I fear what I will see.

My mother's hair covers him as a shroud. The fragmented light, cut by the prism of the waves, plays upon his face, and his features hold the timeless beauty of art, and the marbled stillness of death.

Despair closes its fist around my heart, but my mother rests a more comforting hand on my arm.

"He lives, Scyllian," she says. "The sea has accepted his sacrifice, and in return it has given its grace. But now his life hangs by a thread, and you must make a choice."

"What choice?" I shake my head. "I gave myself to the sea. I can never leave it now."

She meets my eyes, and I see the power of the whole ocean looking back at me.

"You are as much your father's son as you are mine," she says. "You are of the land as much as you are of the sea. I could not give my heart to the land, so my love gave his to the sea; he gave himself willingly, completely, and for a time we were happy. But as the years passed, the weight of duty outweighed the wisdom of my heart, until when my son accused his own father of treachery, I did not see through the deception in time to discover its root."

She turns her gaze on Martin, cradled like a child in her arms.

"My heart is broken, Scyllian, and I am no longer fit to rule. Meanwhile, your own love lies at the mercy of the tides. Only you can decide your own heart's fate. Accept his sacrifice and grant him the gift of the sea, as I did your father; make him your consort and ascend the throne. Or let him go; give up what the sea has given you; release him, and let the sea take back its own."

Two futures rise before me: one where I am Lord of the Deep, King beneath the Waves, with this beautiful man ruling at my side; and another...

Four pairs of bright eyes, and four little smiles flash in my mind, and the choice is made.

"Will he remember me?" I ask, meeting my mother's eyes.

She smiles. "That, my son, is entirely up to you."