by Stina Leicht
What do you want, little one?
Her voice was huge in his mind. Stunned, it took him a moment to form a response. He knew he couldn’t show her his terror. She would dismiss him, and he had need of her good will, more so now than ever before. Great Lady, I am here to protect my family and my home.
Aegrir cast her gaze down at the ocean surface. Why would you venture into my storm? Surely, my children would know better.
He didn’t want to argue. He had a feeling it wouldn’t go well. We did so to avoid an enemy who wished to drown us. We had no desire to do the same to them.
Ah. The landwalkers. I sensed their deaths. They should’ve had more care.
Dylan didn’t move. To agree would give the impression that he wished the Acrasians ill. To disagree might mean that he disapproved. He could afford neither.
She floated closer, and as she did, he became acutely aware of his insignificance. Again, he controlled his fear. He didn’t wish to risk Dar’s safety. I can’t. I won’t, he thought.
You are brave.
He stayed silent.
Your spirit-name, it is Lord of the Sea.
It is.
She smiled. That is brash.
He swallowed and held her gaze.
I like you, little lordling. Perhaps you will stay with me for a time.
Shock sent yet another chill through him. He executed a respectful bow. Great Lady, I regret that I am not free to do so.
You are bound to another?
I am, and I wish to return to him.
I see. She smiled again. I forgot your kind are concerned with appearances. If this were my form, would this still be your answer? She transformed into a handsome Waterborne male with hip-length spirit-knotted hair, dark eyes, and a sexy grin. His smooth bare skin was a healthy dark brown. His muscles were firm and strong, and in an instant, Dylan knew what it would be like to slide his hand down that perfect thigh—to feel those teeth sink into his shoulder.
Dar. Remember Dar.
This man was bigger, more perfect, even more attractive than Dar. Dylan found himself staring. The urge to touch the stranger sent a shiver through his entire being. Stop it. Think of Dar. In truth, it was the first time in all the years he’d been with Dar that he’d been tempted to this extreme—even when he’d lived as an exile. I made a vow.
It wasn’t until he began to sense an intense cold that he understood his danger. He was losing contact with his body. It’s late. Please forgive me, but I must return now.
The stranger pouted, and Dylan found it very difficult to turn away.
You are very loyal.
Dylan said, I’m in love, Great One.
Loyalty and love, these are worthy things. She transformed into her previous shape and returned her gaze to the lower half of the storm. This working you have wrought. It is … weighty. It will be expensive.
I am aware. I will make a suitable offering, Great Lady. I will not forget.
She smiled again. I know you will, little lord. You are and always have been a wise and respectful child. This, too, pleases me. Return to your family. She made to go back to her dance, but before entirely withdrawing, she spoke over her shoulder. One last thing, Little Lord of the Sea.
Yes?
I claim you, Dylan Ardan Kask son of Judoc Kask, Sealord of Clan Kask. You are mine. And with that, she reached toward him and placed a finger in the middle of his forehead. Bear my mark as well as my blessing.
An astounding shock ran through him and then the sensation of a sickening fall from a great height into unconsciousness. He awoke with Dar stooping over him. The deck was hard and dry under Dylan’s back. Steam rose from the boards, and rain poured into his face.
“Don’t you leave me, drown you! You can’t do this!” Dar’s handsome face was marred with panic. “Don’t you dare! You promised!”
Too stupefied to do much of anything, Dylan forced two words past his lips. They came out in a jagged whisper. “Not gone.” He was smothered in a hug at once.
“What did you think you were doing?” Dar asked.
“My duty?”
“You scared me!”
Dylan carefully glanced around him. A headache the size of an Acrasian dreadnought was building up behind his eyes. Movement made it worse. “Is the word given?”
Once more, Dar hugged him tight. “It’s given, drown you. It’s given.”
“Good,” Dylan said. “I think I’d like to sleep now.” His teeth began to clatter together. It didn’t do his headache any favors.
“Let’s get you below, then,” Dar said. Turning, he shouted over his shoulder, “Get Jade! Tell her to meet us in our cabin!”
Dylan breathed in the scent of Dar and smiled. I’m home. The thought was accompanied by a sense of guilt. I refused the offer. I came back. I kept my word. Still, he’d been more sorely tempted than he’d been in his life. The idea shook him. He’d never even thought such a thing was possible. I can never tell Dar, can I? It would hurt him.
Dylan felt himself lifted from the deck and set on his feet. Dar positioned himself under his shoulder to provide support. Together, they staggered belowdecks and through the common area until they reached their cabin. Dylan could feel bruises swelling on his shoulder, legs, and back. Pain shot up his left leg and ran the length of his spine. He winced and shifted his weight.
“There’s not much farther to go,” Dar said. “Can you make it? Or do we need to stop?”
“Let’s get this over with,” Dylan said, gritting his teeth.
