Strands of Mermaid Hair (Novel)

By Maria Rachel Hooley

There was once a girl child found after a thunderstorm amid a wash of shells and sea foam by Orsino, a grief-stricken king who’d only just buried his wife and unborn daughter. The king raised the child alongside his son, Orlando, dismissing the local belief she must be a mermaid. As the years passed, the girl grew into a beautiful young woman, the fairest in the land. As she grew, so did Orlando...and a love between them that even the changing tides could not break. She was never meant to be a princess but rather a woman to be loved by a prince.

While love's aim flies true, his timing fails the target. Even the strongest of romance is no match for war--this I promise you. For I am the mermaid child, and this is my story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Maria Rachel Hooley
• Release date: Jan 21, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463343579

Maria Rachel Hooley

Maria Rachel Hooley is the author of over forty novels, including When Angels Cry and October Breezes. Her first chapbook of poetry was published by Rose Rock Press in 1999. She is an English teacher who lives in Oklahoma with her three children and husband. She loves reading, and if she could live in a novel, it would be Peter S. Beagle's The Last Unicorn.

Book preview

1

The sea was my first world, or so Orsino had told me. Yet even now, as the tang of salt filled me while I stood on the beach, I couldn’t remember my first moments here. Gulls circled lazily overhead, sometimes dipping into the rolling waves before returning skyward. As far as I could see, there was only water and sand, save for the castle, rising imposingly towards the heavens.

The air was warm—far warmer than comfortable in this dress. Staring down at the brocaded fabric over a cotton petticoat, I longed for the days when I was smaller and could get away with wearing a much simpler dress, something without all the satin and splendor—the silk and suffering all ladies of high grace were expected to endure. And in those days, Orlando was always there, too—still too young for princely duties which would take him far from this realm, far from me.

The crash of the waves against rocks down the shore lured me back to the present, and I kicked off my shoes, determined that if I couldn’t have the freedom of the past, I’d at least allow myself the only pleasure I could afford now—walking barefoot.

I smiled and lifted the bottom of the dress to mid-calf length before scurrying toward the water’s edge, or at least as much scurrying as I did in a stupid corset, something I even hated far more than the dresses.

Staring out at the water, I remembered the story Orsino had told me night after night as he’d tuck me in. When I was four or five, Orsino had found me lying in the wave’s residue, completely naked and calm as I stared at the bright sun, mesmerized like I’d never seen it before. My eyes, he’d said, were the color of the water just after a storm. In time, he’d expected them to change, but they never had, and my hair was a deep auburn like burned copper in dying sunlight.

He said he scoured the beach, trying to find who might have left me, and yet there was no one, almost as though the ocean itself had offered me to him.

That’s a load of nonsense, Orlando would say, leaning against the doorway, his arms folded at his chest. His hair would slip into his eyes until he’d push it back, determined not to let it get in the way. Oceans don’t just spit out children!

Think what you’d like, Orsino would reply, cocking his head to the side. He’d not look at his son but instead at me, the daughter he’d always wanted, but his queen—Orlando’s mother—had died trying to give birth to one. The ocean gave her to me. I sent out proclamations far and wide offering gold so I might return her to her family. Yet none would claim her.

Glancing up and down the beach, I tried to imagine Orsino finding me here, on a beach where even my footprints washed away in the relentless waves, but I couldn’t. To my adopted father’s credit, he did offer a generous reward. The usual charlatans came forward with unfounded truths, and once Orsino weeded through their lies, he kept looking for the truth.

He never found it. So, I became his daughter—a royal child not born of royal blood. That wasn’t the worst of what I was called. No, when word of how I was found spread, with it came all the stories—a new lexicon of myths dealing with mermaids and witches. Someone even thought perhaps the dryads had something to do with it, but all the mystical folk kept their silence, too, so I was raised as a human child, and in that human body, I had a heart that failed me from the start.

Oh, it worked just fine, healthy and regular, but it beat for all the wrong reasons, and in that beating, it betrayed me. How it betrayed me.

Don’t think on it, I told myself, pushing the hair from my eyes. Granted, the length of it was fashioned into elaborate braids—just one part of the ritual that took half the morning to complete. Still, those strands were as rebellious as my heart, slipping free and twisting in the air as though nothing could bind them. I envied my hair.

Frustrated, I darted deeper into the ocean, letting the water touch my knees. Clearly the waves also soaked the hem of my dress, something Amelie would scold me for, I’m sure, but right then I didn’t care. The waves reminded me I was free today from castle walls and mannered lectures about how a cultured princess would act.

A lady definitely wouldn’t want pants, I said, shaking my head.

You’ve never wanted anything else, a deep voice mused, startling me.

