by Alyssa Day
Freaking conscience.
She sighed.
“Dare. Enough. You’re burning up. Let me get you some antibiotics. A big, fat needle filled with penicillin might take your mind off your libido--"
“Your ass,” he mumbled dreamily, and she could feel him smile against her neck.
“And off my ass,” she agreed, sighing again.
“Kiss me.”
“What?” Surely he hadn’t said…
“Kiss me, and I’ll let you go get needles and pessanillin. Pennalissen. Parasillin. Whatever.”
“Deal,” she said, before she could have second thoughts about taking total advantage of an injured, delirious man. He had his hands on her ass, after all.
“Deal. Now. And on my lips, no cheating with forehead kissing.”
Lyric took a deep breath. She needed to steel herself for this, in spite of—or perhaps because—she’d wanted it for so long.
“Okay, You can kiss me now.”
He laughed. “No, my copper-eyed beauty. You have to kiss me.”
She summoned her nerve and pulled away from him a little bit; just enough to raise her head so she could reach his lips with her own.
Her brain and all parts much farther south were doing cartwheels at the idea that she was planning to kiss Dare, so she told them to calm the heck down. This was going to be a chaste, calming, gentle kiss with a closed mouth, offered just so he’d let her go get medicine for him.
She took a deep breath, and then she leaned forward and touched her lips to his.
And the world turned upside down.
The moment her lips met his, Dare tightened his arms on her and half sat, half rolled, until he had her beneath him, and then he took total control over what she’d laughingly—ridiculously--thought was a kiss. That wasn’t a kiss.
This was a kiss.
He didn’t take; he plundered. He teased and seduced; advanced and retreated. He kissed her with skill and hunger and that sense of barely leashed power that made her head spin. She slipped her arms around him and kissed him back, meeting him beat for beat, breath for breath.
She wondered, gloried, reveled in the feel of his hard body against hers and the taste of salt and spice of his mouth.
This was a kiss—and she dimly realized that, once it ended, she might never, ever be the same.
When she forced herself to pull away, they were both breathing hard, and his skin temperature was in the fiery blaze range. Damn. She’d forgotten her end goal somehow during that explosion of feeling.
“Dare. I need to get you that medicine.”
He instantly released her. “A deal is a deal, I always tell Seranth…Seranth? Seranth?”
She sat up and then stood, but he seemed to have forgotten all about her.
“My arm band! Where is it? Did you take it off? Did that doctor…Seranth?” He was shouting by the end, the anguish clear.
She knew what the sea spirit meant to him, and a bolt of pain clenched in her chest at his loss. “No. We didn’t take it, Dare. You didn’t have it on when you arrived. Your shirt was torn…is it possible that it fell off in the water?”
She reached out to touch his shoulder, but he brushed her hand off and pushed himself up to a sitting position.
“No. It can’t fall off. It’s not jewelry; it’s the physical manifestation of my bond with Seranth. Poseidon bestowed it and only he…” His voice trailed off and then she jumped at the sound of his fist crashing into the end table.
“He took it. He took her away from me.”
The pain in his voice buffeted her, and she flinched away. She’d never heard a human voice filled with such suffering since...since the accident. Her mother hadn’t died right away, and Lyric had heard—no. No. She forcibly locked that memory away. There was a man who needed her right here in the present.
“Dare. I can’t—what can I do? How can I help? I’ll call the doctor to come over and see--"
Before she could finish her sentence, he lurched up off the bed, stumbled into her, and knocked them both to the floor. He’d somehow rolled over in mid-fall, so his back and head took the brunt of the impact, but it was still enough to knock the air out of her for a minute or two.
When she could stop gasping and breathe again, she sat up and turned to him. “Dare? Are you okay?”
But her only answer was silence.
5
Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim's gold watch that had been his father's and his grandfather's. The other was Della's hair. Had the queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have let her hair hang out the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty's jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy.
-- The Gift of the Magi, O. Henry (1917)
“Welcome to Atlantis!”
Dare watched Lyric as she stood, frozen, in the middle of the palace garden. She was holding her small blue book she called a passport in one hand and a travel bag in the other. He was carrying her larger case; the one that contained her paints and brushes and a few small canvases that she'd refused to leave without.
"I can't – I can't believe I'm here. I thought… I thought we had to go find a train or plane tickets or a boat –" she paused, a stricken expression on her face. "I'm sorry, Dare. I didn't mean to – I know you need to go find out what happened to your ship. You can just drop me somewhere and go do what you need to do."
He didn't bother to say that he'd already been doing exactly that, reaching out on the shared Atlantean mental pathway to anyone who knew anything about his ship. One of the portal guards had responded very briefly, so at least he knew his ship, his crew, and Bingley and Jane were safe, if nothing else.
“It’s fine. Everyone is fine and safe. I can go check on the ship later. First let's get you –"
She was amazing. It was her first trip anywhere, she’d told him, and it was to Atlantis. The land long thought to be myth by her kind. And yet her first thought was for him and his ship and crew.
