I scoop a handful of sand into my palm and slowly let the grains run through my fingers. “Mmmhmm.”
He’s silent for a moment.
“Go ahead,” I say. “Ask me.”
Bran hesitates, but I can tell he wants to know. All humans, when they learn we’re not just a myth of the sea, have a burning desire to learn more.
“How does it work?” he finally spits out. “The tail.”
Because he can’t see me, I smile at the clumsy question. “I’m not half fish if that’s what you’re worried about.”
He’s silent, probably because he doesn’t know what to say.
“Harpies, minotaurs, centaurs—we’re all the same, born of different regions. We’re simply shifters, blessed with magic like gimlies.”
“Can you change into other creatures?” he asks, raising his hand to play with the ends of my hair.
“No, I’m a shifter of the sea, and that’s all my magic knows.”
I look over my shoulder, narrowing my eyes. “You called me a selkie. Do you remember?”
It takes me by surprise to find him so close, but I try to hide my shock.
His smile is lazy, but his eyes spark with humor. “I see from the look on your face I should apologize, but I have no idea why.”
“Selkies are seal shifters.”
Giving me a crooked smile, he shakes his head, still not grasping the problem.
I roll, facing him, careful to keep my arms close to my body so they won’t press against him. “Have you seen a seal?”
He chuckles, clearly amused by the question. “I have, yes.”
Motioning down my body, which is clad in a lightweight, flowing gown of my magic’s own creation, I demand, “Do I look like that?”
“You look like a siren,” he murmurs, the humor fading as his eyes trail over me and then return to my face. “I thought so as soon as I laid eyes on you. I knew you were going to be my undoing the moment I pulled you from the shore.”
My stomach flutters, and heat spreads through my limbs. I’m toying with temptation, but I can’t convince myself to pull away.
“True sirens are a different beast. They’re nasty creatures—vampiric sea witches who pull dark magic from the depths of the sea,” I inform him, trying to keep things light, though even the thought of them strikes terror into any mermaid’s heart.
“Bard’s have romanticized them, haven’t they?” Bran sets his hand on my arm, gently holding me in place when I try to roll away. His skin is hot next to mine, and I want more than just this simple touch.
I gulp, and my mouth goes dry. It’s becoming challenging to keep up the banter. “Bards typically do that.”
“But they haven’t lied about you.” When he’s sure I won’t turn from him, he brushes his fingers over my arm—up, down, and then over again. “You’re bewitching.”
“It’s the magic,” I say, feeling the need to move away…and shift closer. Both at the same time. “It’s alluring. You’d feel the same if you ever met a harpy.”
A smile tugs his lips. “What about a minotaur? Would they draw me as well?”
“Their magic is better suited for instilling fear.”
“And yours?” His voice has lowered, turned husky, almost as if he’s near sleep. “What’s it suited for?”
“Beauty, warmth, art,” I murmur. “We create, and we heal.”
I dip my hand into the sand between us and let my magic mold it into a sphere, which soon becomes translucent. His eyes are wide with a combination of fear and awe, and he moves back when I offer him the tiny globe.
Hesitant, he takes it. Inside the glass, shifting golden light twines on itself, sparkling, dancing. “That is…” he shakes his head, at a loss for words.
Mesmerized, he stares into the sphere for several minutes. I watch, silently bemused by his reaction to something I’ve been creating since I was a young girl. And exhilarated that I can draw this reaction from him.
Finally, he pulls his eyes to mine. “Why did your king create deadly storms and compel sea dragons to sink ships? Why would he wish to attack Triblue?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
We go quiet, both of us lost in our own thoughts.
“What’s the ocean like?” he asks after the long, heavy pause.
Closing my eyes, I picture it. “Quiet. There’s utter peace in the ocean. Everything goes about its business, happy as you please. You can spend hours, just watching the world pass you by.”
“How do you communicate?”
I wrinkle my nose, confused by the question.
“Under the water? How do you talk to your fellow merpeople?”
“We don’t.”
Now he looks confused. “You have no interaction? How did you build your cities? For that matter, with what did you build them? Are they constructed of coral and sunken ships as the tales say?”
I study him for several moments before I answer. “You think we live underwater.”
He looks mystified. “Don’t you?”
Rolling onto my back, I laugh. “No.”
“Then where do you live?”
And just like that, my laughter dies. I eye him, wary. Why does he want to know?
“What is it?” Bran asks, startled by my abrupt change of demeanor. “Should I not have asked?”
Shaking my head, chastising myself for thinking he’s using me for information, I say, “No, but I can’t tell you.”
Slowly, he nods. “That’s all right.”
If he were smart—which he is—he’d realize our home is dangerously close to where the sea dragons attacked his ship. I have no doubt that Croissin has been controlling the beasts from the comfort of his own throne.
But why?
Why stir up trouble with Triblue now? Especially when we’ve so carefully hidden ourselves from humans these last several hundred years.
“One more question?” Bran asks, somehow closer even though I moved away. He props himself up on his arms, leaning over me.
“You can ask me whatever you like, but I won’t necessarily have an answer for you.”
He smiles down at me, his brown eyes warm. “What happens if a human man falls in love with a mermaid?”
