I slid the photo back into the box, along with the rings and my drawing, then closed the lid and put it on my dresser next to its twin, the one I’d had for as long as I could remember.
The letter I kept.
I was scared to open it, terrified to read my mother’s last words to me. Would they be enough to satisfy the questions in my soul, or would they do nothing but give me more? I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life without answers, looking over my shoulder and trying to figure out what should have been.
I debated whether or not I wanted to open the letter for a long time, until finally I grabbed my hoodie and pulled it on. I shoved the envelope and Kona’s stone into my pocket and took the stairs two at a time.
“Where are you going?” my dad asked. He had given up on the couch, was now sitting at the dining room table on his laptop while my brothers played video games in the other room.
“Down to the beach for a while.”
“It’s night, Tempest. And cold out. Don’t you think you should stay in?”
I knew what he was asking, knew there was so much more to the questions than the words he said. I wanted to reassure him that there was nothing to worry about, but I didn’t know if that was true. If my time underwater had taught me anything, it was that there were no guarantees. And something inside me was pushing at me, telling me to hurry. Already my body was awakening, yearning for the sweet kiss of the water against my too-cold skin.
I stopped beside him, kissed him on the cheek. “I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you too.” He squeezed my hand, then turned back to the computer. “Don’t stay out there too long. I don’t know how safe it is.”
I wanted to laugh. After what I had faced down, there wasn’t much that I was afraid of anymore.
Then I was letting myself out the door and running to the beach, my hair and my worries trailing behind me like forgotten lore.
Once I hit the sand, I yanked the letter out of my pocket and positioned myself so that I was under the big yellow streetlight that was as much a beacon as it was a lamp. The paper was older than I thought and a million times more fragile, so I was careful as I began to read.
My darling Tempest,
I wish that I had an excuse. Wish that I could point to a definitive reason and tell you this was why. I know that even after all these years, this is what you are looking for. Something to tell you why it happened. Something that you can blame.
But you see, you had it right all along. Blame me. No one forced me into that sea six years ago and no one forced me to stay. It was a choice just as what you do now is a choice.
I sit here writing this, and I have to admit that I am curious. How did things work out? If you have this letter, it means you’ve come into the ocean to get it and that makes me doubly curious—as your mother and as the woman who has battled Tiamat for far too long.
I’ll be honest. Mermaids are supposed to live close to one thousand years and I am little more than six hundred. But I am tired, Tempest, so tired of the life that I have chosen. I miss the comforts of home, miss you and your father and the boys. How is Moku? How strange to know that my baby is eight and you—you are seventeen.
Which means I should have some advice for you—for you and Rio and Moku. But I don’t, because there is nothing I can tell you that you’ll believe. Nothing that I can say that you won’t need to find out on your own. Except choose wisely. Please, Tempest, choose more wisely than I ever did.
Saving your family, saving your clan, saving the world, is an addiction. But at the end, when you are old and tired, it is not enough. Nothing is enough that doesn’t come with peace of mind. Nothing is enough that doesn’t come with love. That is the lesson I have learned and I have learned it too late.
That being said, I have a favor to ask of you. I have no right to ask it, but I find that I must. My queen is ancient, my clan more so, but in a very precarious state. Despite our longevity we are on the brink of disaster—too many have had to put themselves above the clan.
Hailana needs you. My clan needs you.
I won’t beg, won’t take up any more of your time, except to say that you are more than I ever dreamed and yet still less than you could be. Thank you, Tempest, for loving me when understanding was too hard. Thank you for understanding when loving me is impossible.
Choose wisely.
I love you,
Mom
My hands clenched into fists and before I knew what I was doing, I had crumpled the letter into nothingness. Opening my fingers slowly, I watched as the wind caught the small fragments. Watched as they danced away on a current so sweet and pure that for a moment they looked like butterfly wings beating against the night air.
I watched the tiny pieces until they were out of sight and thought about choices. Thought about love. And when I turned, he was there, as I somehow knew he would be.
“Kona.”
He smiled. “Tempest. What are you doing here?”
“I think that’s my line, isn’t it?”
“No. I’m pretty sure it’s mine.” He watched me with those smoky eyes I had come to love so much. “I’m here a lot more often than you are, at least at night.”
“You are?”
“I am.” He reached for me, turned me gently around until I was facing away from the water and toward my house. “You see, if I sit here long enough and look hard enough, I can just make you out through one of those windows.” He pointed to the family room and then to my bedroom.
“You’ve been watching me?” My breath caught in my throat, making it almost impossible to get the words out.
He mistook my tone for anger and stepped away. “I’m sorry. I knew it was wrong, but it was the only chance I had to see you. You never came down to meet me.”
I thought of all those nights, like tonight, when I had felt restless. When I had wanted nothing more than to walk along the ocean and let the waves tickle my toes. When I had wanted him with an intensity so painful it had all but crushed me.
I had ignored the longing for weeks now, had crushed it out beneath the weight of my anger and my guilt. I’d almost done the same thing tonight.
If I had, would that have been it? I wondered, horrified. Would I have missed this chance?
Kona stepped closer, close enough that I could feel his body heat and his breath as it mingled with my own. “No. You wouldn’t have missed anything.” He reached for my hands, brought them to his lips, and brushed feather-light kisses against each one of my fingertips.
“I’m not going anywhere, Tempest. I’ll stand out here as long as I have to. As many nights or weeks or months as it takes.”
“And years?” My voice was rusty, my throat thick with tears. “Will you wait years for me, Kona? If you have to?”
“I’ll wait forever.” He swallowed and his hands tightened on mine. “But please don’t, Tempest. Please don’t make me wait that long. I’m useless without you.”
I didn’t answer him for long moments, just stood back and looked at him. I was starved for the sight of him, for the feel of his body under my fingers and the soft brush of his mind against my own.
The joy of being with him again swelled like a balloon inside of me, until it filled up all the holes and crevices that had stood empty since I’d left him.
I smoothed my hands up his chest, wanting to touch all of him at once. Wanting to crawl so deep inside of him that he could never get me out.