It had been the same way all throughout the night, while he’d tossed and turned with fever from a budding infection. He had vague memories of holding her in his arms and – surely not? – having his hands on her lovely ass. Then strange memories intruded, of needles pricking him in the arm, and the fever finally subsided. When he'd awoken this morning, it had been to the lovely sound of her singing, which he’d wanted to keep listening to. So he’d pretended he was still asleep and lay there in her bed, with her scent of peach and vanilla and spice surrounding him, and listened to the song of the woman it'd taken him five years to realize he'd fallen in love with.
Luckily for her, he was never, ever going to tell her that. When you live a life characterized by a bad reputation that you absolutely deserved, you knew better than to think your darkness had a chance at finding love with someone so wholly of the light.
But in spite of everything, he'd wanted her near him. By the time he’d finally let her know that he was awake, he’d come up with a plan. And his first words had been Come to Atlantis with me.
She'd sat there, shock on her lovely face, those gorgeous copper eyes wide and slightly unfocused. He forgot sometimes that she was blind, because she was so completely in command of herself and her space in her studio. Even on the few occasions on which they’d ventured out to local restaurants together, she'd been capable and perfectly independent. He realized it was ridiculous that he thought she might be otherwise. The loss of one sense didn't mean the loss of all, or the diminishing of intelligence. And clearly she’d found ways to compensate for that loss.
So he’d asked again. “Will you come to Atlantis with me?”
She taken a deep breath and said yes, surprising them both.
While he cleaned up and got dressed, he heard a flurry of activity goin
g on out in her studio. Lyric's friend Meredith had come by and packed up Lyric's paints for her in a very precise order and she also took the cat home with her for the holidays.
Holidays. This was something new for him, too. Atlantis would be celebrating its first Christmas, thanks to King Conlan’s human, Christian wife. There’d been a frenzy of decorating and baking going on when he'd last left port, but he’d ignored it, because it was annoying. Someone was always getting in his way or underfoot, even his brother Liam, who generally operated on a the same isolationist policy toward family that Dare had. Suddenly Liam was cornering him and inviting him to “family" meals with his new wife Jaime.
He’d avoided them as much as possible and was relieved, in a slightly guilty way, that Liam and Jaime would be traveling out of Atlantis for the next week or so. The last thing he needed was to overwhelm Lyric with his family, when he knew that she could never become part of it. She deserved better than him and his screwed-up family.
All of this had gone through his head in seconds. He turned toward Lyric and saw that she’d put her bag down on the ground and was reaching out to touch the flowering bush nearest her. It sported huge masses of yellow and purple blooms, and he'd never seen a similar plant outside of Atlantis.
"Oh, Dare, this scent. The scent of these flowers is the most amazing thing I've ever smelled. I feel like I could almost see them just from the way they smell and feel.” She ran her fingers over the delicate petals, and he immediately had a very ungentlemanly thought about how and where he'd like her fingers to be touching his anatomy. He grinned at the thought of how she’d blush if he voiced the thought but refrained.
"The gardens are the jewel of the palace,” he told her, touching her arm lightly. "They were first designed and planted more than 11,000 years ago, before Atlantis was forced to sink beneath the seas to escape invaders."
"Is it a large garden? I'd love to walk through all of it." Her eyes were closed in what looked like bliss as she walked slowly from flower to flower, touching them all.
"It's enormous. We will certainly walk through as much of it is you like, but perhaps first we should find you a place to stay."
She turned her head to face him. "I'm not – I'm not staying with you?"
Her voice sounded small and hesitant, with perhaps a touch of hurt underlying her words. He hated himself for putting it there, but the unfortunate truth was that he didn't have any quarters to take her to. When he was in port, he always stayed on his ship.
"Well. About that –"
"Dare! I'm so glad you're safe." The voice was one he very rarely heard but recognized instantly. He suppressed a groan and the simultaneous instinct to flee and turned to the newcomer.
He bowed. "Your Highness."
Next to him, Lyric stiffened, but then offered Queen Riley a nervous smile.
"I'm sorry. I have no idea how to curtsy," she blurted out.
The queen laughed, and Dare liked her better for it.
"Please. No your highness, no bowing, no curtseying. It wasn't that long ago I was a social worker in Seattle. I certainly don't intend to put on fancy airs just because I happened to move to a new neighborhood."
Riley took Lyric's hands in hers and smiled at her, probably not realizing that Lyric couldn’t see it.
"That's some ZIP Code change," Lyric said wryly. “It's very nice to meet you. Lyric Fielding."
Riley squeezed Lyric's hands and then stepped back, her eyes widening. "You're not – but you must be. Lyric Fielding is an unusual name. I can't believe there are two of you. Lyric Fielding, the artist?"
Lyric smiled shyly, and then she nodded. "I guess I am. I haven't heard of any other Lyric Fielding so yeah, that's me."
Dare looked back and forth between them. "You know her work?"
"I do," Queen Riley said happily, leading Lyric by means of a gentle touch on the back of one elbow towards the fountain. "We can sit here if you have a moment."
The queen and Lyric sat on the broad rim of the fountain, and the splashing of the water made a musical counterpoint to the sounds of their voices.
"I’ve loved your work for years," the queen was telling Lyric. “I saw two small seascapes in an exhibition at the Seattle Museum of Art four years ago or so, and I've been following you ever since, hoping I could afford a painting one day. There's not much in the media about you though."
