Was Grandmother lurking, or did I imagine her thin, severe silhouette as I passed the grotto? I didn't try to find out, maintaining my steady pace.

It happened just as the distant shimmer above came into view.

At once, and without warning.

Sharp teeth tore my tail. Jagged nails gouged my skin. Vicious hands seized my hair.

Meeting the witchsea had pushed the group I'd seen earlier straight out of my mind, along with everything else. Now all I could think—as we spiraled through the startlingly-crimson cloud of my blood—was, Don't drop that clam. With its reassuring edges biting into my palm, I clawed my way to the morning air. The potion bubbled like water into the shell, and I swallowed every last drop before they could drag me down.

The agony of the change erased my previous pains. My eyes couldn't stay open and, blinded, I wondered if my tail was splitting in two. Not caring if I was screaming, moving, or still battling attackers, I surrendered.

***

The waves could have been rough, or gentle; I was only aware of the shell leaving my grasp. My body slid along until it reached hot sand.

I stared up at a blueness that was an immediate balm. My hair blanketed my body, its weight an annoyance I was grateful for. How long did I lay there bleeding, naked, numb, unbothered by the receding hot knife of the change?

I'd never know.

A concerned—and familiar—face blocked out the sky.

It was Brook.

I smiled and let go.

***

A breeze tickled my skin.

My dry skin.

Eyes snapping open, I sat up. I was on a...bed, hair heavy against my back. I lifted the thin material covering me to squint down at myself.

And there they were. Poking out from beneath the fabric that clothed my middle, pale and slender like the rest of me: my legs.

My gasp was a silent reminder that they'd come with a price. As I tentatively prodded the scaleless thighs and bony knees, my gaze fell on the white wrappings crowding my bare arms. I also felt them all over my torso, yet my legs looked untouched.

Bruised, bitten, and slashed by my own kind. Not what I would've expected after all of Grandmother's claims that we had nothing to fear from our own. Either she'd never known what she was talking about, or things had changed—their hate had been real, and clung to me still. The witchsea had been correct in saying, essentially, that memories of Father's rages were no longer enough to keep everyone in check. I should have paid more attention.

But I wouldn't allow it to matter now. I shoved to my—feet, wiggling one and then the other. I struggled onto the bed, standing and hopping in place. The single flip I attempted worked nothing like it would have underwater and ended with me bouncing facedown.

Raising my head, I squinted around. My sisters had told me so much, but I still wasn't prepared. I recognized things like chairs and windows, but most of my surroundings were foreign to me.

Abandoning the bed, I jetted to the opposite end of the room. I couldn't hear my delighted laughter as I sprang back and forth, but I could feel it. My steps were music to my ears, as was the chaos of noise when I struck what may have been a small table.

I jumped up, turned, and let out another silent gasp.

Somehow I had missed the human boy standing to the side, wide eyes on my disastrous spectacle. He was nearly as tall as I was, just as thin, and had short sun-polished hair.

"Um," he said, in the high, clear voice from the ship, "hello."

I pointed at him and mouthed, "Nate?"

His bright blue eyes—brighter even than the day—grew bigger as he seemed to understand. "Yeah, I'm Nate. Brook told you about me? She's the one who carried you here. I'm her little brother. Vicki—Brook's mom—wanted me to see if you were awake and hungry." He raised what he called "soup", approaching me with a measure of hesitation. "You're definitely awake. Are you hungry? Careful," he said as I took the almost weightless bowl he offered.

Thinking wistfully of my departed clam shell, I returned to the bed, Nate following to a nearby chair.

The soup was gone in one long gulp. It was the most delicious thing I'd ever tasted. I glanced up from the empty bowl at Nate, who immediately looked up at the ceiling, and winced.

"Sorry, I was staring." He gestured at himself. "I've been on the other end of that and it isn't nice."

I put the bowl aside. Each of his legs were held by some sort of brace. I reached out a tentative hand, letting it hover over his knee, giving him a questioning frown.

Nate smiled. "Goes right up my back," he said, pointing a thumb behind him. "Helps me walk—I can't otherwise."

Slowly returning my hand to my lap, I tried to smile back, but couldn't. The way that woman—Annette?—had spoken about him...the conversation I'd overheard...was this the source?