Dar slid open the pocket door to their narrow cabin with one hand—larger accommodations were reserved for crewmembers with children. The door trundled into the wall with a loud thud. Dylan lurched inside with Dar’s help. The door slid shut. Dylan took small pride in noting that the ship’s movements were less drunken than before. His bare feet crossed the rug with a squish, and damp wool prickled under the sole of his right foot. He’d forgotten to clean up the water puddle. Dar wasn’t going to be happy about what that’d done to his mother’s rug, but Dylan supposed they had more important things to worry about. Closing his eyes, Dylan let Dar help him undress and change into a dry nightshirt.
All the cabins on this level were temporary shelters, but some were more temporary than others, particularly during a battle. Since theirs was one of the cabins positioned at the end of the row, it had a door and one solid cabin wall—not counting the side of the ship. The wall shared with the next cabin was a divider made of heavy canvas. It flapped and swayed with Coral Star’s movement. The action seemed to fan the sharp ammonia stench of bird.
Wooden cages, six of them occupied, were stacked and secured against the ship’s side under the window. The occupants protested the unsteadiness of their surroundings. It didn’t matter how much Dar cleaned, Dylan could smell bird shit. It was the one downside to bunking with Dar.
It could be worse, Dylan thought. We could be bunking with the guns. We have our privacy at least.
There came a knock on their cabin door.
Dar asked, “Who is it?”
“It’s Jade. May I come in?” The ship surgeon’s graceful Tahmerian accent held an edge of tension.
“Yes,” Dar said. He then grabbed a blanket, folded it on top of a trunk, and then returned his attention to Dylan. “Sit.”
Dylan sat. “Dar, give me your knife.”
“Later,” Dar said.
“I need it. Now,” Dylan said.
“Why?” Dar asked.
Rain pelted window glass. Lightning brightened the cabin’s interior. Thunder, less immediate, rattled the window.
Jade Kalyani entered, balancing a cup in one hand and carrying a leather bag in the other. She was a compact and middle-aged woman with tan skin. Her face was tattooed with small, precise circles—two above her eyebrows, one close to each ear. The backs of her hands were also marked. Each circle contained a tiny dot-pattern inked in reds, blues, and greens. Dylan understood that the marks were related to her medical practice. Th
e top of her head barely reached Dar’s shoulder. Not a Leaudancer, her grey-streaked hair was bound into one thick braid that fell down the length of her back. She was dressed in baggy brown breeches, a white linen shirt, and a painted silk waistcoat of purple, red, and blue. Her hair was wet. She smelled of medicine and the ocean.
“Please, Dar,” Dylan said. “The knife.”
“You can’t even stand,” Dar said. “What makes you think handling a knife is going to be a good idea?”
“I need to take care of something. It’s important,” Dylan said.
Dar sighed. “Fine.” He handed over his knife.
With weak and trembling hands, Dylan reached under his hair and cut two of the braids there. Each represented a connection with an ancestor forged over more than a decade. It would cost him an equal number of years’ meditation and sacrifice to regrow, but the price was well worth the survival of Coral Star and all aboard her.
“Oh,” Dar said as understanding dawned on his face.
Laying the shorn braids on top of the trunk next to him, Dylan planned to dispose of them properly after Jade left.
“How are you feeling?” Jade asked.
“Like I was hit with a wine barrel,” Dylan said. “A full one. Lashed to two other wine barrels packed with lead. What time is it?”
She placed the cup and saucer on Dar’s trunk. “Three bells. Middle watch.”
No wonder it was so dark. He blinked. It had been morning when he’d gone to bed. “You let me sleep that long?”
Dar answered with a frown on his full lips. “If I hadn’t, you’d be dead right now. As it is, you very nearly killed yourself. Again.”
“You’re not going to persist in arguing about this, are you?” Dylan asked.
“All right,” Dar said. “All right.”
Jade reached into her bag and began mixing ingredients, which she poured into the dish with expert motions. “Drink,” she said, handing him the weighted stoneware cup.
“What is it?” Dylan asked.
“You’ve weakened yourself. We can’t have you getting sick, can we?” she asked.
Dylan drank, winced, and almost spit it back into the cup. “That tastes terrible.”
She took the dish from him. “Don’t be a baby. Darius says you took a fall. You’re in pain?”
He nodded.
“Let me see.”
Pulling up his nightshirt, he turned his back and displayed his injuries.
She whistled. “It’s a good thing you didn’t land on your head.” She poked and prodded his back. “Your leg hurts?”
“Yes. Left one. I didn’t break it. At least, I don’t think I did.”
Placing a warm hand on his bare back, she said, “Breathe deep for me. Slowly.”
He followed her instructions as best he could in spite of the hurt. She said nothing for a few moments. He felt a gradual, tingling warmth radiate from her palm. Knotted muscles, tense with pain, began to relax under her touch. Eventually, it spread down his spine and through his whole body. He breathed out in relief.