Lyric bent her head so her face was turned toward her hands instead of toward Queen Riley. "Thank you. I – that's very nice of you. I've had requests for interviews and articles, but they weren't really things I wanted to follow up on. They ... they always seem to want to focus on the wrong thing, as far as I was concerned. And you don’t have to buy a painting. Please allow me to offer you one as a gift."
Riley’s mouth dropped open. “I wasn’t—I didn’t—oh, no. That’s a lovely gesture, but I wasn’t hinting for a gift. I’ll tell my husband I’ve finally decided what I want for Christmas.”
Lyric shook her head. “Please, allow me to--"
“No, really. You have no idea how happy he’ll be. He tried watching American TV and decided I wanted a set of steak knives or life insurance. He has no idea what life insurance is of course, but he said such venerable old men were offering it, it must be of value.”
Lyric laughed, but Dare had no idea why. “Okay, then. But only to save you from steak knives.”
Riley laughed but then grimaced. "Oh, and believe me, I completely understand about the interviews. The media requests I've gotten, since Atlantis came back up from under the sea and decided to participate in world affairs, have mostly been downright bizarre.. You would not believe the things people ask me."
The Queen sat up straight and peered interestedly at Dare and Lyric and began to speak in a weirdly falsetto voice. "Do you and the king have sex underwater? Does he have gills?"
Lyric burst out laughing and so did Dare, surprising even himself. It is been a long while since he heard himself laugh, at least while sober or in his right mind. He wasn't sure what he’d done last night in the grip of the fever, but it must've been interesting considering the way Lyric’s cheeks had been turning pink this morning every time he touched her.
"Dare, are Liam and his new wife here? Jaime was incredibly helpful at Halloween. She planned the most amazing party, and everything was absolutely perfect."
Dare studied the Queen's too-innocent face, wondering if he’d heard the faintest undertone of suggestion that Queen Riley actually knew all about the chaos and mishaps that had gone on behind the scenes on Halloween. Thieves had tried to steal the crown jewels and might've gotten away with it if his new sister-in-law hadn’t been so quick thinking. Liam probably had something to do with it too, he admitted to himself.
"I like her a lot," he admitted to the Queen. "She's smart and funny and keeps Liam on his toes, which is certainly something he needs to knock a little bit of that arrogant pomposity out of him."
Lyric tilted her face toward him. "I would've liked to have met him, but you said he was gone?"
"Yes, they went to some village called Chicago to pack up her belongings and bring them back here."
Lyric and the Queen started laughing, and he narrowed his eyes. "What did I say? Why is that funny?"
"Some village called Chicago," the queen said to Lyric, her eyes sparkling.
"I wonder what the Cubs fans would think about that," Lyric said, still laughing a little.
Riley stood and touched Lyric on the shoulder.
"I'm delighted to meet you, Lyric. I'd love to talk some more, but I need to go see what my son is up to. Probably terrorizing his nanny. And no – I can't believe I have a nanny, either." She smiled ruefully. "It's another Cinderella moment. But anyway, I'd love to offer you rooms in the palace, if you're staying for a while. I have a beautiful place in mind, and you could use the adjacent room for a studio. The light is magnificent –"
Queen Riley abruptly stopped speaking, a horrified expression coming over her face. "I'm sorry. I
imagine the light doesn't matter. Oh, wow, this is horribly awkward, so I'm just going to apologize for being a buffoon and leave it at that and hope you forgive me."
Lyric stood and smiled at the queen. "You have no idea how refreshing it is for you just to acknowledge the awkwardness. People say stuff all the time like 'do you see what I mean’ and 'will you look at that,' and then they get horribly awkward and weird, and it's ridiculous. They’re figures of speech, and of course I know that. I've been blind since I was ten, and I'm not overly sensitive about things like that anymore."
Dare reached out almost without realizing it and took her hand. Her lips parted in surprise, but she squeezed his fingers in reassurance – whether for him or for herself, he couldn't tell.
Riley’s large eyes considered Dare thoughtfully, and he suddenly and unpleasantly remembered that she was aknasha’an—an emotional empath. She could probably feel everything he was feeling, which made him feel like five kinds of fool.
She smiled at him, probably feeling that, and he wondered how the king and the high priest—former high priest—could stand to be involved with empaths. There’d never be any secrets…
The queen delicately cleared her throat.
"That is very kind of you, your highness," Dare said. "I stay on my ship, of course, but I would much rather that Lyric had more comfortable accommodations."
“That would be lovely. Thank you so much,” Lyric said, sounding as excited as a child. “I can’t believe I’m going to stay in the palace.”
"I still haven’t gotten used to it,” the queen admitted. “Perfect. I'll have someone show you to the rooms I have in mind and make sure they're set up for company and for you to paint, if you like. If you wouldn't mind, I'd love to stop by and talk to you about your painting sometime. If that's okay."
Lyric’s smile was like a burst of sunshine spreading across her face. It was as if she were glowing – actually glowing – with happiness. Something inside Dare's chest cracked open just a little bit, and he swallowed, hard.
