Sea Witch and the Magician

by Savage, Vivienne

  She abandoned her play in the snow and hurried back to his side, excited by the prospect of another trip into their city. No, excited to spend more time alone with him, each minute in his company another chance to earn his love. She clasped his arm and tilted her smiling face up to meet his gaze. Then Joren stroked her cheek, brushing aside the moisture left behind by the snow, and her knees wobbled.

  “Cold?”

  She shook her head and her hood fell back. Joren gently drew it back up. For a moment, they remained there, staring at one another, and hope bloomed in her heart. Hope that he would kiss her. Hope that he might care for her as more than a wayward stranger to be coddled and entertained out of duty.

  Then Joren stepped back and the moment was lost, but her hope remained.

  * * *

  It had been a year since Joren last enjoyed the entertainment and fine cuisine in the city. Longer still since he’d shared the experience with anyone other than his sister or his officers. He escorted Coral through the main square, where a quartet played and two dancers put on an acrobatic display, leaping and tumbling with silken scarves trailing behind them. While he had always appreciated their street entertainers, seeing the wonder on Coral’s face made him watch with new eyes.

  Her enraptured gaze followed the pair back and forth across the square, and she swayed slightly, moving back and forth in time to the music.

  “Do you like to dance?” he asked, voice quiet. She ducked her head and stilled, shy again. “No, please don’t stop. I’m glad you enjoy it.”

  Coral glanced up, her lower lip caught between her teeth. Her plump, kissable, beautifully rosy lip. With gargantuan effort, he pulled his thoughts from that dangerous musing and turned his attention back to the performance. Except his mind kept wandering, returning to the silent enigma beside him.

  “I know it’s hard right now for you and me to communicate, but I’d like to know more about you,” he coaxed, nudging her shoulder in an attempt to resume her earlier sway. “I’ve been to a dance or two in my time. Some say I’m rather good at it.”

  She peeked up at him with humor restored to her brown eyes. Not brown like dirt, but golden as the lime flower honey collected from Eisland’s green valleys. He offered his hand. Even in gloves, her hand fit in his, proven when she laced their fingers together. Joren drew her in, wrapping his free arm around her waist, and began to move to the music—slowly at first, in the guiding steps of an easy dance.

  “See? I haven’t stepped on your toes once. I’m not nearly so much the blundering oaf as my illness aboard the Jolly Roger would have you think.”

  Her smile was worth her first few clumsy steps. A quick learner, she set her free hand on his chest over his heart. Soon, they were waltzing along the square’s borders. Applause broke out the moment they finished, bringing the world back into focus around him. Until that moment, he’d forgotten the people around them, lost in the music and Coral. She had utterly bewitched him, and he couldn’t care less who saw them, who gossiped, and whether his likeness ended up in the morning edition of the Daily Blizzard, speculating that Prince Joren was yet again on another bride hunt.

  “You’re a siren,” he whispered as her dark eyes opened wide. Before he could lose his nerve, he ceased resisting and gave in to the impulse that had been driving him from the moment he saw her face. The moment his lips settled over hers, Coral tensed in his embrace.

  Joren realized his mistake too late and by the time his brain and his body caught up to one another, she’d taken a step back.

  It wouldn’t be the first time he’d completely ruined a date and put a young woman off. With Anastasia, he’d been foolish enough to mention their kingdom’s backwards laws regarding women and sorcery—since changed by his sister, who was every bit as skilled as he, if not his superior in magic. With Victoria, he’d come on too strong.

  With Lady Ainsley, he’d spoken of children on the first date, foolish enough to mention wanting a half dozen, since he and Rapunzel had been lonely throughout their childhood despite having one another. The atmosphere swiftly crumbled afterward, her liveliness and smiles flaking like dry pastry.

  He’d learned later from her older brother that his sister was barren, an unfortunate side effect of a childhood illness. Her youth had been peppered with an unusual number of diseases, her fragile constitution plaguing her with every sickness from Blue Flux to Wyvern Pox.

  The girl should have been raised in a bubble.