I turned quickly, expecting a guard, but instead, Orlando stood there. He wore dark breeches and a white shirt that laced in front. The blousy sleeves were half-way rolled up his forearms, revealing leather bracers, and he folded those arms across his massive chest. He cocked his head to the side and offered a half-smile I’d come to know so well, the same one that made my traitorous heart beat even faster.

Don’t do this to yourself, that faraway voice commanded. He is your brother. That is all he will ever be.

I hated that voice and all it represented, and without giving one moment’s pause, I ran to Orlando and threw myself toward him, knowing that his arms would open and receive me. I watched them reach out, catching me. I felt them pull me close so that the side of my face crushed against his chest, blocking everything but the frantic beat of his heart.

For a few lost seconds, we stayed like that, locked in each other’s embrace—my favorite place in all the world. Then we slowly parted, albeit with much reluctance on my part.

I can’t believe you’re really here, I said, my voice breathless with excitement and tears I had to frantically blink away.

In all the years I’d grown up beside Orlando, he’d never seen me cry. I’d locked my tears in a treasure box, and in this moment, as I started to blink rapidly, I vowed that he wouldn’t see them now, either, wouldn’t know that I’d become such a foolish seventeen-year-old girl. It didn’t matter that I had become such a thing or that his leaving had triggered most of the tears I’d ever shed. I didn’t want him to know that.

I told you I’d be back soon, he murmured, trying to look into my eyes while I desperately ducked away.

You can’t always predict how things will turn out, I said, trying to ease my body away from his, knowing that was probably the only way to keep my emotions hidden.

Alannah? He gently wrapped his fingers around my shoulder and forced me to face him. To my great horror, then I felt his fingers dab at the tears I hadn’t had a chance to wipe away myself. What’s this? His voice was soft…kind even, so unlike the boy who would one day be king and never ever let me forget it.

It’s nothing. I jerked from his grip and savagely wiped my face clean, my emotions suddenly remembering to hide now as embarrassment kicked in. Although I tried not to look into his amber eyes, they found me, burning with such intensity that made me catch my breath.

Nothing? He frowned. Oh really? He scrutinized me, and I didn’t understand why. What was he looking for?

Yes, really! I snapped, suddenly angry, not just at me for being so stupidly female but for him for making me feel too much.

Funny, I could swear you were crying. Like a girl.

Not likely! I huffed, batting at his arm. As usual, I couldn’t hit hard enough to make him move or react. I just had something in my eyes. That’s all. I don’t cry. You know that.

You’re even hitting like a girl these days, he teased, now laughing. And your dress. He waved his hand up and down at it. Just look at that. He’ll make a fine lady out of you one day, and then where will you be?

Growling, I shoved at him, hating every word he said. When he didn’t flinch from the first push, I launched myself at him even harder.

I can still take you down like when we were kids!

That made him laugh louder. I thought he might actually double over from it while rage bubbled up deep inside of me. I knew he must have seen my red face, but he failed to take it for what it was—the only warning I could give him, and when at last I couldn’t stand the sound of his laughter anymore, I threw my whole body at him with all the force I could manage.

The moment our chests collided, I knew my mistake for what it was. Granted, I managed to knock us both forward, but neither Orlando nor I had any control. We were falling blindly. One of my hands caught his wrist, but the other was empty as it reached around his side while Orlando used that hand to break our fall.

He hit softly, and before I even moved, he rolled over. In a flash, he straddled me and braced my hands above my head, holding them with one hand.

Let me go! I yelled, squirming under his body weight, but my frantic movements yielded nothing. His grip around my wrists remained unrelenting. In other words, I wasn’t going anywhere until he deemed it best, and I could tell by his devil-may-care expression that it might be awhile.

I thought you said you could take me, he said smugly.

I can! I snapped. It’s this stupid dress. It makes everything difficult. And at that moment, I wasn’t kidding. Under that stupid dress was also the stupid corset, and with Orlando sitting on my midsection, I labored to take in enough air, which only made my struggles all the weaker.

Of course, it is, he mused in a placating tone. Let’s blame it on the dress, not the fact that I’m about six inches taller than you and sixty or seventy pounds heavier.

Get off, I gasped, suddenly really struggling.

He leaned close and whispered in my ear. Say ‘Please, your majesty.’

I had no choice. Either I was going to say what he wanted, or I was going to pass out. Please, your majesty.

As you like. He got up easily and watched me for a moment.

Although I needed to sit up, I was light-headed, and it occurred to me I might pass out anyway. It must have occurred to Orlando as well because he quickly bent over and hoisted me up.

Are you all right, Alannah? His arm draped around me protectively as I gasped for air. What happened?

Nothing that removing a stupid corset won’t fix, I wheezed.

For a second his arm went slack around me, and then the grip tightened all the more.