My pulse stutters, and I freeze like a deer, terrified to move.
“Is that allowed?” he presses, this time softer.
“It happens from time to time,” I manage to answer. “Though it’s generally discouraged.”
He’s even nearer now, and his lips are so close. All I’d have to do is lift my head, and I would meet him.
This is new and beautiful, but it cannot be.
“Bran, I told you, I don’t know how much time—”
His fingers stroke my cheek in their familiar way before they slip into my hair. “I will protect you—from death itself if the need arises.”
“You can’t promise that,” I whisper. Every inch of me wants him to lean down. My nerves sing with sweet anticipation, and my stomach flutters like mad.
“Then I promise to fight death for you until you draw your last breath—whether that’s in a fortnight, next month, or fifty years in the future. Believe me when I say I will do everything in my power to ensure it’s the latter.”
“Bran…”
“I am yours, Elodie,” he murmurs. “Do with me what you will.”
I search his eyes for several moments, and then I cup the back of his neck and drag his mouth to mine.
He groans—a soft sound in the back of his throat—and meets my kiss. It’s like my entire life has been leading to this moment.
“Elodie,” he breathes, pulling back just enough to pepper kisses down my jaw. His lips are gentle yet insistent, and I lose myself in the sensation.
His hands are in my hair; mine wander his sides. His kisses are sweet, walking the line of something more, but he never presses. Eventually, he pulls me close, and we waste the last of the afternoon light talking of my childhood, of his adventures, of everything and nothing a
nd more.
“Where will we go first?” I ask.
He rests his forehead against the back of my neck. “Waldren, safe across the sea. From there? Anywhere you want.”
The neck of my gown has fallen from my shoulder, but his fingers toy with a strand of hair just behind my ear, curling it and letting it free instead of exploring the bare stretch of skin. Even now, willing to walk away from his crown, he’s chivalrous.
Chivalrous.
It will gnaw at him for the rest of his life if he runs away with me.
It’s grown dark in our tiny escape, and I close my eyes, savoring the moment, knowing it can’t last.
“Bran?” I say, not sure if he’s fallen asleep.
“Hmmm?”
“You can’t leave Triblue.”
He’s quiet for several moments, and then he pulls me closer. With a world-weary sigh, he says, “I know.”
I set my hand on his and trace his fingers.
“Come back with me,” he murmurs. “To Triblue.”
And though there are a thousand reasons to say no, I clasp my hand over his. “All right.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Bran
I wake just before true dawn to the sound of gulls over the water. Elodie lies curled next to me, her soft hair about her shoulders and pressed against my chest. I long to touch her, but I don’t want to wake her. After all she’s been through, she deserves to sleep. Careful to stay still, in the quiet of the morning, I think of what she said about her magic.
Anger builds in me, hot and harsh. We spoke long into the night, and Elodie told me more of her life, more about her people. What sort of barbaric society sacrifices their women in the name of safety? I’m going to find Croissin, and there will be justice for what he has done, both for Elodie and the sailors who perished at his hand.
Elodie was right—I can’t run away, but not for the reasons she thinks. This isn’t over. What’s stopping this man from linking another young mermaid and beginning the chaos anew?
As far as I’m concerned, he’s formally declared war on Triblue.
She mentioned the enchantments that keep her people safe, though she was purposefully vague about her city’s whereabouts. After I dethrone their ruler, I will see to their safety. If I’m not mistaken, they must be close to the area we searched for the sea dragons, still in Triblue’s waters.
Elodie stirs, and I smile when she turns her head to look at me. Her eyes are sleepy, and her hair is mussed, but she’s still beautiful…and mine. No matter what I must do to make it so, she’s going to be Queen of Triblue.
Now that her memory’s returned and the ring means nothing, I no longer have to fight my feelings for her.
“Good morning,” I say, brushing a kiss over her temple.
She offers me a cautious smile.
“Now that you have your memory back, there’s something very important we must discuss.”
Frowning, she sits up, adjusting the neckline and sleeve of her lightweight gown, covering her bare shoulder.
I press up as well, trying to hide a grin. “What exactly do you eat?”
Her answering laugh is bright, and it tells me that despite everything we’ve been through, we’ll be all right. We’ve become friends, formed a solid foundation to build a real relationship on. The fact that she’s a mermaid means nothing.
“Mostly what I’ve been eating—fruits, vegetables, dried seaweed, and lots of salt. At home, we cook with sea water. Salt is a staple in our diet; it feeds our magic. After the men’s magic wanes, they may consume fresh water in small quantities, but they still crave the mineral.”
“Dried seaweed?” I ask, incredulous. Nothing could sound less appetizing.
With laughing eyes, she nods. “The women harvest it from choice patches near our island.”
Island.
I pretend I didn’t pick up on the slip. “Well, let’s get out of here so I can find you some.”
The cave isn’t tall enough for me to stand, so I hunch over when I draw myself to my feet and shuffle to the opening. There’s a slight ledge beyond the entrance, but it grows narrow until it’s flush with the sheer rock wall.
I purse my lips as I look down at the water below.