  After that, he’d had an awful series of dates, courting noble girls throughout Creag Morden and Eisland without hope.

  Now there was Coral, the latest victim of his romantic curse. What the hell had he done?

  Coral no longer looked at him, her longing gaze fixed on the snow flurries tumbling from the sky. “Coral?” he murmured. Her gaze snapped back to his face. He cupped her cheek in his gloved palm. “Have I upset you? Did I read you wrong?” Worse, he wondered if he’d imagined something that didn’t exist, mistaking Wai Alei kindness for mutual attraction.

  Coral shook her head.

  “I’m sorry. I realize you can’t speak, and it’s more difficult for you to express yourself. If I’ve overstepped boundaries, there’s no danger in telling me to keep my lips to my—”

  Her mouth was against his again, claiming it in a kiss that lacked any subtlety, all fire and heat that should have melted the snow around them and scorched the earth. The rest of the city faded from Joren’s awareness, and for that moment, his entire world stopped.

  It was just them, and the softness of her body pressed close, her hands in his hair anchoring him in place. He met the stroke of her tongue with his own, gaining confidence to wrap his arm around her waist and hold her sweet curves against his harder, leaner body.

  Eventually, her lips drifted over his cheek, dusting little kisses against his jaw, then his chin, and then she stood on tiptoe and tilted her brow against his forehead.

  That much he recognized from the islanders as a gesture of affection, though he’d only observed it a handful of times during his brief stay. The cold tension in his shoulders thawed, and the hard knot of dread in the pit of his stomach finally loosened, because for the first time in too many years, he had not sent a woman fleeing his company.

  “Every day in your company is a blessing, Coral. Thank you for coming into my life.” Joren laced their fingers together, chest tight from a heart so full he thought it would burst. He didn’t want the night to end. “Now, shall we stop for hot chocolate?”

  Chapter 10

  Bundled in her new outfit, Caecilia decided to venture from the palace grounds and head into the city on her own since Joren’s duties as admiral had pulled him away from the castle early that morning. A steward offered to fetch her a carriage, but she waved him off, indicating her desire to walk. She wanted to see everything at her own pace and without guidance—to experience Eisland as a lone tourist would see the city.

  The sun shone overhead in a cloudless sky, barely more than a whispered breeze stirring through the air—a perfect day for a walk. With her gloved hands tucked within a fur muff, she started down the packed earthen road. Horse-drawn plows had already come down the road and many more servants had salted the path.

  Wildflowers shaped like pale lavender stars and blazing orange trumpets grew in abundance in the adjacent meadow. They must have been tenacious things to survive the snowfall unwilted and thriving, despite being surrounded by fluffy white clumps. Delighted by their understated scent, she paused to pick one of each. Flowers grew in abundance on the islands of Wai Alei, but a single blossom could fill a room with its overwhelming, intoxicating smell. She preferred the delicacy found in Eisland, the subtle fragrance reminding Caecilia of her lost home.

  Two guards snapped to attention at the city gates as she passed. She smiled at both and waved, then continued past into the city proper. While she couldn’t recall the names, she did recognize a few faces from her trip with Joren. A young girl, no older than eight, ran over from a ne
arby market stall and offered Caecilia a chocolate croissant. Caecilia remembered her from her last visit, and gave the girl both wildflowers, tucking them into her blonde curls.

  “You were here with the prince,” the girl said. “Are you his wife? We saw you kissing yesterday!”

  “Janine, it’s not nice to pry,” the girl’s mother said, coming up behind her. She smiled at Caecilia and laid a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “Hello again, miss.”

  Caecilia dipped in a curtsey and offered a coin from her pouch for the pastry, but the woman waved her off. “It’s a gift.”

  “How come you don’t speak?” Janine asked, again making her mother gasp and flush in embarrassment.

  Children in Atlantis and on the surface had quite a bit in common. Despite her mother’s flustered reaction, Janine’s inquisitive nature brought a smile to Caecilia’s face. “Please forgive her miss, she’s a curious thing. Always asking a question of someone and getting into mischief with her mouth. Forgive us.”

