It's like watching someone try to talk through a mouthful of marbles, all sputtering and half-formed words and nonsensical gibberish. And suddenly, it hits me—Mirella's under some gag order, like a magical version of a non-disclosure agreement.
She's trying to tell me something, but she can't—the words are stuck in her throat and refusing to come out. It's the same kind of cryptic bullshit that Calypso pulled, all vague hints and half-truths and infuriating evasiveness.
I groan in frustration. I'm pissed off, in desperate need of a nap, and sick of this rocking ship; I bang my head against the pole like a particularly dense woodpecker. "My god," I mutter, my voice muffled against the wood. "Can't anything be easy?"
"Paper and quill," Mirella says urgently as if she's trying to impart the universe's secrets in three little words.
I stare at her momentarily, my mind racing to try to make sense of her words. It's like she's speaking in code—like there's some hidden message in her words that I'm supposed to decipher.
And suddenly, it clicks—she's trying to find a way around the gag order, a loophole in the magical red tape keeping her from talking.
Finally, the storm has fucked off to whatever watery hell it came from, and we can breathe without feeling like we're trying to inhale the entire ocean. We pick ourselves up off the floor and start cleaning up the galley, righting chairs, and chasing down all the shit that went flying during Calypso's little temper tantrum.
Most importantly, I managed to scrounge up a quill and some paper for Mirella because that's the key to unlocking whatever secrets she's been keeping.
We all gather around the table like it's storytime at the local library, and Mirella starts to spill her guts. "I learned to write after I found books," her voice all wistful and dreamy, like she remembers a long-lost love. "So many books, I love to read. That's how I found your tome, Dani—the book of the savior."
I do a double-take so hard I nearly give myself whiplash. Hold the damn phone—there are more books out there? About the prophecy?
And the fact that Mirella taught herself to read and write? That tells me this girl's probably got a stack of books taller than I am hidden away somewhere.
"Makes sense," Lucian chimes in from his side of the table, looking significantly less green now that the rocking has stopped and Seraphina is comfortably perched in his lap.
He gives a casual shrug, his trademark smart-ass smirk firmly in place. "I mean, every realm's got to have its own little stash of lore and prophecy, right? It's like a collector's edition with exclusive content."
"I found them in the Atlantean Ruins a while ago," she continues, all casual like she's talking about finding a particularly interesting seashell on the beach. "Cordelia doesn't know, of course."
Of course, she doesn't, because why would anything in this goddamn realm ever be simple? I look at Mirella, waiting for her to drop the next bombshell.
"Anyway, I read about you, coming with a crown and powers. Once I saw the crown—"
"The one you tried to steal," I remind her, with enough attitude to drown a small village.
Mirella has the decency to look embarrassed, her cheeks flushing a delicate shade of pink. "Yes, I am sorry," she says, all contrite. "I wanted to see if it was truly what the book spoke about, and I got a little grabby—once you mentioned you're the Savior and saw you complete the trial and retrieve the key, I knew you were the one foretold."
I sigh because what else is there to say? "Forgiven. Go on," I urge her.
That's when Mirella grabs the quill, dips it into the squid ink, and scribbles…
Cordelia stole my voice
I look up at her, my brow furrowed in confusion. "Wait, she did what?" I ask. "She stole your voice? As in, she literally took away your ability to speak about certain things?"
Mirella nods, her eyes wide and filled with relief and urgency. "Yes, that's precisely it," she confirms, her voice carrying a note of excitement at finally being able to communicate this crucial information.
I sit back in my chair, my mind racing to process the implications of this revelation. Stealing someone's voice is a level of magical control I've never encountered before, a gag order taken to the extreme.
What the hell is this queen hiding?
And with that, Mirella starts scribbling away again…
She hascourcursed and stolen all mermaid's voices tospekespeak the truth
Mirella is writing at lightning speed, struggling to spell her words. Or maybe, since self-taught, she still has a bit to learn.
"What truth, Mirella?" I ask, my voice softening. I can see the weight of this secret in her eyes, and it tugs at my heart.
Mirella gives me a small, grateful smile, appreciating my patience. She dips her quill again, the gesture deliberate and careful. I lean in, my eyes fixed on the paper, eager to unravel this mystery burdening her.
