Forgive My Fins

“Deserted?” Quince repeats. “How deserted?”

“You, me, and a palm tree,” I say.

“Not even an island monkey?” he asks with a smile.

I find myself smiling back despite my anger. “Maybe a seagull or two.”

“This is serious, Lily,” Daddy says. “Calliope will visit you to evaluate your situation, as will I.”

I release a heavy sigh as I sink back down into my seat. “I know.”

If Quince and I can’t prove we’re an unsuitable match, Calliope has the same power Daddy has to deny the separation. I’m not sure why Daddy is doing this, but clearly we’re not getting out of it. Now that it’s begun, I just want to get it over with.

“How soon do we start?” I ask.

Calliope brightens. “Immediately.” She gathers her massive bag from the floor. “I will be happy to show you to the island and explain the rules.”

I nod. “Let’s do it.”

18

The “island” is really a tiny atoll, a ring of sand-covered reef that peeks through the surface. At least the sand is deep enough to support some grasses and shrubby bushes and one sad palm tree that grows at a forty-five-degree angle to the ground. At the center of the ring is a blue hole, like a private plunge pool.

“The rules of the Challenge are simple,” Calliope says. “For the next two days you cannot leave the bounds of the island. If you need hydration or salinization, use the blue hole.”

“What about food?” Quince asks.

Leave it to a guy to focus on his stomach. We just ate!

“All necessary sustenance will be provided. You may choose to shelter on land, but I would recommend the pool.” Calliope seems way too excited about this.

I guess it’s not very often that she gets to perform her full duties. Especially in the case of a mer-terraped bond. Humans in Thalassinia aren’t totally unheard of; we get a few each year. But usually they are so undeniably in love with their mermate that a separation is unthinkable. My situation is unique, to say the least.

“You will be presented with three tests,” she says, positively glowing with enthusiasm. “You might not know you are facing a test at the time, but your performance will still be evaluated.”

“Great,” I mutter.

Quince asks, “So, we pass the tests, and then the separation goes ahead?”

“They are not pass or fail,” she explains. “Your performance in the Challenge is evaluated by his highness and myself. At the end of the forty-eight hours, I will make my recommendation, but the king will make the final decision.”

“Fine.” I kick at the sand. “Let’s get started.”

Calliope clucks at me—yes, actually clucks. “I’ll leave you, then. Your first test will be administered in the morning.”

She turns and dives into the sea, transfiguring from her finkini to her fin as she sails through the air. Great. I drop down onto the sand. The last thing I wanted this weekend was to be stuck on a stupid island with Quince. We were supposed to be separated by now. I’d been thinking, We’ll have dinner, then the separation, and maybe frozen sugar cakes for dessert. Not, We’ll spend two days together on a stupid island.

I need to get back to Brody.

Quince lowers onto the sand next to me.

“I know you’re pissed,” he says, staring out at the ocean horizon. “I can feel it. But we’ll get through this, and then it’ll be over.”

He doesn’t sound quite as eager for the separation as I feel, but he must want to get this over and done so he can get back to his regular life. A weekend on a deserted island wasn’t exactly in his plans, either.

“Even though it’s partly your fault,” I say, although there’s not a lot of accusation behind my words—he didn’t know the mess he’d be getting into with that kiss—“I’m sorry you got dragged into this whole thing. My dad is taking it kind of disproportionately serious.”

“No big,” he says with a shrug. “I mean, it’s not every day a guy gets to hang in a magical, mythical kingdom surrounded by beautiful mermaids.”

He leans into me, nudging me with his shoulder. Like a buddy.

Yeah, right. Beautiful. Not me. No one has ever looked at me and thought, Wow, that Lily Sanderson is one beautiful girl. On my best day, I’m cute. On my worst, a frizz-balled mess.

“You’re being hard on yourself, aren’t you?” Quince asks.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know for sure,” he says, rubbing his wrists on his knees. “I just get the feeling that you’re thinking negatively about yourself. I know that sounds ridiculous—”

“No,” I interrupt. “It doesn’t. The emotional connection of the bond gets stronger the longer it goes on.”

“Oh.” He turns to look at me. “So you were being hard on yourself?”

I can’t see any reason to lie. “I guess so.”

“Why?”

“I just—” I feel kind of ridiculous talking to Quince, of all people, about this. With the bond connecting us, though, he’ll probably understand better than anyone right now. “I know I’m not beautiful. Underwater I feel almost pretty, but on land…” I hold out my already-frizzed hair as evidence. “I feel like a mess.”

“You don’t think you’re beautiful?” His voice is low and uninflected.