  Caecilia waved it off again and knelt down to Janine’s level. She touched her own throat and shook her head.

  “That must be hard,” the girl said. “How do people know what you want?”

  It was hard, but then it occurred to Caecilia that she’d been getting on rather well without a voice. She pursed her lips, thinking, and then shrugged. Using her empty hand, she gestured between Janine and her mother, then bowed her head, before gesturing to the pastry. Janine’s eyes lit up and she giggled.

  “You’re nice. No wonder you’re the prince’s girlfriend. I hope you both come buy from us again.”

  Caecilia nodded and traced her finger across her heart. When she stood, Janine laughed again and skipped back to the stall, followed by her mother.

  Little more than a few crumbs of the treat remained by the time Caecilia left the market square and ventured down a road lined with red lanterns. Joren had detoured around the area during their visit, and now she understood why. Despite the chill in the air, scantily clad men and women lingered in doorways and windows. They called out to people passing by, offering massages, dances, and other entertainment. Colorful signs announced shows on stage, musical performances, and sultry delights. She took it all in, fascinated. The entertainment district was like nothing she’d seen before. Wai Alei had pleasure retreats, but they were modest and didn’t need to flaunt their purpose. Not like this.

  Curiosity sated, she started her way back toward the main square but took a different path. Fewer shops occupied the back streets, but she did pass a jeweler and a silversmith. Caecilia paused to admire a pair of hair combs in the window. Both would look good against the rich mahogany of her hair, but she’d refused to take more than a few coins from Joren in their currency and doubted the handful of coppers and silver would cover the cost.

  The door to the silversmith swung open, its bell jingling noisily, and a young woman hurtled out with a package in her arms, practically bowling Caecilia over in her rush to leave. They both knocked into each other, and their booted heels slipped against a solitary patch of ice on the sidewalk.

  They must have been a comical sight, the two women flailing, grasping on to each other for balance. Caecilia regained her footing first and held the young lady upright by both upper arms.

  “Oh, please forgive, miss! I should have been more careful.” Beneath the girl’s drab winter cloak, she wore the silver petticoats and rich sapphire overdress of a servant employed by Icedale Castle. The bright silver embroidery above her left breast said Margaux. In a blink, recognition of Caecilia dawned in her gray eyes, bringing a fresh flush to the maid’s cheeks. She curtsied deeply enough to almost touch the frigid stone. “Doubly sorry, milady. Please, don’t have me punished.”

  Punished? Margaux’s frightened plea touched something deep inside Caecilia’s heart. In the years since she’d assumed the role of the benevolent but terrifying sea witch, she might have charged those who came to her a tough fee for her magic, but she never did so out of malice. She never set out to hurt anyone. Never wanted to punish them for daring to have desires beyond their reach.

  Wanting to assure the woman of her safety, Caecilia touched her arm and smiled. The girl’s shoulders sagged in relief, and the breath whooshed from her lungs. Sea cucumbers. There were tears in her eyes.

  What in the name of Poseidon was happening in that castle to nearly make a servant weep on the side of a busy street?

  “Thank you, miss, you’re too kind. I should be getting back to the palace before my mistress wonders where her delivery is.”

  Answering with a mute nod, Caecilia released Margaux and stepped back. While the servant hurried off, Caecilia gave one last longing glance at the hair combs, then turned away to head home herself.

  As it would be nice to enjoy the return journey with company, she hastened her steps until the young woman came into view a block ahead. Two men called after Margaux, cat-calling her, but the servant hurried past with her head ducked.

  They chuckled for a moment at their apparent victory, then the pair broke apart, each ambling a different direction down the walkway. Whistling merrily, the man coming toward Caecilia tipped his top hat in passing, but otherwise left her alone and continued on his way, while his sketchy companion followed Margaux down the narrow lane. Something about his manner and way he matched her pace set off warning bells in Caecilia’s head. She hesitated, lip caught between her teeth, and watched. If she managed to get a guardsman to follow and was wrong, she’d look like a fool. But if she was right…if the young woman was in danger, she’d never forgive herself.

