Crown of Coral and Pearl

Sami stood next to his father, Governor Kristos, on the threshold of their house, painted a deep orange. The figurehead cast her long shadow over them, her blank eyes staring out to sea. Sami and I shared a momentary glance, his jaw clenching before his gaze returned to his feet.

“Good people of Varenia,” Governor Kristos began. He was a tall man with broad shoulders and a thick brown beard streaked with silver. “From our humble beginnings, our village has been blessed by the sea. Not only does it feed and shelter us, but these waters have made us strong and virile. Our oldest villager has just celebrated her one hundred and fiftieth year, as you know.”

Hundreds turned toward a boat near the dock, where Old Mother Agathe sat surrounded by her seven elderly children and countless grandchildren and great-grandchildren. We all bowed our heads in respect.

“Now the time has come to send one of our daughters to Ilara, where she will someday be queen. It is a loss for us all but also a great honor, and we do so not out of necessity but generosity.”

I almost scoffed out loud but managed to hold it in. No, it wasn’t necessary, as long as we didn’t mind having our food and water supply permanently cut off. I didn’t know when the Varenian tradition of handing over pearls and women had evolved from penance to retribution, when the vow to never set foot on land had become a law enforced under pain of death—but I knew I would have rowed to shore a long time ago if I’d had any choice in the matter.

The governor walked down the dock toward us girls, lined up like jewels on a chain. “The elders spoke long into the night as they considered this most important of decisions.”

I glanced at the elders from the corner of my eye. They sat in chairs in front of the governor’s house, a group of thirteen men and women who looked remarkably alert, given that not one was less than a hundred years old.

“Elder Nemea, would you like to make the announcement?” the governor asked a woman sitting in the center. Her braid, as white as sea foam, hung to her knees, and her faded skirts dragged behind her as she made her way slowly down the dock. Alys stood closest to the governor’s house, and I felt the intake of breath all around me as the elder drew near her.

But she did not stop, and from somewhere behind me, I heard a gasp, followed by a muffled sob. That would be Alys’s mother, a woman nearly as ambitious as our own. Once we passed from girlhood into young womanhood, our mother had forbidden us to socialize with Alys, something that had always saddened me. After all, if anyone in Varenia understood what our lives were like, it was Alys.

Zadie stood to my left, and Elder Nemea approached from my right. I kept my gaze lowered, as was customary in the presence of elders. Nemea’s worn slippers came into view, and for one moment, I wondered if there was any chance she might stop in front of me. It was a silly—and fleeting—thought, for the next second she halted, directly in front of Zadie.

No one but a sister would have noticed, but I heard Zadie’s breath quicken, just a fraction. I couldn’t help myself: I looked up. Elder Nemea had raised one arm and placed her gnarled hand on Zadie’s shoulder. I scanned the crowd for Mother and Father, whose boat was near the front of the crowd. Mother’s eyes were locked on Zadie, and she made no effort to conceal the grin splitting her face.

“Zadie,” Elder Nemea began. “In one week’s time, you will leave for Ilara to marry Prince Ceren. You have brought honor to your family and all of Varenia.”

Zadie bowed her head as Governor Kristos stepped forward to place a wreath of rare white seaflowers on her like a crown, a symbol of the real crown she would wear soon enough. He kissed her gently on each cheek. “My dear girl, we will miss you,” he whispered so only Zadie and I could hear.

“And I you,” she said.

He turned away from Zadie to face the people. “The elders have chosen!” he shouted. “And now, let us celebrate!”

A cheer rose up from the crowd, and I had to clench my hands into fists at my side to keep from reaching for my sister. When I glanced at Sami, I saw that his hands were balled as tightly as mine.

One week was all we had left. And then we’d never see Zadie again.



      3



While the rest of the village broke open jugs of homemade wine and heaped our parents with praise, I retreated to our family’s boat below the governor’s house. I told myself my sorrow was purely for my sister, but a small part of me wept for my own loss. Not only would I spend the rest of my life in Varenia, I would do it without Zadie.

“Nor?”

I looked up to see Sami on the ladder leading down from his house. “Mind if I join you?” he asked. “I’m not really in the mood for celebrating.”

I burst into a fresh bout of sobs as he dropped into the boat beside me.

“Oh, Nor. Please don’t cry.” He pulled me into his arms and held me while I tried to staunch the flow of my tears. There was an old legend that said pearls were the tears of the gods, but we mortals wept only saltwater, and we had more than enough of that around here.

Sami smoothed my hair back from my face. “This is what’s best for Zadie, and for your family.”

I glanced up, shocked. “What?”

“It’s an honor, Nor. The highest honor.”

“That’s a lie, and you know it. If it’s such an honor, why don’t the Ilareans choose someone from their own kingdom? If we’re so special, why aren’t the rest of us allowed on land?”

“Nor—”

I pushed away from him and moved to the other bench. “She loves you, Sami. She told me last night. And now she has to leave us and marry some prince who will never make her happy.”

Now it was his turn to look shocked. “She loves me?”

“Yes.” I wiped the tears away with the back of my hand. “She said she doesn’t want to go, that she wants to stay here and marry you.”

Sami sat motionless for several minutes.

“Say something,” I said finally. “What are you thinking?”

“She loves me.”

“Is that really so hard to believe?”

“Yes!” He started to run his fingers through his brown hair before he remembered he was supposed to look dignified today. “I always hoped she loved me, and I sometimes thought that maybe she had feelings for me, but every time I tried to get closer, she pushed me away. I thought she wanted to go to Ilara. I thought every girl did.”

“Trust me, so did I.”

He shook his head and lowered his gaze. “Our fathers have been talking.”

I fiddled with a loose thread on my bodice. “They always talk.”

“No, this is different. My father told me tonight, that you and I are to be...”

I dropped my hands. “To be what?”

Sami dragged his eyes up to mine. “To be married.”

The word hung in the air between us, as heavy as a storm cloud.

“Married,” I repeated.

“As soon as we turn eighteen. Our fathers have always wanted this, I think, for our two families to be joined. They’ve always felt like brothers, and now they will be.”

“But we can’t marry,” I blurted. “We don’t love each other.”

He sighed in exasperation. “Love isn’t a requirement for marriage, Nor. Do you think Zadie will love Prince Ceren?” He spat the name out like a bitter pip.

“My parents married for love, and so did yours. If we talk to them, tell them what Zadie told me last night, maybe they’ll change their minds.”

But Sami already looked resigned. “The elders made this decision, not our parents. It just so happens it’s what they wanted, too.”

I was too stunned now to cry. I hadn’t known what life without Zadie would look like, but I hadn’t expected this.

The boat rocked back and forth as Sami came to sit next to me. “It could be worse,” he said softly. “They could have arranged for me to marry Alys. And you could have been stuck with anyone. Would you have wanted that?”

I fisted my hands in my skirts. “No, of course not. It’s just all too much right now. I can’t make sense of it.”

“At the very least, you’ll be provided for. And when I’m the governor, I will stand up to the Ilareans, unlike my weak father.”

I shot him a look out of the corner of my eyes. “Careful, Sami. Your father isn’t too weak to stripe you like a sea snake if he hears you talk like that.”

He wrapped an arm around my shoulders, and I knew then why we could never marry: because where he touched Zadie almost reverently, as if she were as fragile as a bird’s egg, he touched me like a brother touches a sister. It was too comfortable, too self-assured. A man was supposed to envy every wave that touched his lover’s body, not rest his arm on her shoulder like a cushion.

I shrugged out from under his arm. “I should find Zadie now. We haven’t had a chance to speak.”