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  ‘Yes,’ she sighs. ‘Off the leash.’

  At her words, he drags her down onto his chest and kisses her hard, grasping her breasts in two big palms. ‘Like this?’

  The feeling is exquisite, slightly painful, but doused with pleasure. ‘Yes,’ she breathes.

  He keeps kissing her as he reaches up to squeeze her buttocks. Again, hard. ‘All of this,’ he groans from beneath her. ‘All of this is perfect. And I want it all. I want you to be mine.’

  He sits up with her still atop him and pulls her into his lap, facing him. He pulls her onto his lap, and slides her onto him. In this pose, he is deep, deep inside her. He touches her face, and then gently reaches forward to trace his rough palms over her neck, clavicles and breasts, skittering down her tummy and resting just above her sex. Then he picks up one hand and licks his index finger.

  He takes it down, down, down, and circles the very center of her with the wet finger. The sensation is hard and soft and desirable and unbearable.

  ‘More,’ she moans.

  He keeps the action up, as he strokes her breasts with his free hand and slides his hardness slowly, agonizingly, in and out of her.

  ‘Lecanora,’ he breathes, and her name sounds like an incantation on his lips. ‘Can you feel yourself letting go?’ He is studying her face, and she can hear the shallowness of his breath.

  ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘Can you?’

  But she can see the answer in his eyes.

  No.

  He is watching her, wanting to pleasure her. Aware of her face, her heart and her brain. And she knows he’ll never let go while he’s watching her, taking care of her, putting her first. She steps up and off him, and turns around, presenting her buttocks to him, crouching before him. She flicks her face around to look at him. ‘Keep going,’ she says. ‘Like this.’

  He hesitates. ‘Is this really how you want it?’ His voice is low and ragged.

  ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘This is exactly how I want it.’

  He makes a low, primal sound and then he is inside her again, running his hands over her back and tugging at her hair as he fills her up.

  ‘You’re sent to undo me, Princess,’ he groans, filling her so far she feels as though they will never be separate again. Her heart rate builds as he circles that thumb again, reaching underneath her to that pleasure place. ‘Now I want to feel you let go.’

  ‘You first,’ she grunts. And she means it. She will not be a princess to him, a goddess. She will be his equal, his mate. To underline the point, she reaches behind her and cups the softness at the base of him in her hands, squeezing gently. ‘Now.’

  Doug groans madly, and moves quickly into her, thrusting long and deep as he circles with his finger. And then, finally, she feels him let go.

  She starts to break open, coming apart at her very center, just as she feels him stiffen behind her. And then there is no reason.

  Only feeling.

  Chapter 16

  Week Two, Day Six Aegira Homecoming

  Susan drowsed and spun in the spidery threads of a dream. It was a dream in which she remembered that exact moment. She was tiny and it was the moment she had come to on the beach, and looked into the eyes of The Land woman. She was framed against the strangest of backdrops—wild rocks and sand, cliff tops towering above her and trailing off into brush. A single strange old white dwelling perched on the very top—like a lighthouse of a fairytale.

  The woman looking down at her was young, but somehow older than the women Susan had known, her skin weathered and crisped by the sun. And her eyes were dark. But she looked at Susan with warmth, and spoke to her in a tongue that, while it was strange, eased the soreness and fatigue in Susan’s body and brain. Susan could feel the salt on her body and the sand crunch against her skin. Her mouth was dry and her skin felt like it had lost something. It did not recognize the strange scratch of the air across it.

  It wanted the slick water like a newborn wants its mother. Like she wanted her mother in that moment.

  But the strange woman held out her arms to her. Not picking her up, not moving quickly. Just an offering. There was water on her face, and Susan reached up to touch it, bringing the finger back to her lips. It was salty.

  She considered the woman carefully through stinging eyes, then held out her arms.

  The woman picked her up.