"Hey," he said, interrupting my twisting thoughts, "I like your hair. Green is my favorite, especially that sea foam color."

Distracted, I kissed his cheek, and shook with giggles as its surface turned red.

"You should get in bed," Nate said. He stood and took the empty bowl. "Vicki gave you good meds, but they won't last much longer." Propping up a fat cushion and nudging me against it, he pulled the sheet back over me. I beamed at him, and he paused, looking worried. "Listen, I can tell you're different. Annette will notice, too. Don't mind it—lot worse things you can be," he said, "than different. But you should probably calm down a little. You're lucky you didn't crash through the window when you were whipping around...you're still really hurt."

A beautiful heart, had the prince.

Footsteps approached.

"I better go," Nate said. "Don't worry, you'll be okay."

He walked smoothly, and if the contraption he wore had been invisible, I wouldn't have guessed he needed it. Mumbling greetings, he squeezed past two females as they entered. One was Brook, her black eyes latching onto mine. And one was a shorter, older, oil-haired woman with eyes the color of Nate's. Undoubtedly she was his Mother, and I had the bad sense that I knew her name.

Brook confirmed it, saying, "You can go, Annette."

Brook's clothing was loose, rich and colorful. As she came to stand over me, filling my vision, I felt minuscule in comparison. I wondered if I would have died, had she not carried me into her home.

The princess read her name on my lips, but after a blink of surprise, seemed to dismiss it as an imagined moment. "How are you feeling?" she asked quietly.

I nodded, failing to think of another response.

"Can you tell us your name?"

"Terra."

"Tara? No? Oh, I see, Terra. Can you speak?"

I shook my head, struck by the smile she gave as she said my name.

"Do you know who hurt you?"

Again, I shook my head.

"You're so tiny," she said in a low voice, studying me. "You must be very tough, to still be kicking."

I bounced a little, pleased, and she rewarded me with a small laugh.

"What's wrong with her?" Annette demanded, clutching at the string of gems around her neck. She'd stayed back, near the opening that led from the room.

"Nothing is wrong," Brook snapped, appearing disgruntled by the rude interruption.

"Nothing? She's obviously dull-minded. She could be demented! If she doesn't speak, we'll know nothing about her—"

The princess rolled her eyes. "Many people don't, by choice or condition. It doesn't mean they're stupid."

"Brook, I understand she's...attractive in a way, but she's also quite odd-looking—"

"She can hear you, Annette."

"There's something off," Annette said, her accusatory gaze on me. "Maybe her eyes are too wide or her nose too small...her mouth is certainly too large, that's been out of fashion for years...she's almost cartoonish." Crossing her arms, an incredulous Brook turned to watch the woman ramble on. "And why is she so pale? And look at her hair!" Annette wailed now. "What will people say? What will we tell them?"

"We'll tell them it's not right to laugh at you, even if you are hysterical—but that we'll understand if they can't help themselves." And Brook laughed in Annette's pinched face. "As for our guest?" Brook continued, winking at me, "I think she's lovely."

My face ached from smiling so hard, but Annette was unconvinced.

"Do you honestly? Or are you just being contrary? You might've agreed with my words if someone else had said them!"

Brook turned her back on Annette, no longer amused. "Mom won't be happy if she finds you in this room. You really should leave."

But Annette had to take one last aim at me. "Dear...isn't there someone you can call? Someone who can...take you?"

Leaning forward, I widened my eyes, twitched my nose, and then opened my mouth, as if shouting at her.

She ran.

"That," Brook, clutching her side, breathed, "was great. Truly, a slice of beauty."

I saluted her in the mermaid way, which clearly puzzled her.

"Sorry you had to deal with that. Tough pill, isn't she? You'll get used to her." She sighed. "I wish there was somebody to tell me that when I was Nate's age and she seemed like the end of the world in heels."

I didn't understand the exact meaning of everything Brook said, but the overall tone was easy enough to interpret, particularly after being confronted with that vile creature myself.

Brook's expression grew thoughtful. "I don't know what it is, but you're so familiar..."

I stretched both hands to grasp her face just the way I did on the shore that stormy night, trying to convey with my eyes what I couldn't with words.

Brook looked down, her cheeks reddening the way her brother's had.

Perhaps I had a chance with the princess after all.