  Lacking a way to quickly explain the situation to anyone with the power to help, she went after them herself. Both had disappeared around a corner and part of her wondered if she was about to stumble upon a romantic rendezvous. She’d already caught glimpses of more than one while exploring the castle, maids and butlers exiting cramped linen closets with rumpled clothing or moans beyond bathroom doors. A sharp, frightened cry abated that worry and sent apprehension fizzing through Caecilia’s stomach. Lovers didn’t make that sound.

  Caecilia sped around the corner without a plan to find the stranger pinning Margaux against a building wall, a knife in his right hand. She quaked, tears streaming down her ashen face and parcel clutched tight to her chest.

  “Give it up and you don’t need to be hurt.”

  “Please, sir, I can’t. Matron Nathalie will flog me if I don’t return with her order.”

  “I’ll do worse than a flogging if you don’t give me what I—” The man flicked his gaze toward Caecilia and smirked. The expression did nothing for him, giving his lean, angular features a feral look. “Keep walking, little bird, there’s nothing for a lady of your quality here.”

  His dismissive, cheerfully spoken words sent a chill running down her spine. As though it was common for nobles or the entitled to simply ignore such circumstances. Her brows drew together. Joren would say something. He’d do more than say something, halting the situation itself before it progressed. But Joren was not here, and intuition told Caecilia in the time it would take for her to fetch the guard and drag them to the alley, Margaux would be dead.

  “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get out of here while you’ve got the chance,” the brigand said. “Pretend you seen nothin’, like all your sort do.” He pushed with the blade a little, sharp point indenting his captive’s fair skin but not cutting. Yet. Nothing guaranteed he wouldn’t slit her throat and run with the goods the moment Caecilia left. Or worse.

  A panicked gaze pleaded for Caecilia to stay. Their thoughts were the same.

  It would be easy to walk away and mind her own business.

  It’d be easier to return to the castle and pretend she’d seen nothing, the remainder of her evening spent in peaceful repose before a crackling hearth.

  But nothing about Caecilia’s life for the past three hundred years had been easy, each day since her banishment from the underwater kingdom a day of hardship. Life was st
ruggle and suffering, atonement and misery.

  Realizing she couldn’t abandon the girl in good conscience, Caecilia searched for any object to improvise as a weapon, even though she hadn’t held one in centuries, not since her father exiled her from the underwater kingdom. Worse, she lacked her magic, and the clamshell pendant pressed against her like a lead weight, urging her to use it. To just open it and blast the cretin out of his shoes.

  Indecision broiled within her for a split second before the best course arose from her impulsive mind. Armed with only her hands, she hurled the fur muff into his face to confuse him and dove forward, driving her fist into his jaw. The sudden attack took the man by surprise, and he released his victim while staggering back, swinging at Caecilia instead.

  Run, girl, she thought, wishing with all her heart for a voice to be heard.

  The knife flashed in the dim light cast by the alley’s only lantern, and pain exploded across her palms. Blood splattered over the snow-trampled ground, dotting crimson against gray slush.

  “Help! Someone help!” Margaux shrieked, booted footsteps clacking over the stone. “He’ll kill us!”

  When he lunged after the girl, she evaded his grasp and darted away on quick feet, fleet as a fox. “You little bitch. You lost me my mark,” he roared at Caecilia, advancing on her. He swung.

  Spotting her opening, Caecilia grasped his wrist and yanked him off-balance, toward her. She head-butted him, cracking him in the face with her brow. Whatever spell Ghost Hawk had cast, it did nothing to impair her strength. Or maybe the strength had been there all along, and not part of her divine heritage.

  “Fuck!” the would-be thief barked, stumbling back with a bloodied nose. His desperate slashes, no doubt half-blinded by the tears in his eyes, sliced across her belly and split fabric. Without knowing why, she thrust her hand between his legs and squeezed harder than an islander woman milking the liquid from coconut pulp.