  * * *

  Susan opened her eyes and quickly shut them again, as heaviness pressed in on them. Where had that memory come from? It was new, and yet not new. Very old. Perhaps her oldest. As she reached for the dream-like memory again, others pressed in, crashing in on her brain. They were clearer now, less dream than recollection, but they still swamped her.

  The woman was her foster mother, the one who had cared for her, raised her, and the man, the man who would become her father. The house on the cliff where she had grown. More memories crashed and pressed as she began to come back to herself. It was like she was assembling herself from the very beginning, constructing a self. Reminding herself of who she was.

  But she could not work out why. Or who the person was she was trying to remember.

  More memories: growing, learning. Learning to hide what she was. Learning to camouflage herself, working with her father to learn how the normal people bore weight, and moved, and spoke and interacted. Learning the strange language, feeling it thick and clumsy on her tongue. Listening to the story of her discovery, over and over, at her parents’ feet, by the fire in the old house on the cliff top. And then working with her mother to practice what she really was, to keep and hone and build the skills she had: her strength, her agility in the water, her ability to sense and understand things. Her mother had never wanted her to lose a single piece of the tapestry that made her what she was. So while her father helped her to fit in, her mother helped her remember the things of her that were alien, other.

  Together, they loved all the pieces of her. And she learned to accept them.

  As she remembered, she became aware of her body, fighting against the suck and drag of where she was, but she was not ready yet to open her eyes. The dream, or whatever it was, was too compelling.

  There was more. School, and college. Finding empathy for people that was rich and full, determining that the things she could do, and the things she understood, set her apart. And they must be there for a reason. That she needed to use them. Setting herself to that task, turning from the conventional path of wife and family. A sharp pain stabbed into her side as that memory came. The one of realizing children would not be hers. The man she had loved. The man with whom she had tried. The clawing feeling of barrenness.

  Her eyes opened once again, and this time something happened, back behind her retina. Some soft click and subtle slide. She saw where she was. And she knew who she was.

  Susan Murray, presidential candidate for the United States of America.

  And mermaid.

  * * *

  Relax, Lunia said to her mind. You are still coming back to yourself. It will take you some time. It might hurt, both in your heart and your body.

  The warm blonde woman Susan now knew as niece handed her a flowing blue shift, so delicate it seemed to almost imprison the very waves themselves. But Susan could not lift her arms. Lunia moved closer and arranged it over her.

  Susan opened her mouth to speak but could only manage a dumb gargle.

  It will take some time, Lunia said. You will remember in time, surrounded by your tongue. In the meantime, use your mind, Susan, as we did on The Land.

  I cannot stay here.

  Lunia inclined her head. Of course not. But for now, while you re-group.

  Susan realized that Lunia was holding her arm, but more than for comfort. Her strong grip was also keeping Susan stable, balancing her in place. She loosened it momentarily, and Susan felt herself begin to slip away.

  You need to weight yourself, Aunt, Lunia said.

  Susan felt scattered and lost, felt a raw despair rise hot and sick in her mouth. I have
no idea how.

  Look at me carefully. Lunia planted a series of directions deep into her brain. Focus on your body, on the very cells of it. The weighting system is there, you simply need to connect with it. Speak to the water, will it to home you. Tell it you will be gentle with it. Tell it you belong here. Your body will do the rest.

  Susan watched the younger woman carefully. She believed this. And there was much Susan would not have believed until this moment, these most recent moments of her life. Who was she to argue?

  So she did it. She imagined her cells, weighted in the graceful way of this woman in front of her, who seemed able to command the very water around her. Lunia stood still and graceful, barely moving but upright and manipulating her balance.

  Susan squeezed her eyes shut and tried again. As she did, she found herself speaking to her body in a long forgotten tongue. One that was rhythmic and gentle. She tried to copy Lunia’s words, and then words of her own came in their place as memory took over. As the girl on the beach held her grown-up hand and instructed her how it was done. She spoke with more certainty to her body now.

