by Lisa Rector
A woman burned by love was never one to mess with. Meuric remembered firsthand an experience Rhianu had with a so-called lover. It didn’t end well for him or his dragon. Nor for Rhianu.
As Meuric squinted after Catrin, the sun’s glare gave him a headache. Unrequited love was what enraged her so.
He laughed again. These pure-blooded emrys, so high and mighty, thinking their feelings couldn’t become damaged in their protective immortal realm. Well, now Catrin would know the pain of a shattered heart. The same pain I feel. Was it wrong that this filled him with pleasure?
Meuric swam after Catrin, determined to match her strokes. He pictured himself gliding effortlessly through the water. Dark matter flooded his extremities to give them added strength. Meuric could harness this power forever. He had practiced until it became an unending source to draw from. He honed it through trial and fire, through battle and brimstone. The darkness took the agony of swimming leagues across the ocean—in a futile hope of reaching land—and pushed it away. The task became as nothing. Within his mind, Meuric no longer moved, but had come to stillness—blessed serenity, which could overcome any torment.
Even that of a scorned lover.
***
Knowing she had grown tired of sharing her light, Meuric convinced Catrin to stop for the night once the sun dipped below the horizon. They floated on their backs with her fingertips barely curled around his to sustain his warmth.
But she stretched out her arm, maintaining as much distance as possible.
Grateful for the steady flow of heat, Meuric allowed the light to course through his body and embraced the ache that burned with it. He grew accustomed to the discomfort and welcomed it as a glaring reminder that he wanted to go home.
If Catrin held on long enough, the balance of light and darkness would gradually shift, stopping the pain. After a time, Meuric might be able to maintain equal amounts of light and darkness, but that was a pointless wish. No half-emrys could control both energies. The dominant power was either one or the other. A balance wouldn’t hold. Such was the battle inside a half-emrys. Immortal and mortal parents, together, gave them the energies. His emryn mother gave him the light, and his mortal father, long since dead, gave him the darkness.
“You enjoy this, don’t you?” Meuric asked. “You delight in sensing my misery. You fancy inflicting torture. You’re a fiend. The light doesn’t fool me. You’re sadistic.”
Catrin didn’t say a word but dug her fingernails into his flesh.
“Curse upon you, woman!” He snatched his hand away.
Her voice carried to him with passive indifference. “Try being a little grateful. I am saving your wretched hide. I could leave you to freeze.” She floated steadily away, no movement from her disturbing the water. Meuric realized she must have been on the verge of sleep when he spoke.
She drifted several feet, and his body cooled without her touch. He kicked over to her, grabbed her hand, and wrapped it in an iron grip, binding them together with his energy. She didn’t shake his hand off, surprising him. Catrin resumed her semiconscious state. She was tired—he sensed this now—and too proud to admit aloud she’d been overworking. Humility seeped off her as she gave way to her weariness.
A faint memory brought a careworn, beloved face into his mind, and Meuric softened. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, unsure if she heard him. “It’s Meuric.”
He let her sleep as the stars popped out one by one. The dark sky amplified the pinpoints of starlight shining off the water, and the two elements melded into one with no division. The illusion made Meuric feel entirely alone in the world.
Except for Catrin. He shook his head slightly. This was one of life’s cruelest jokes yet. He deplored the Masters’ sense of humor. In fact, he blamed them for his current state. This could have only happened because of them. Meuric often thought the two Masters created and governed life just for their amusement. I will not speak of either of the Masters anymore, not even to take their names in vain.
His arm throbbed from the incoming surge of Catrin’s energy. Forgetting his animosity toward the Creator and his brother, Meuric tried to separate his mind from the bodily pain, but he couldn’t ignore the oppressing wetness. His leather pants chaffed his thighs, and his linen shirt clung askew to his chest. He had shed his boots and his stockings long ago to make movement easier.
Meuric ran his fingers over his scalp. Once he wore his hair long, the way the emrys did, the way his mother had taught him. After his first battle and before each one since, he cut it. His hair grew in stick-straight and the color of fertile, dark earth, but he no longer cared about the emrys’ pride or their long hair.
