Ecklon squeezed into the desk chair at Coralline’s bedside, but his frame was too tall and wide for it, such that his tailfin grazed the floor. Coralline herself sat not propped up against her pillows but with her tailfin over the side of the bed, next to his. At her mother’s insistence, she had changed out of the mourning-black bodice she’d been wearing all week into a sun-orange corset with incongruously puffed sleeves. She found the bright color irritating—it seemed to be mocking her mood. She tried to keep her unsupported back straight, but her vertebrae could not stop from slumping.
“I just returned from Hog’s Bristle,” Ecklon said.
There was death in his manner, in the quietness of his voice. The case must have been negatively resolved, Coralline thought—he must have been unable to disprove the murder charge against her.
Ecklon reached into his waistcoat pocket and extracted a serpent-encrusted dagger. It hurtled Coralline back in time and space—she was hovering again over Tang Tarpon in Hog’s Bristle, surrounded by his empty decanters of parasol wine, gasping as he bled to death.
“I interviewed a dozen dagger carvers in Hog’s Bristle,” Ecklon said, “and managed to locate the one who carved the serpent-hilt dagger that killed Tang. The dagger carver, an ancient, white-haired merman with weak eyes and steady hands, eventually remembered the purchaser of this dagger: a yellow-tailed merman named Sabre Sandeel. I obtained Sabre’s information and portrait from the Under-Ministry of Residential Affairs. I went to the designated house and found Sabre there, as well as Charonia—Tang Tarpon’s wife. Sabre tried to escape out the back door, but I managed to apprehend and handcuff him. Charonia, meanwhile, swallowed desmarestia, writhed, and died. Crying, Sabre confessed to Tang’s murder and expressed his motive: He loved Charonia, and she loved him, but he feared she might return to her husband again one day, so he killed her husband to eliminate that possibility. Sabre is now awaiting trial at the Wrongdoers’ Refinery for the murder of Tang Tarpon.”
How selfish Charonia had been, Coralline thought. Tang had risked his own life to save hers—finding the elixir to cure her spinal tumor—but she’d fallen in love with someone else. By doing so, she’d ruined not only her own life but also the lives of both her husband and her lover. . . . But by judging Charonia, was Coralline not also judging herself? As Tang had saved Charonia, Ecklon was saving Coralline, risking his career for her. And as Charonia had chosen someone else—Sabre, capable of violence against others—Coralline had also chosen someone else—Izar, capable of violence against others. Charonia had killed herself upon learning her mistake; Coralline was, fortunately, going to die soon, based on Mintaka’s curse.
She hoped death would find her before her wedding—even though only twenty-four hours remained to the event. She wanted to die not only because she could not be with Izar but also because she could not be with Ecklon—her betrayal of him was making her sicker by the day, like a dagger twisting deeper and deeper into her side. If she died before her wedding, she would not explicitly end her relationship with Ecklon—or tell him anything, she’d decided. She would not shatter him by her betrayal, as Izar had shattered her by his betrayal—his allegiance to Ocean Dominion. Coralline had other, more selfish reasons to keep Izar a secret from Ecklon: She did not have the courage to tell him about Izar, and she did not want his final memory of her to be polluted by her mistake.
“There is no more murder charge against you,” Ecklon continued. “Your name is now clear. You are no longer under house arrest.”
Even as he conveyed the good news, the manner of death remained in his voice. Given that it did not relate to the case—the case was positively resolved—could it relate to their relationship? Coralline wondered. Maybe he knew about Izar; maybe he was here to end things with her. She sat up straight and looked at him attentively, pining to hear him say that he no longer wanted to be with her.
“You are free to live,” he said, “free to marry.”
But she did not have long to live, and she did not want to marry.
“Is there anything you’d like to tell me?” he asked.
Was she imagining the emphasis in his voice, the new, rushed quality of it, the sense that he was punishing himself by his question?
“No,” she said.
“Coralline,” called a meek voice from the window.
Coralline felt her brow crinkle, but she couldn’t tell whether she was awake or dreaming. She vacillated constantly between sleep and consciousness, falling as smoothly from one to the other as the trickle of sand in a sand-clock. Whenever she awoke, she doubted she had been asleep; whenever she slept, she doubted she had been awake.
“Coralline!” the voice called again.
She hoped it was Pavonis, but the voice did not have his authoritative tone—it was small and tremulous. She had not seen Pavonis since he’d stormed off after learning of her impending death. Maybe he’d returned now, she thought, maybe he was ready to forgive her for leaving him alone in the world after her death.
Her eyes opened slowly. A tiny orange form was suspended in the oval frame of her window—Altair. He was thick and shiny around the middle, due to give birth soon to hundreds of seahorses. The waters behind him held the gray hue of evening.
“I’m here, too!” piped another voice, from much closer, the corner of Coralline’s pillow, in fact—Nacre.
“What’s the matter?” Coralline asked, looking with little interest from the snail to the seahorse.
“Altair has something to tell you,” Nacre said, turning slightly such that one of her tentacles faced him, and the other remained pointed at Coralline.
“I thought it my duty to let you know,” he said, “that I was wrong.”
“About what?” Coralline yawned.
“Before the Elixir Expedition, I believed in black-and-white clarity, in unerring monogamy. But I’ve been thinking about love ever since our return, and I’ve realized that being with the right partner enables one to glow brightly, while being with the wrong partner forces one to hide one’s true self, to live camouflaged, in essence. I’ve been watching you since our return to Urchin Grove. With Izar by your side, you glowed brighter than ever; now, without him, you’ve become a shadow of your former self. You’re so camouflaged, Coralline, you can hardly even see yourself anymore.”
“What Altair is trying to say in his long-winded way,” Nacre contributed, “is that when it comes to love, you should follow your heart, not your head. If you don’t want to marry Ecklon, don’t. But don’t you dare tell your mother I said so!”
Her eyes closing, Coralline started drifting again into sleep. A clammy form arrived on her right shoulder and nestled in the hollow, tentacles patting her ear. Previously, when Coralline had been unaccustomed to Nacre, she’d found any movement of the snail’s tentacles against her ear irritating, tickling, and she’d shrugged instinctively. Now, she found the movement of the tentacles soothing—they were Nacre’s equivalents of pats on the head. “Poor darling,” Nacre whispered.
Coralline nestled deeper in the bed. The bedsheets were Izar’s arms, beckoning her closer and closer, and she sank keenly into their embrace. . . .
Izar stood with Zaurak next to the closed door, in the shadows, awaiting the two lackeys.