  Stay with me, cells of mine. Remember your place here. Remember where you belong. Connect with the pieces of me that grew here, that were nurtured here. Current of the deep sea, I mean you no harm. I am here as daughter of Aegir., I am friend.

  She opened her eyes, feeling again the subtle click, but this time she knew that it rose from the shutters protecting her eyes. She felt familiar with and proud of her body, understanding, at least with the childish simplicity she had learned long ago, how the parts of her functioned and fit together.

  And now she could see.

  She was in the place they called The Eye. And she could see from the teeming life amassed around her that it had been taken back. It swarmed and hummed with bodies.

  She reached for Lunia’s arm again, this time not for purchase, but comfort. The array of life was dizzyingly familiar. She felt she could almost name them in her head. Beside her, the brooding grace of a family of Leigons drifted closer. She felt the curiosity of their brain patterns as they watched her with flat eyes. Sand seeders rose, raw intelligence pulsing from the settled ocean floor. Gleeda bugs had been strewn through the dark place, and shone like diamond candles. She had been brought to the dais she had seen in the vision, when the shells had been in her ears.

  Are you up to this? Lunia’s soft voice sounded in her brain.

  Up to what? Susan was still coming to terms with all she saw—the almost blurry images of magic through the sheen of water, the golden glow of The Eye, the candle-like bugs lighting the space. And, oh. The final piece of her awareness, her hearing, snapped into place, and the sound entered her consciousness. The music. The song was beyond beautiful. It pulled at her heart and she felt her eyes sting once again. But this time she knew it was tears that were causing the pain, because she recognized the song, knew each perfect note as it climbed and built, soothing and enlivening as it grew. It was the song of her home. It was the call to community. The name of it flashed in her brain.

  Home of the Lost.

  Like a national anthem on The Land, but more. More personal, more meaningful. More part of every person of this place. It was Aegira in sound.

  As she turned, all the creatures gathered in the space in front of her joined the melody. It was led by the Aegirans. She picked them out in the crowd. Tall, blond and beautiful, their aching perfection foreign yet so familiar, like a nursery rhyme of her childhood. But among them, the other tribes joined in the song, understanding its significance to these people. The creatures had various voices—some low and braying, others more like a thought of song, hanging in the air. But together the sight, and the sound, was magic given voice. She watched as silver streaked the water in front of her, and the thing that had always been her greatest secret, her most worrisome tell, became the last piece of the puzzle.

  She was home.

  As she faced the singing crowd, they began to part, moving to each side as their song softened. Through the space they had created, three people moved carefully towards the dais. Towards her. At the center, a pale, beautiful woman, young but old. A picture of wisdom and vitality, but frail and slow. Something in her warm face arrested Susan, making her search the memories, new and old, that she had recently discovered. The parting masses on either side of her lowered their eyes, heads and tentacles. Susan felt the pulsing love and admiration for the woman spread through the Aegirans in the group.

  This was Imd, she realized. This was their Queen, her Queen.

  Her eyes flicked to the people who flanked her. A man and a woman. They were older than she was; something in their bearing made that clear. And yet they were as smooth and unlined as Lunia beside her. And something in them…while she searched for the connection, they broke ranks with the Queen and swam up to her, as nimble as children. They paused in front of her and looked back at their Queen, who bowed her head to them in what Susan was sure was a gesture of permission.

  The two clasped hands in front of her.

  Saskia, they said. You have returned.

  Susan’s heart thundered in her ribs, and for the first time her addled, unfocused brain realized she was breathing water. The realization that was settling in her heart almost choked her. She spoke directly to her own mind, reminding it that in there, somewhere, it knew what to do. It must not let her down now.

  Susan reached out a hand to them, and they moved forward to her, and placed cool arms around her. As she did, she heard a low, deep howl coming from the mouth of the woman. The man soothed her with a soft, trilling cluck.