“We’ll have to swim,” Elodie says behind me. “There’s no other way out.”
And though I want to see her change, I’m hesitant. What does a mermaid actually look like anyway? Will only her lower half be affected, or will she sprout gills?
“It’s all right, she murmurs, picking up on my unease. “I swim well enough with my legs—I don’t have to change.”
“It’s all right,” I say, telling myself it’s the truth.
She studies me for several minutes, and then she nods and sits on the ledge with her legs dangling over the water. With a graceful scoot, she drops into the sea below. Her dress melts away, the fabric reforming over her chest, creating a ruched strip of fabric to stay modest.
Mostly.
“How do you feel?” she asks, oblivious to my discomfort. “Do you think you can swim?”
I clear my throat and keep my eyes firmly affixed to her face. The marks on her temples have become more pronounced, and they shimmer in the light like fairy dust. I can’t see her bottom half, but the top is distracting enough.
Rolling her eyes, realizing what has consumed my attention, she snorts out a laugh and gives me an impatient wave. “Most mermaids show more skin than this.”
Fearing that if I even attempt an answer, I’ll sound like Irving, I only jerk my head in a dumbfounded nod and lower myself into the water. It’s too cold for my liking, and I wince. “It’s freezing.”
My muscles are still sore, but I move my protesting limbs, keeping myself afloat. The water is deeper than it looks.
“I wonder where we are?” I crane my neck to look up at the series of caves and crevices along the cliff. “I don’t think I’ve ever been here.”
“There’s a long sandbar just beyond the cove,” Elodie motions toward the open water. “I don’t think ships can come this way.”
Depending on where Elodie dragged us, it could take days—maybe even weeks—to return to Saltwreath. I probably take too much pleasure from the thought, but that can’t be helped.
Of course, walking all that way without my boots isn’t going to be pleasant. I’m sure Elodie stripped me of them when she saved me. No reason to drag extra weight. Now all I have are my trousers, though they are ripped at the knee and stained with blood—my blood. My shirt was also gone before I woke in the cave.
I pull my attention from the rock wall, turning back to Elodie. She’s right there, barely a breath away, but I’m terrified to touch her.
“It’s all right,” she says softly. “I didn’t change.”
I glance down. Sure enough, I can just make out her long legs moving independently from each other in the water. And then I jerk my head up. Though she’s covered herself, my mind is traveling places it has no right going.
“Is swimming difficult without your…is it difficult in this form?” I ask, and then I clear my throat again when my voice comes out husky.
She studies me, likely looking for signs of hysteria. “This is my true form—the tail is a product of magic. I’m comfortable with it—but this is me.”
I lift a hand to rub my neck and accidentally splash myself in the face. I wipe away the water, cringing at my reaction. “I’m sorry. It’s just new.”
“I could spend every day of my life—every single day—just like this.” She motions down toward her legs, a direction I don’t dare let my eyes wander again, and then she swims closer. Her calf brushes mine, making my pulse jump. “But I couldn’t wear my mermaid form for more than a few days. It would be far too taxing to hold the enchantment longer than that.”
“So, you’re almost…human. In a way.”
A smile flickers across her face, and she sends a small splash of water at my face. “No reason to insult me.”
Laughing, acc
epting the challenge, I make a grab for her, but she’s too quick, even without her tail. Elodie squeals as I swim her way and darts from me like a fish. She’s fast. I can’t imagine how she’d move if she let her magic assist.
“Bran, you shouldn’t—” she gasps, out of breath from laughing. “You’re still healing.”
“Then let me catch you,” I call to her. She’s right—my muscles ache, but it feels good to move. I’ve adjusted to the chill of the water, and the temperature is now pleasant.
The sun rises above the line of the horizon, casting the water in warm morning light. The cove is stunning, untouched. Towering bushes that are as tall as trees grow on the cliffs above, and a patch of narrow shore stretches along the base of the rocks to the northwest of us.
Early spring flowers grow on vines that attempt to scale the cliff, digging tendrils into crevices to cling to the sheer wall. The white blooms unfurl as the sun hits them, and they turn their faces to the light.
It’s a small patch of paradise, and right now, it belongs to Elodie and me alone.
I pretend to swim to the left and just manage to catch Elodie around her waist as she tries to dart away. She squeals and splashes, but I drag her to me, laughing in a way I haven’t in years.
She only resists for a moment before she drapes her arms over my shoulders and pulls herself toward me. With my hands skimming her waist, I kiss her. She meets me with a desperation that matches my own. The kiss changes as it deepens, becomes slow and languid like sun-warmed honey. The water laps at our shoulders, and the morning sun shines down on us, taking the nighttime chill from the air.
“I love you,” I murmur against her lips when breathing once again becomes an annoying necessity. “I couldn’t tell you before—didn’t dare with that ring on your finger. But I do.”
“And I love you,” she answers with a sigh, and then she pulls back enough to meet my eyes and sadly clucks her tongue. “Even if you’re human.”
When I tickle her side, she darts away, laughing as she splashes water my way, coaxing me to take chase yet again.
When she finally lets me catch her, I rest my forehead against hers. “Do we have to go back?”
Elodie of the Sea Page 17
