The Twice Lost

Luce reeled back, her face flushing hot and her stomach tight. This was obviously a huge mistake—and it was humiliating that her friends were hearing a human speak to her with such impudence. But the fact was that they still needed help from someone on land. “I guess if we ever find anything like that, you could have it. We wouldn’t need it.”

Suddenly Seb’s manner changed completely. “I was just joking with you, General Luce. Don’t look at me like that!”

“But—” Luce started.

“I’d do anything you asked me, General. Tout de suite. I thought you knew that! Sure didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“We could offer you a title, Seb.”

Seb’s eyes widened as he gazed at the water just behind Luce, and he jerked back a little. Luce glanced over her shoulder and saw that the rest of the mermaid delegation had broken through the surface—and, with their crossed arms and annoyed expressions, they looked more than a little intimidating. Luce was especially surprised to notice Imani’s severe glare.

After a few moments Seb partly recovered. “Uh, what’s my title? I mean, general, I hope you understand, I didn’t intend any kind of disrespect . . .”

“Twice Lost Ambassador,” Luce informed him.

A flurry of expressions passed over Seb’s worn face: first shock, then wonder, and then tears came into his eyes. “Ambassador, Miss Luce? I got to say, I’m really . . . really honored.” After a moment, though, his customary impish smirk twisted his mouth again. “But I do feel obliged to inform you of something. I’ve been lost a whole lot more than just twice!”

Luce considered that. She recalled events that hadn’t occurred to her much during all the recent upheaval: watching her mother die when she was four, then her father’s disappearance. The awful loss of Nausicaa, Dana’s fury at her, Dorian’s shocking cruelty, and the massacre of her former tribe. “So have I. That doesn’t change anything. I’m still the Twice Lost General.”

Seb was nodding now, but he kept glancing nervously at the other mermaids. “So what’s my first assignment?”

Luce meant to smile at him, but she couldn’t. Their situation was already overwhelming, even desperate, and Luce knew that what she was planning to do was going to make it even harder for the mermaids to eke out any kind of victory. “We’ll come back late tonight. Can you get me a pen and paper by then?”

There was a brief pause. “Sure, Miss Luce,” Seb said gravely. “I can do that for you.”

* * *

When Luce flopped heavily into the hammock under the old factory, Catarina was already there. Luce flinched. She felt too drained to deal with a confrontation, but those moon gray eyes were watching her, steady and assessing. There didn’t seem to be much choice.

“Cat,” Luce started, “I’m sorry. I know I should have already told you—that I found my dad alive. And I know I owe you an apology for . . . for thinking you probably killed him . . .” Cat was still staring at her, and her expression didn’t change at all. Luce sighed. “I am really sorry. I know I wasn’t fair. I was completely sure he’d drowned, and since his boat vanished somewhere near your territory, it seemed like you must—”

“Oh, Luce,” Catarina interrupted. “That doesn’t matter much, does it? I certainly would have killed him, with great pleasure, if I’d come across his boat. He was lucky.” Cat gave an odd grin. “If it weren’t that I’ve accepted—for now—your perverse insistence on sparing human lives, I might still. Not if I knew it was your father, I suppose . . .”

Luce decided not to let Catarina provoke her. “Then are you mad at me about something else? I keep feeling like you are. I don’t know; it’s the way you look at me.”

“You’ve certainly been full of surprises, Lucette. I’m frightened by what you’re doing. I’ve told you that. And I’m extremely worried about you.”

Luce felt an unexpected flash of pride. “Do you still think everybody is going to turn against me?” The mermaids seemed so strong now, and in her heart Luce knew that strength resulted from the decisions she’d made. Even Yuan seemed to have let go of her obsession with the past, caught up as she was in the elation of their new challenges.

Catarina only shrugged dismissively. “Oh, for now, of course, you’re the hero. The great mermaid general, upsetting all the rules, bringing them the gift of a new way of singing, making everyone believe that they have a magnificent cause to live for.”

Luce flared up at this. “They do! We’re finally doing something better than just thinking all the time about what humans did to us, and killing . . .”

“They’ll follow you, and they’ll trust absolutely in anything you decide, Lucette. Until you fail, that is; until you disappoint them. Then, of course, they’ll go back to their old ways with a vengeance. And their hero will become to them the lunatic who led them into hell.”

What makes you think I’ll fail? Luce wanted to ask. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t ask that because she knew with painful clarity how horribly unlikely it was that she would succeed. The Twice Lost were holding the human military at bay for now, and they were making what Luce believed was a truly valiant effort. But in the long run . . . she had to admit that their prospects were still grim.

“This is why you need me, Luce. Because I don’t see you as a hero, and I don’t even believe in your cause. If we’re going to fight we should fight the way we always have, and the way they do: with death. You must have noticed when you were trapped in that horrible net that the humans hardly share your qualms about murder!”

“They will, though. They’ll see . . .” Luce trailed off, unable to completely believe in her own assertion. Would they even care that the mermaids wanted peace?

“Your followers trust your judgment, Lucette. Foolishly, I think. But I don’t trust you at all, and that makes me more valuable to you than any of them”

Luce tipped her head, wondering what Catarina was trying to tell her.

“I don’t trust you, Luce,” Catarina repeated. “I love you. As the naive mermaid I once rescued from drowning, and as my true sister. I’ve tried to see you as my queen, but I can’t, not when you violate every rule a queen should uphold! No: to me you are not our great leader, but only my strange little Lucette. And that means —unlike everyone else here—I can never lose faith in you.”

Luce looked at Catarina’s gray eyes, but they were gazing away into the blue rim of daylight beyond the pilings. Fiery hair sleeked around her pearl-colored shoulders. Luce wasn’t happy with everything Catarina was saying to her, but as she looked into her former queen’s face, she felt the almost infinite sadness there as if it were welling in her own heart.

And, Luce had to admit, it was a relief to think that there was somebody who didn’t see her as a leader. Luce hesitated, then reached out and hugged Cat tight. “I . . . love you too, Cat. Even though we don’t agree about a lot of stuff, and I’m going to keep doing things you think are totally crazy.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Catarina said again. “What matters is that I stay near you and keep you as safe as I can.”

“I . . . don’t actually need to be safe, Cat. If I can stop the war, then I don’t really care what happens to me.”

Catarina ignored that. Her attention had turned toward a mermaid Luce didn’t recognize: a too-skinny Asian girl, perhaps twelve or thirteen at most. Luce saw at once that this young mermaid was one of the hopelessly deranged ones. She kept writhing with a kind of exaggerated seductiveness, thrusting out her childish chest and licking one finger. Her behavior was sad and repulsive and almost impossible not to watch; it was a tic, Luce thought, like the way Jo was always gnawing on her own hands. “Like me,” Catarina said. Her voice was oddly flat.

“But she . . .” Luce didn’t want to say that the girl was clearly insane.

“She was sold. Like me.”

Luce understood—and at the same time she struggled not to understand. Could a girl that young really have been sold to be used in that way? When Luce stole a quick glance at the young girl from the corners of her eyes, what she saw in the haze of dark shimmer around that sleek head was too sickening to be borne. No wonder