I never meant to hurt you, he whispered, his contrite tone far from its former haughtiness. I was only playing. I saw you crying, and I thought perhaps riling you up might distract you from whatever hurt. He cast his gaze downward, and I felt his lips brush my forehead, lingering for a few seconds.

I leaned against his chest, hating that he’d seen so deeply into me. I had no defenses against him.

It’s not your fault, I whispered. When last you saw me, I had successfully managed not to wear a stupid corset, and if I were the queen, I’d banish them for good. As I’m not maybe you could take up the cause for me.

In spite of feeling guilty, Orlando laughed, and the echoes of it rumbled through me. Somehow, I don’t think Father would offer his alliance on such a cause, my lady. No, I fear he would simply take the enemy’s side, so alas, I must pass, as well. Can you ever forgive me?

Although part of me knew he was playing, I wondered by the solemn expression on his face, if he were also apologizing for hurting me. Part of Orlando was like a deep river that suddenly dropped off to depths untold. There wasn’t an easy way to know what he felt unless he gave words to such emotions.

That always made it hard to love him so much, not just because I was his adopted sister, but also because of his silence I couldn’t breach. Only he knew what lay in his heart. Was he as doomed as I with his feelings pitted against a future neither of us wanted? I didn’t know. I wouldn’t ask him either, partly because I wasn’t sure I wanted to know and partly because I wasn’t sure knowing would make a difference.

Unsure of his words and his heart, I forced a smile and answered his question. Why, my prince, of course I can forgive you. There is nothing you could do that I would not forgive.

Ever the diplomat, he sighed. I think perhaps we should get you up and off this beach or Amelie will skin me for letting you muss up such a beautiful dress.

Without waiting for my response, he eased himself to his feet and then offered a hand so that I, too, could rise, and I did, in spite of all the fabric and petticoats obviously in my way. I was pretty sure that ladies were only meant to stand and be admired with such dresses on. Anything else was far too much trouble, I realized almost stumbling, which made Orlando laugh again.

Are you quite sure you’re ready for that dress?

No, I admitted. But somehow father seems to think I am, and he’s the king, so I’m rather stuck.

Perhaps I can convince him they are a menace to your health. He shook his head and continued to laugh.

Does father know you’ve returned? Once on my feet, I started trying to dust sand from my dress. I could only imagine how I must look to him with my hair slipping out of the braids and my dress all sandy. I’ll never be the lady Father wants, I think. Perhaps he should just quit trying so hard to make me what I’m not. Still, deep down, I knew father would never give up in that endeavor. Never.

No. I came out here first, figuring this is where I’d find you. Something about the water, little mermaid. He smiled and pointed to my dress. Would you like some help?

Yes, thank you. I was still smiling about my old nickname. Somehow, when he called me that, it felt right, like all the years that had somehow come between us melted away.

And then I felt his hands lightly brushing off the sand. Once or twice, his fingers lingered, and I straightened up and stood perfectly still, savoring his palm against my skin. It was such a stupid small thing, I knew, but the feel of him touching me always merited the same reaction. It probably always would. No matter how diligently I tried to tell myself it shouldn’t be like this, it didn’t change what was in my heart. I didn’t know how to change that. It wasn’t like untying a ribbon from a braid and shaking the hair free--not unless that hair had been bound in the same braid for years and even after you pulled it free, the strands only remembered being bound to one another so that they were forever crimped and changed. Freedom was an illusion. There was only one way for me to feel, only one person I could ever love. My heart didn’t know what was right or wrong. It did not ask for any of this. It, too, was braided well.

Yes, that was probably more like what was in my heart except there was no ribbon to pull free in hopes of changing anything.

There. You look pretty clean to me. He walked around me, probably still looking for sand. But when our eyes met, I knew that wasn’t what he searched for at all. I just wished I knew what it was. I wished I knew him half as well as he knew me. I’d risk swimming in the depths of his heart, knowing the truth could drown me. If only he’d ask.

Thank you, I said, reaching for my shoes. Yes, my feet were sandy, but I still forced my toes into them, knowing that Father wouldn’t handle bare feet. It wasn’t that Orsino was blind to the little insubordinations I engaged in on a daily basis. I had no doubt he knew about them well enough. I just thought he was rationalizing them away as small things that needed no attention. He knew I loved and honored him as best I could even if parts of me were as wild as the ocean I supposedly came from, and I knew he loved me like the daughter he so wanted but never could have had.

You’re welcome. The hair fell into his eyes and he pushed it away.

I looked at him, at the way the light seemed to halo his head and how it caught the dark brown strands turning them a deep red. His skin was dark, obviously tanned, and he was beautiful. So beautiful. It was all I could manage just to look away.

As we walked, Orlando slipped his arm through mine and then latched onto my fingers, the same way he did when we were children. In that moment, as my breath caught, I realized it felt nothing like when we were so much younger. We would laugh then, but now, there was no laughter. I just felt the heat of his palm against mine before the fingers closed snugly around my hand, reminding me of how large his was in comparison to mine, and his grip was strong and sure, as though nothing could shake him—something I envied because I didn’t think I’d ever feel that sure.