He was a half-emrys anyway. Half-breed was what Catrin called him. Such vehemence. He thought emrys were dripping with benevolence. He couldn’t have been more mistaken. I’m learning such a great deal. Bitterness soaked through him.
Other than knowing what his mother had told him, Meuric didn’t know what it meant to be an emrys from Gorlassar. Siana had been the only pure emrys he knew in Morvith—his homeland. The two realms were worlds apart, literally. A hulking desert separated the realms and was the site of the battle he and Catrin had left.
Meuric glanced over at the floating radiance of his savior. Her inner light held a stunning glow. Because of his obscure amount of the energy, Meuric was able to discern how much light she carried—because light discerned light. This ability and reading emotions didn’t grow his dwindling light, and that was fine with Meuric.
Catrin’s silhouette blended seamlessly with the water. Her silver chemise clung to her body, resembling scales on a fish. Again, Meuric envisioned a sea-maiden—a half-human fish living in the ocean—told of in stories. She certainly fit the temperament of the devious creatures.
A petite nose and unremarkable cheekbones graced her features. Her mouth fell open as she slept, revealing evenly matched pink lips on the top and bottom. Evidently good for pursing, practiced to cripple the resolve of lesser men. Meuric remembered the green jewel tone of her eyes. Classically emryn. Like his mother’s. Catrin’s tightly plaited hair floated on the water around her head.
Meuric looked at his hand clasped in hers. They couldn’t be more different. Though the color was masked in the gloom, his olive brown skin clashed with her porcelain creaminess. They were two polar opposites.
Light versus darkness.
Good versus evil.
No wonder they hated each other.
With her lean body and well-toned muscles, Catrin would have been a formidable opponent on the battlefield. Seeing her in action would be worth any wound she might inflict.
Meuric grimaced. It had been too long since he’d been with a woman.
They had been swimming west all day. Meuric was uncertain why Catrin had selected this direction. Perhaps she followed the sun. Perhaps she heeded intuition. Meuric didn’t ask, but only kept pace.
Though, something was surely wrong. Meuric could have traveled to any place back home, found himself standing before his sister or mother by envisioning them and willing himself forward through the void of space. With his inability to transport—what in all the great realms did this mean? Did he lose his gift?
And for that matter, did anyone on the battlefield remain alive after the blast that thrust Catrin and him here? When the blast hit the others, did it kill them since they didn’t possess the same ability to traverse the ether? He hoped Siana, Rhianu, and Derog were safe. If Rhianu was, would she resent what Meuric had done?
He longed to hold her, to know she was safe. He’d been so close to reaching her. If Rhianu was dead, the fault was his and his alone. He should have taken Rhianu away, despite what his mother said. Meuric would never forgive himself if anything happened to her due to his carelessness.
Intuition told him a far greater fate had been thrust upon him and Catrin, and though Meuric had his suspicions, he wouldn’t voice them until he had evidence. Lasting a day with Catrin had been a miracle. He didn’t need a reaso
n for her to throttle him.
How vast was this ocean? He doubted they could swim across it. Land was nowhere in sight, and the currents drifted them with every pause.
If Catrin kept the same pace tomorrow, he’d better fall asleep. As the day unfolded, he’d hope for a miracle—no matter how small.
For now, wherever they’d been cast, Meuric waxed helpless.
CHAPTER FOUR
RESCUED
Catrin became aware of a nudging in her ribs. If that clod was poking her out of sleep, she’d snap. As she had fallen asleep, Catrin accepted the hopelessness of the situation, though she couldn’t believe it, didn’t want to acknowledge it, and swam all day to diffuse the anguish of it.
And the brute kept poking her!
“What?” Her eyes flew open, and she rolled her head around. The sun had risen, and the day lay before them. How much daylight had they lost?
“Miss, wake up! Oh, mercy’s sake. She’s alive!”
Catrin shook Meuric’s hand off before she registered the teeny figure leaning over the edge of a wide, flat boat, jabbing her in the ribs with an oar.
