Archive of Our Own ^beta

Carla wondered what in the Ever Realm Queen Elena had been thinking, inviting her and her father to the Coronation Ball.

Was it some kind of subtle punishment? Elena did hold a grudge like nobody’s business. She’d kept Victor as a stone statue and Carla in the dungeon for over a year, and would have kept them longer if she hadn’t needed their help to free Ixtlan. To be fair, though, attempted murder, espionage and high treason usually came with a life sentence, so she supposed she should be grateful. It wasn’t easy to feel grateful, though, when she was surrounded by people who looked at her like she was something on the bottom of their shoes.

No one was asking her to dance. Mateo had, once, out of courtesy to his new apprentice, but since then he had eyes for no one but Elena. Even Victor was flirting with Señora de Alva over by the buffet table, and the older woman didn’t look nearly as put off as one might have expected. Carla told herself emphatically that she didn’t care. She brazened her way through the party like the outlaw she used to be, head high, smirk in place, stomping and head-banging to the faster songs like a Cordoban street dancer. If they had to stare, she might as well give them a good show.

Apparently, though, she wasn’t the only one being stared at tonight.

Malicious laughter that cut through a pause in the music was her first clue. A group of Avaloran noblewomen stood giggling and whispering behind their fans. When she craned her neck to see around their puffy gowns and spotted the person they were laughing at, she was struck by an unexpected surge of nostalgia for her time as a malvago. She could have cast Boqato! right into the middle of these idiots and knocked them over like frilly bowling pins.

It was Prince Marzel of Coronado, dancing by himself just like her. And yes, he did look undeniably silly, but also like a man having the time of his life. Also, whatever shiny, scaly stuff his clothes were made of, they fit him awfully well. She could see his muscles ripple with every kick, spin and flip.

“What is wrong with him?” whispered one of the ladies. “Does he call that dancing?”

“I thought his lot were supposed to be naturally musical,” scoffed a second.

“Doesn’t take much talent to hypnotize people into drowning, I guess,” sneered a third.

Carla could imagine all too well what these women would say about her if they knew her story. She missed the explosive properties of her black-and-silver tamborita more than ever.
The music stopped. Marzel came down from a handstand, rolled, and landed on his feet, red-faced, ponytail askew, broad chest heaving with effort. He was smiling, but the smile faded instantly as he saw the amusement on the faces of his audience.

“I haven’t had much practice on land, you see, ladies,” he said humbly, his flushed cheeks turning even darker. “If anyone would like to show me how you dance here, I’d be happy to learn.”

That was the moment Carla had an even better idea than Boqato. She dodged her way through the crowd and gave a broad, unladylike wave to get Marzel’s attention.

“Hey, Blue! Over here!” Not her most creative nickname, but then they didn’t know each other very well yet. The Battle of the Four Shades was the extent of their acquaintance. “I’ll dance with you if you like. I can show you how all the cool people do it - or at least how I do it, which is basically the same thing.”

“Señorita Delgado?” He blinked at her in surprise, then smiled. “I would be delighted.”

The next song started, and they were off. If each of them alone was a mess on the dance floor, both of them together were pure chaos. They stomped, they flailed, they wiggled, they punched the air, and at one point he grabbed her around the waist, tossed her up into the air and caught her again, making her squeak and giggle. She could practically hear the onlookers’ jaws hit the floor, but this time, her indifference was completely genuine.

At the end of the song, they flopped down into the chairs in the dining area, happily exhausted.

“Where’d you learn that throwing move?” asked Carla, as soon as she had her breath back. “That was awesome!”

“It’s a classic back home. I could toss you a lot higher there,” said Marzel wistfully. “Land gravity’s a pain.”

“Hah! I bet.” If he was this strong here, she could only imagine what he was like in his own element, or how much practice he must have already put in to function on land since the peace treaty. Carla respected that.

“Thank you for the dance. I … it means a lot to find someone here who’s not afraid of me. My parents told me earning trust would take time, but it’s not always easy.”

“Believe me, I get it.” Carla rolled her eyes in solidarity. “I’m not exactly a model citizen either.”

She could have bitten her tongue a moment later. Why did she have to bring up her criminal record just when they were having a good time? But this man was so disarmingly sincere that for once in her life she wanted to be the same. Her old self could have lied her way into his good graces within minutes, but right now she just wanted that clean, simple energy from the dance floor back again. Nice going, Carla. Should’ve known you’d screw this up.

“That’s right.” Marzel’s open book of a face became very serious. “Ash was your mother … and you used to follow Shuriki, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.” That didn’t quite cover it, but she wasn’t about to give him the full list of her crimes. She braced herself to jump up from this chair and bolt, sore feet and all, if he reacted the way a prince was supposed to react to a convict.

“Then you know what it’s like,” he said. “To get a second chance.”

His manner was so kind, so nonjudgmental, that she almost bolted anyway. At least being judged was something she knew how to handle. She kept herself in place by sheer force of will, following the direction of his gaze.

He was watching his sister, Princess Marisa, who stood mercifully far away from the group of Sirena-haters that had given him trouble. She was chatting happily with a very young northern princess in a lavender gown. Marzel’s protectiveness and pride in his sister were written all over his face. When he spoke of second chances, Carla’s intuition told her that he was more grateful on Marisa’s behalf than his own. Carla might not have any siblings, but she felt the same about her father.

As for her mother … No. She wasn’t going to think about that. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

“Yeah,” she said, clearing her dry throat. “Yeah, I know … but I’m not sure you can compare our second chances that way.”

“No?”

“I mean … you never personally drowned any Avaloran sailors, did you?” Somehow she couldn’t see him doing that, even if Elena’s peace treaty had never been written. He had an innocence about him that Carla couldn’t remember having, even as a child.

“No … but my mother was human. My father first met her when he sank the ship on which she was traveling. I wouldn’t exist if not for that. His second chance is mine.”

Carla’s breath hitched in her throat. The idea of a human and a Sirena moving past such a violent beginning to get together and have children made her bitterly envious. Her parents at least belonged to the same species and they’d still done their best to destroy each other … Stop it. Not now.

“I’m glad you’re here, anyway, Blue,” she said, bumping his shoulder companionably, determined to change the subject. “If only to finally get a half-decent dance partner.”

He laughed and bumped her shoulder in return, taking this as the flippant remark it sounded like, even though their dance - and most of all, their conversation - was something she hadn’t known she needed until now.

Second chances, huh? Carla mentally apologized to Elena, not that she had any intention of doing so out loud.

Maybe inviting her to this party hadn’t been such a terrible idea after all.