So, tell me, I said, trying to break the silence that felt almost possessive. What did you find on this patrol?

I didn’t want to know about any of this. I just needed the distraction so I didn’t trip over my own feelings and let something else stupid slip, something that I couldn’t take back once it had been spoken.

He took a deep breath. Nothing good, Alannah. While most kingdoms support Father, there are a few who do not like him, and at least one which is dangerously close to lashing out in war. I don’t think they have enough soldiers to choose that option, but the seeds of insurrection have been sewn nevertheless, and it’s probably just a matter of time before they have enough manpower so as to strike out at last and force us to answer in battle.

All this time, he kept looking ahead, his voice patiently neutral as he spoke of an oncoming war that we probably couldn’t avoid—a war that would put him and my father into battle where they might die. My stomach dropped at such a thought and I wanted to go back moments ago, to erase the turn things had just taken.

Is there nothing which can be done to avoid this future? I whispered, afraid if I spoke too loudly, the answer would be no.

He shook his head. I don’t know. It’s one of many things I will have to discuss with Father. He no more relishes the idea of war than you or I, but he will do whatever must be done, as will I. Again, he wasn’t looking at me. He just kept staring straight ahead, his mouth fixed in a frown I could not read about a future I wasn’t sure we could avoid.

How was it that only moments ago I thought a broken heart to be the worst thing I faced. Now, in light of this news, I realized how much worse it could get. The thought of Orlando never being mine seemed the most horrible thing which could happen, but what if he died in war? How could I survive that grief? How could I live with it?

My whole body stiffened, and I shivered. Immediately Orlando slipped his arm around me and gave a gentle squeeze. The world isn’t ending Alannah, no matter how much you think it feels like it is. There’s always a way through the darkness. We just have to find it.

He was so strong, so confident, so unshakeable. This was why, one day when Orsino was lost to all of us, Orlando would be the best king this land had ever seen.

I wanted to believe him, wanted to believe my world was as safe as it had always been, but something felt wrong, like the tide was shifting, becoming more violent. Of course, my fears might mean nothing. I knew how to read the ocean. I could sense the course the tide would take and when there was a danger in the currents. Even my father had learned to listen to me when it came to having his ships at sea. More than once I’d saved lives by reading the water, something that came so easily for me. Yet others were blinded by the flash of sun on the water’s surface.

My blindness came from somewhere else. It was men I could not read. Their words did not a truth make, and while many were good like my father, like Orlando, it didn’t mean I understood them any better. I just had to trust the future and hope all that swelled like violent tides in the hearts of men subsided somehow. But trust...trust had never been easy for me.

Orlando? I whispered, and we both stopped walking. I felt his fingers at my waist where he still held me. I wanted this moment never to end. The world around us was caught just as the sun started to set, churning orange and red into the horizon. We were both bathed in that bloody light and yet because it was one moment with him, the only moment I’d had in the last few months, I found it beautiful in spite of talk about war and destruction amid the uncertain future.

What is it? he asked, his voice low, too. I could feel it thrumming through his body, and that comforted me.

I’m so glad you’re home. I’ve missed you.

I’ve missed you, too. Another kiss atop my head. It didn’t matter that it was more like what a brother would offer. I’d take it. Whatever he offered, I would not refuse. I couldn’t. My heart wouldn’t allow it.

2

That night I tried to lie down and drift to dreams, but my mind kept spinning—kept replaying my father’s reaction as Orlando relayed news of his travels. I lay there for an hour at least before finally drifting off. Even then my scattered mind turned to a dreamworld where a battle raged on the beach. Bloody, mutilated bodies decorated the landscape by the castle. Yet that was not what drove me to wakefulness. No, besides the men fighting, Orlando among them, I saw great ripples in the sea, forcing my attention toward its depths.

For a moment, there was nothing. Then, as I stared, I saw a woman: someone with copper hair a shade lighter than mine, hair so bright, it cast a surreal glow in the water.

Who is that? I wondered, staring at her face. In that moment, the dream seemed to spin closer, allowing me a clearer view of her features, convincing me I’d seen her before.

Alannah, she whispered, her voice stretched like tufts of cotton.

She sank below the depths, leaving me to the sounds of clashing swords and dying men. Turning, I looked and found body after body, but I couldn’t find Orlando—either among the living or the dead.

Orlando? I called, whirling, desperately searching.

He is gone, someone said. I found an exhausted fighter whose mail was bloody and dented. I wanted more information, but he said nothing. Had Orlando just vanished, or was he among the fallen?

What do you mean? I shouted, striding closer. Take me to him!

The soldier