“Miss, wake ya friend there. Get out of the water. What in the world are ya doin’ out here? Ya’re five days from shore as the boat paddles.”
Catrin righted herself in the water and stared at the person addressing her. He was a little person, one of the forest people called the Eilian.
“What’re you doing out here, in the middle of the ocean?” she asked.
“Dear lady, did I not ask that of ya? Why, we’re coming home from a great adventure across the East Sea.”
“You don’t sail ships. You live in trees. Since when have you ever sailed?” Catrin mindlessly blinked at him and gazed across the length of the boat. Half a dozen oars were in the water, each held by a little man scarcely three feet tall. Their beseeching eyes took her in. One man jabbed at a floating, sound-asleep Meuric. Could he sleep through anything?
“Why, of course we sail. We’ve always done so since the invention of the oar. That was one of our more ingenious ideas. By the way, my great-granduncle was an inventor, he was. Every idea he pulled out of his head came to life, rest his soul, until he blew himself up with the great explosion of the oven founding.”
Catrin smiled. This might go on awhile. Eilian were well known for talking a long time about anything and everything that came to mind.
“Meuric, get your oafish head up.” She splashed water over his face, and he sputtered to life. “I’m amazed you managed to float on the water instead of dragging us to our deaths.”
He wiped the water from his brow. “Give me some credit.” He sloshed water back at her. “I see our salvation is here. Who’re you, my little men, and where do you hail from?”
“I’m Master Dewydd, fifth great-grandson of the first tribal chieftain. We hail from Morien, a sea village on the coast.”
“A fine vessel you have, my man. Might the lady and I join your jolly crew?” Meuric asked.
Catrin’s face pinched up. “Who are you?” Meuric’s excessively jovial nature was absurd. “Why’re you talking like a lunatic? Master Dewydd we’d love to be rescued. We would have sunk to a watery grave if you hadn’t come upon us.”
Dewydd’s smile pressed into a crooked line. “Right, O Elegant One. Please climb aboard.”
“It’s Catrin.” She gripped the edge of the boat firmly with her arms, lifted herself out of the water, and swung her legs over.
A mast was anchored in the boat’s center with a sail bound in ropes. Twelve men hunched at the oars—six on each side. Wide-brimmed leather hats covered wild mops of hair—some curly and others straight. Most of the young men were stout and strong, no doubt from the rowing.
Meuric climbed on board and dripped in a puddle. He ran his hand over his cropped locks, spraying water off the ends. “You sailed this vessel in open water? My young masters, you must be quite brave.”
Catrin rolled her eyes. Obviously he had never met an Eilian. No fear could overcome their idiotic, though endearing, need for adventure.
“Well, sir, we’ve had calm weather for the journey and rowed every day with no wind to stir the sail for five days straight. We’re keepin’ our course true and should be home in another five days’ time,” Dewydd said. “Sure could do for some wind though.”
“Five days’ time?” Catrin scrutinized her situation. Either be stuck swimming in the ocean or on a boat with a dozen little men and one brute for five days. The boat was no more than a skiff with no privacy. She’d have to look at the positives. They’d have food and water. Her stomach growled. She had not eaten for an entire day. “Why did you sail out to sea?”
“For a quest, my dear.”
Ridiculous question.
“Young Braith”—Dewydd gestured to an eager fellow—“just figured out how to waterproof the boat. We were so excited to take on a journey that as soon as we sealed the boat, we loaded it with supplies and set sail.”
Catrin tapped her foot. “That doesn’t make sense. You don’t sail. You live in trees. You don’t even live close to water.”
Two dozen eyebrows lifted.
Catrin’s stomach dropped. “Eilian don’t sail. They’re tree dwellers.” What am I missing?
“My lady, how could we dwell in trees? That’s the silliest idea I ever heard.”
Twelve faces stared at her as if she had crawled out of a hole. Frustration filled her. She swiped at her wet face and shook her head. What is going on?
Meuric spoke up. “Catrin is befuddled from being in the water too long. Might you have some victuals to restore her?” He moved over to her, took her elbow, and spoke softly. “Catrin, we must be in a different part of the world. Maybe these aren’t the Eilian you know.”