  You are here, the woman said. You are back; it is really you. And you are alive. You are whole.

  Yes, Susan said, feeling familiar hands squeeze her body and hearing the sounds that reverberated deep into the oldest places of her remembering. A long-sought feeling flowered and ached with her. All the deepest and most secrets dreams of her girlhood rose to the surface of her brain.

  Mother, father, I am home.

  * * *

  The dark man took his place on the dais. The Queen rested, silent and pale, her weariness screaming from her face, on the floating turquoise throne. Through the exhausted lines of her face, her pleasure beamed out at them all. She looked as though it was her very own child who had returned.

  Susan looked out at the masses before them and wondered what would come next. She longed to ask Lunia, but another part of her, a deeper rhythm, remembered that the curiosity of The Land was not understood here.

  As it was about to begin, something else happened. A whirling cloud of copper sparkles fizzed and sparked, right in the center of the dais.

  The huge crowd began to croon as one.

  * * *

  Lecanora idly watched the scattered pieces of one arm begin to re-form. The feeling was heady and lazy, confusing, but increasingly familiar, and easier, because she was returning home. She knew the path back to here like she knew the simple skill of breathing water. She could never have become lost. This was her home. And she was safe here.

  The thought pulled on parts of her brain that were still re-forming. The consciousness, and shorter-term memory. What was that, troubling her? She lifted her other arm in the silky water, and admired its perfection as it came back into focus. The perfection of Aegira. Deigned by Aegir and Ran. Ah, but the soft water felt so right on her skin, dry and hard from her time on The Land.

  The Land. The thought jolted more pieces of her brain back to functioning. Her brain was still sluggish, struggling to catch up with the physical parts of herself, but she knew when it did it would be sharp and focused, clearer than usual, clearer than ever. The clarity that song-travelling awakens in the mind. It takes a toll on the body, but…what did Rania say? It spring-cleans your brain, like blowing out all the cobwebs. A strange phrase. She felt a smile curve on her lips as she thought about her sister. And then that thought was the final jolt. All the pieces came together. She remembered.

  The Land. Rani
a. Doug.

  Warmth spread through her shattered cells as that recollection settled in her brain. She skipped over it, not ready to analyze what the Doug part was all about. More. More important things, for now. Arty. Oh by the Goddess, Arty. A jagged stab poked into her stomach as she remembered him, broken on the floor, and the gloating face of the silver-haired woman who was Manos. She touched her temples, willing the memory away.

  More.

  Susan. The soldiers. Manos. The Queen.

  Her eyes flashed open and her inner lids descended.

  She was in The Eye of the Goddess. The center of her home, and so, of course, the place hydroporting Aegirans always ended up returning to on their journey. And she was not alone. As she turned and watched, she realized that she was on the Royal Dais, floating in front of an assembled throng. Susan stood beside her, flanked by two older Aegirans she was sure she knew. Her brain flashed the answer at her. Saskia’s parents. The broken ones, whose love and pain for their lost daughter was legend. Lecanora smiled as she watched them with their arms tightly around their returned daughter, like they were afraid to let her go.

  And then her mother.

  The Queen came regally towards Lecanora. She was as calm and careful as ever, but a bright light was shining from her eyes, and her face was curving into a smile. She looked so peaceful, happiness radiating from her as she wrapped Lecanora in her arms, that it took a few seconds after she pulled away for Lecanora to properly assess her foster-mother’s condition.

  When she did, her heart caught and squeezed. Imd was sick. Very sick. Her complexion was usually incandescent; pale, but glowing as though lit from within. Now, it was dull and wan. Her cheeks were slack, and deep lines etched grooves into her beautiful face. Lecanora needed to know. Is there pain?

  Imd stopped, her head on the side. Lecanora knew she would answer truthfully, as she always had, whatever Lecanora had asked, even when she was a little girl.

  No, Imd said. Not pain. Just…weariness. I am so very, very tired.