Out of Water

Chapter One

Ares was drowning.

He could feel the water pressing against his scale scattered skin. Seaweed tangled through his crimson hair. It tugged him downwards to where it trapped him against the seabed, ensnaring his arms and torso. Shells cut against his skin, coarse as a cliff face, spilling blue blood into the ocean. He could taste the salt which flooded through his nose, choking sea-green lungs that were close to bursting with desperation for air.

Cool. Crisp air. He'd imagined it so many times just the thought made him dizzy with longing. He'd dreamed, moment by moment, of the sea-breeze hitting his tongue, striking his tastebuds as it set off an explosion of new flavours. Next it would pour down a windpipe that had never experienced so much as a light breeze before finally flooding into his lungs.

Ares's strong, jade-scaled tail shuddered.

His eyes snapped open. The world before him was blue and murky: a muddle of seaweed, bubbles and sand. His palace bedroom was hewn from emerald sea-glass which picked up the weak rays of sunlight that managed to penetrate the ocean depths. It was bright, but offered little privacy from the bustling court beyond - achieving exactly what his mother wanted: to keep an eye on her wayward youngest son.

The floor was strewn with soft sand that Ares had smuggled in over time, filling his fists from the ground outside the palace and dropping it to the floor as soon as he entered the room. Sometimes, if he looked only at the ground beneath his tail, he could pretend he was somewhere else entirely. He'd heard rumours that there were places in the human lands comprised entirely from sand, without a drop of water to be found. Drowning plagued his nightmares, while deserts dominated his dreams.

His bed was the corpse of a giant clam, inlaid with tiny pearls and sea agate. It smelt, like everything in Ares's life, of sea-salt.

Ares sighed and closed his eyes again, picturing a wide open shoreline, evergreen trees and the warmth of the sunlight hitting dry skin. It was an imperfect conjuring; Ares had experienced these things only through reports, although he'd gathered many of them in the sixteen years he'd been alive. The crabs spoke of cool rock pools, the dolphins of the sea-breeze, but it was Flip, the flying fish, who'd told him about the ships.

Towering structures of wood, with fabric sails as wide as clouds, they floated across the ocean's surface, taking humans far and wide. And today, as it was Ares sixteenth birthday, he would go to the surface for the first time and see one.

Queen Amphitrite deemed the human world above the water too dangerous for young, impressionable merpeople, so none in her kingdom could break above the waves until they turned sixteen. It was known as a surface party and Ares had been counting down the hours until his since he'd first learnt to swim.

Ares flipped his lithe tail over, hunting under his sea-sponge pillow for the tiny bronze clip that was his pride possession. As a human object, it was contraband and Ares usually kept it under his pillow and out of sight, but today he wanted it near him. He wanted to feel connected with the human world he longed to be a part of while he watched ships skip across the waves. Without letting it out of his tightly held fist - eyes were everywhere in Queen Amphitrite's palace - he secured it as close to his skull as possible, keeping it hidden beneath his crimson hair.

And not a moment too soon - for the sea-glass door to his room crashed open to reveal his mother's herald, Cebren. "Your Highness," the herald proclaimed with a low bow that they both knew was for show - Cebren had no more respect for Ares than he would a sea slug. He only tolerated the young prince to remain in the Queen's good graces.

"The court have assembled: your mother awaits your arrival."

"No rendition of happy birthday?" Ares asked with a smirk.