She shook his touch off. “Don’t talk to me. I have no more reason to help you.” She dropped onto a wooden slat that an oarsman sat upon. Water dripped from the ends of her hair. Her condition was absurd. She could dry herself in a second. Catrin closed her eyes and took focused, slow breaths. The fire in her heart-center ignited, and she willed it into her extremities. Burning hot like the coals of a fire, her skin transferred heat into her clothes.
Catrin sighed and opened her eyes.
A little man with a squarish jaw and dark twinkling eyes stood in front of her, holding out jerky and a waterskin. Catrin took them with a thank you and bit into the tough meat, ripping the jerky with her teeth and gnawing at it like a primitive.
Meuric smirked at her before he tore into his own jerky.
“Laugh it up. You find this just so amusing don’t you?” Catrin spoke around a mouthful of partially chewed food. She didn’t care that she was being inappropriate or rude. “You think I’m too dainty for such behavior?”
Meuric held up his hands. “Hey, I hold no judgment. I don’t know you, and my assumptions are proving entirely wrong.” A smile did not fade from his lips.
Get me away from this animal.
With her clothes dry and her stomach full, Catrin felt more optimistic. Even the stale water satisfied her thirst enough to cool her head. Catrin moved to the end of the boat and curled up in the corner. She wanted nothing to do with anyone. They’d leave her alone; she hoped. She brought her knees to her chest and tucked her head against them.
I hate Meuric… and his wretched sister. Her insides twisted with the thought of Rhianu’s hands on Einion.
Einion had to be innocent. Rhianu must have tricked him. Used him. Seduced him.
Catrin called out to her creator. Oh, Deian. What happened?
Her Einion had given himself to Rhianu, the callous woman who had fallen into his life. He had traded Catrin for her.
And Rhianu was carrying Einion’s child!
Sick. I feel so sick.
She couldn’t dismiss her emotional heartbreak. Einion, I was prepared to give you my soul!
Tears brimmed in her eyes, and she pressed her face into her hands, hoping no one saw her cry.
Why did you d
o it, Einion? Why had he taken Cysgod’s power from Rhianu into himself? Catrin huffed. Cysgod. The Dark Master. A corrupted Creator. What possessed Einion to do this? A sob escaped her lips. Why?
Her Einion. She always thought of him as hers.
She was wrong.
Catrin touched the dragon stones around her neck. Oh, Cerys, my love, where are you? Why can’t you hear me? How she yearned to share her heartbreak with her dragon! Cerys would understand every sorrow Catrin felt.
Trahaearn? She couldn’t even hear Einion’s dunderhead of a dragon. She lifted Einion’s dragon stone from her neck and rubbed her thumb over the surface. She had stared at the vibrant orange stone that Einion wore until the pattern of gold veining was burned into her mind.
Rhianu had ripped the stone from Einion, and Catrin vowed to wear it until she draped it securely around Einion’s neck. After the battle, after seeing how Einion hovered between life and death, Catrin feared that neck might no longer have a pulse.
Oh, Einion.
***
A noise disturbed Catrin, and she lifted her head, having dozed off. She needed to rid her body of its restlessness by stretching her cramped legs.
The little people were making a racket, singing a tune to help themselves row together, but excited calls interrupted their song. Meuric sat on one side of the boat at the center oar. The little people manned the side opposite Meuric. He turned the oar at a much faster pace than the Eilian as they rowed with great enthusiasm. The boat veered to the right, but it turned the other way as Meuric matched the Eilian’s rowing speed and surpassed it. They were caught up in some sort of bizarre race, which paddled nowhere—a feat of strength to see who could turn the boat and correctly set it straight.
Catrin tensed. They’re acting like a bunch of children!
Meuric had shed his shirt, and drops of sweat ran down the back muscles bulging under his tan skin. He had anchored his bare feet under the seat in front of himself, utilizing the advantage for each of his pulls. As he leaned toward her with a row, Catrin gaped at his hulking shoulders.
