Seventh Race

Phoebe

It was called the ‘coast of flowers’, but down here on the promenade, the theme was grey-white sand, steel-grey sea and a smudgy, grouchy sky. The day was heavy despite the tempestuous, gusting wind. Phoebe found a spot where she could lean on the railing overlooking the beach and chuckled inwardly.

The time of day was different, and the temperature, and the coast. Her mood was better too, despite the pressures of Tenebrae’s success. But it was still so like where she’d first met Thessaly. The space had the same shape, beach-facing buildings a stern wall behind her, low slope of the beach out to the rumpled tablecloth of the surf in front.

There were a few more people around, but it wasn’t as busy as a south-coast tourist spot might expect to be this time of year. Probably the weather keeping people indoors. Even so, Phoebe had on a heavy cap, pulled down low over her bangs, and tinted glasses. She’d wanted to wear one of her old Hermeia-branded caps, a private gesture of support for Lucia and the injured Olympia, but had been overruled.

Now that orange cap sat untouched in her hotel room, a plain black one provided by her manager in its place on her head. That was new, too – Cy had kept a light touch so far, but had also made it clear that signing with a PR company was an investment on their part and when he lined up ‘opportunities’ for Phoebe, she would have to take enough of them to repay that investment. In exchange, she got to afford relatively nice hotels and stay here in the south, near Soot, in between races.

By coincidence, that put her in the same region as Thessaly. Her tour had her singing in Savona, a couple of hours up the coast, one of her biggest shows yet. She’d somehow swung it with her manager to come down a couple of days early and take a rare free day to hop on the coast train and see Phoebe.

All Phoebe had told Cy was that she was meeting a friend, but she could tell that the man knew it was more than that. Also sitting in Phoebe's hotel room was a backstage pass to Mynah's next show, a big arena gig in Porta, the provincial capital, for the week after the race. A present for signing with the agency.

Thinking of that again, Phoebe rolled her eyes. It would be easy to fall into paranoia about all these invitations. She just wanted to race and keep the team afloat. And Thessaly was late, and hadn’t messaged to apologise. Probably the least Phoebe deserved after ghosting her for a month. At least the wind was warm.

Finally: “Y’know, you almost look inconspicuous.” The mermaid’s tone was biting, but not unkind. She, too, wore a cap with the brim pulled down, its dark blue offsetting her green hair. The purple of her eyes was lost in its shadow. Below that she wore a white sweater and a white pleated skirt, a plain beige shoulder bag hanging by her hip. She had to be wearing heels but even with them Phoebe was distinctly looking down at her.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

It was hard to see the mermaid as inconspicuous – to Phoebe she stood out from the dreary day like a holographic projection – but no-one bustling around them was giving her a second glance. Phoebe tried to relax. “Hey.”

Thessaly giggled. “Hey to you too. Come on, turn around. Back to the crowd.” She took a step forward to lean on the railing next to where Phoebe had been.

Phoebe turned, matching her pose. Presumably it was received wisdom that the people on the beach were less likely to look closely at them than people on the concourse. Maybe it was just that they were further away. Sighing, Phoebe said, “Is it always like this?”

“Like what?”

“You know… worrying about being seen.”

“Sometimes.” Thessaly shrugged. “You have to be careful, especially if you’re meeting other stars. Wouldn’t want to start any rumours, would we?” And she shot Phoebe a smirk.

Phoebe looked up into the brim of her cap. “I didn’t…”

“It’s ok.” Thessaly put her hand on Phoebe's wrist, and Phoebe couldn’t help but flinch a little bit. “Right now it doesn’t matter. We can worry about it later.”

“I-“ Phoebe paused. “Thanks.”

Thessaly didn’t move her hand. Phoebe didn’t dare move at all. The mermaid stared out to sea. Eventually, she said, “Will everything be alright for the race? With the weather coming in?”

“Weather?”

“Uh-huh,” Thessaly nodded, then pointed out in the direction she was looking. “Can’t you see it? It’ll be stormy all next week.”

Phoebe tilted her head to look at the mermaid, feeling a patch of cold on her wrist where Thessaly had lifted her hand away to point. There were sometimes squalls at the Coast of Flowers on race weekend, but the race was still ten days away. “What do you mean?”

Thessaly blinked a couple of times. “Sorry, I forgot. When you get cloud like that at this time of year, it’s always stormy. They get kinda heavy when they make landfall, stall out along the coast.”

Of course. There were still merfolk cities in the Taranto Sea. “You grew up here?”

“Not exactly.” Thessaly looked down, the shadow of her cap making her features hard to read. “My family’s from Sidra, but mom and dad were living in Calabria by the time I was born.”

It had been over fifty years since the last time war had broken out across the Taranto, but a major naval battle had been fought on the surface above Sidra, and the city had been devastated. Phoebe said nothing. What could she say to something like that? Her own grandparents had helped push the Empire into war with Carthagia.

Eventually, Thessaly said, “You really can’t tell the storm’s coming?”

“No.” Phoebe couldn’t even see what she was looking at. The horizon just looked like a grey smudge.

“Aren’t dragonfolk attuned to the air, though?”

Phoebe felt her crownfeathers flex open a little. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that helping anyone predict the weather, Thessaly. I get to featherfall instead.”

“Oh. What’s that like?”

“It’s just, like, I dunno.” How did you explain something like that? “I can just kinda float, drift, you know? It feels like-“ She caught herself. “I was gonna say it feels like swimming, but I guess that feels different for you, too.”

Thessaly gave a slight chuckle, then said nothing for a little while. Phoebe watched her delicate, doll-like features, the wisps of green hair fluttering around the edges of her cap. Eventually, the mermaid returned to her original question. “Will the weather be a problem for you in the race?”

“Depends how it is. If it’s really bad, we can’t fly, but if it’s just wet and windy then it should be fine.” Phoebe shrugged. “Bad weather races are chaotic, especially if it affects practice and qualifying too. That could be good for us here, if it messes with the big teams.”