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I count the broken shell fragments scattered near my toes, not allowing my eyes to follow the path of her finger. “Yes.”

“Would you mind showing me yours so that we may compare?” she asks.

I let out a shocked laugh. “People generally don’t compare their private parts for research purposes.”

She clamps her thighs shut, a rosy hue spreading across her cheeks. “I didn’t know that.”

I know she didn’t. From what I’ve observed, Mers rarely engage in sexual activity. Their reproductive parts are hidden beneath a system of scales and pockets that only become visible when triggered during short mating seasons.

Cordelia sat through lessons on land politics and customs to prepare her for marriage, but no one bothered to teach her anything about the body she’d be receiving.

Not that humans are much better in that regard. Daughters everywhere are expected to please others but never themselves.

“I shouldn’t have laughed. Blame it on the ale,” I say, sensing a sharp tug on our bond as her blush deepens. “It’s just that it’s frowned upon to reveal body parts that are normally clothed to anyone you’re not intimate with.”

“Parts that are normally clothed,” she repeats, fingering the scrapes on her bare abdomen. “What am I supposed to do about clothing? I always planned on using my Ocean Voice to compel someone into giving me a dress.”

The quaint shops in the distance are still shuttered, and the beach is empty. But the night is fading around the edges, and mornings start early in a fishing village.

Soon the water will be filled with flat skiffs. People will have to cross the bank to the harbor, and I don’t want them to stop and gawk at her nakedness.

I’ve witnessed plenty of visits to her suitors, sensing her hot bursts of humiliation when they ogle her body and make suggestive comments. My fists clench at the memory of a prince who made a joke about keeping her on display in an aquarium. After that, she had male suitors removed from her courtship rotation.

“Stay right here,” I grouse. “I’ll take care of it.”

Focusing on the thin layer of aether surrounding my body, I tap into its thrumming energy. All matter within my aura can be manipulated. I pull it in tighter, making myself compact and shrinking my few possessions along with me.

Once I’m a formless orb, I imagine the layers of the night folding around me and envision the place I want to be, pinching myself through the shortened space between.

I wind up in the middle of the island’s market square. Carts are already rattling over the cobblestones below as vendors move to their stalls to stoke their wood grills for breakfast.

I need to move quickly. Windows are being thrown open to let the fresh air in.

Hovering over tin-roofed buildings, I jump from sill to sill until I find a woman fast asleep in her bed. I shift to my full height and creep past her, taking one of the gowns drying on the line strung across her mantel. She snores as I pull the damp garment close to my body and whisk it back to the beach.

“This should work.” I land in the surf and shake out the dress. “Here, put your arms up and we’ll get you on your feet.”

Cordelia scoots back from the rising tide, and I drop the shift over her head. The stiff bleached linen falls over her thighs and lands around her calves as I help her up to a standing position.

“I’m not sure I can do this,” she says, her hands clasped in mine as she places her weight on the balls of her feet.

“It’s ok.” I draw her in close and bring one of her hands to my shoulder. “Hold on to me until you find your balance.”

She wraps her other arm around my waist, shivering against me as the early autumn chill seeps beneath her human skin. “That’s better.”

I rest my fingertips lightly on her low back while she shifts from side to side and sets her heels down before springing back onto her toes again, the top of her head coming up to my chin.

She’s not a particularly short woman. I judge her to be about five-foot-seven compared to the six-foot form I usually take when I need to pass as a human.

An inviting scent drifts on the wind, hints of warm driftwood and clean minerals stirring beneath an overwhelming note of briny saltwater. A musky sweetness emanating from Cordelia’s scalp ties it all together. I lean closer to her hair and breathe it in.

Her head jerks back, and she narrows her eyes at me. “This is so bizarre.”

“Uh…” I clear my throat.

It is bizarre that I’m sniffing her. I don’t know what’s wrong with me either.

“Sorry, that came out all wrong.” She squeezes my shoulder and flattens her feet. “What I meant to say is that I’m not used to seeing you like this.”