Finally, she replied, “You wrenched muscles in your back. Maybe something is pinched. It’s difficult to be precise in this weather. Nothing is broken.” She sat, returning her attention to her bag. She lined up a row of bottles and jars and mixed a new concoction. Once the necessary ingredients were inside the cup, she paused, placed her right hand over the brim, concentrated, and then whispered a blessing in Tahmerian. Tracing a holy symbol in the air above the mixture with a finger, she then poured hot water into the cup. She stirred its contents and then handed the finished product to him. “Drink this, too. For the pain. I didn’t remove the hurt. I can’t right now, but I blunted it. Unfortunately, that won’t last long.”
This time, he downed the medicine all at once. Its bitterness gave him a shudder, which sent a flash of agony through his spine. He blinked back tears. After three breaths, the ache faded until it became more tolerable.
Packing her things, she said, “I’m afraid that’s the best I can do for now. How do you feel?”
“Better,” Dylan said.
“Think you can sleep?” she asked.
“Yes. Thank you very much.” He got to his feet.
Dar waved him toward the hammock they shared. “I’ll pay. Sleep. Now.”
“All right.” Dylan carefully did as he was told. His aches and pains seemed to drift away. The need to sleep grew even more powerful.
Retrieving a smooth black stone from inside his own trunk, Dar then closed the lid. Jade, like any other member of the crew, was paid a wage for her services. However, Leaudancers were required to give of a gift in exchange for magic done on their behalf. It didn’t have to be valuable, only meaningful. “Please accept this small stone. It’s jet. It came from a beach in Eledore.” In fact, Dylan had given it to Dar as a love token. “Keep it with you for protection.”
Jade accepted the stone and then placed it in her waistcoat pocket. “Thank you.” She turned and left.
Dylan prepared himself to be jostled as Dar joined him. He closed his eyes.
“I’m going topside,” Dar said. “I’ll check on you later.”
Dylan felt Dar plant a kiss on his cheek and tuck the blankets in tight. “Sleep well, my love.”
And with that, Dylan was lost to his dreams.
TWO
“You don’t want that tile,” Dar said, frowning down at the game board.
“Why not?” Dylan asked.
“You already flipped it. Remember?”
“Oh.”
The third bell on the dogwatch had sounded, and they were playing a game of vuelta before going to bed. It was a child’s game, but Dar enjoyed it, and Dylan was in the mood to indulge Dar.
A whale oil lamp gave off a not-unpleasant warm, fishy odor. Its light filled their cabin with a yellowish glow. Supper had consisted of spicy seafood and rice stew, fresh bread, garlic, and butter. Dylan’s belly was pleasantly full, and he was comfortable, his injuries having already healed, thanks to Jade. That is, all but one. Idly, he brushed a finger across the healing bruise in the middle of his forehead. It itched. Jade said it was going to scar. All in all, he didn’t mind. It could’ve been worse. His thoughts drifted to those final moments like a pin to a lodestone. Over and over, the image of Aegrir as that muscular, attractive—naked, so very naked—young man sprang to mind. Over and over, he felt guilty and willed it away. Worse, he’d dreamed all night of what might have happened if he’d accepted that invitation and had woken with a fierce cockstand. He’d whispered things into Dar’s ear until a sleepy smile had crept across his face. Then he’d made love to him. That’d been good, but it felt strange somehow—as if there were a third person in their hammock.
“Don’t pick at it,” Dar said, not looking up from the game board filled with colorful thin metal tiles. Each was magnetized to stay in place.
“What?”
“Your forehead,” Dar said. “So … are you going to tell me about what’s wrong, yet?”
Dylan kept his gaze on the game. I can’t tell him. His feelings will be hurt. Mine would. I can’t do that to him. “There isn’t anything to tell.”
“There’s something, all right,” Dar said. “You could start with that mark. You didn’t get that when you fell. I would’ve noticed.”
Turning over a tile, Dylan slumped when he spied the yellow star set in a blue box. It didn’t match the green-and-black anchor with the purple flower wreath. It was the third time in a row he’d picked the star. “It’s nothing. My mind isn’t in the game, that’s all.”
“No wonder you lost so much at five-card bluff when you served in the Eledorean navy,” Dar said. “You’re a terrible liar.” He turned over two tiles and matched them. They were red roses. He flipped another piece that revealed a crescent moon. The next one was a clock.
Why not trust in him? If you don’t, he will only guess. Dylan didn’t know which was worse. I don’t want to lose him. After years apart, he was only getting c
omfortable with Dar again. In so many ways, it had felt like starting over from the beginning.
“All right.” He looked away. “The mark came from Aegrir.”
Dar blinked. “The real and actual Aegrir.” It was one part disbelieving statement and one part question.
“Yes.” And with that, Dylan explained everything, including the proposition. “I—I refused her … I mean him. You don’t have to worry. I kept my oath. I know it doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t. But … I felt I should tell you I was—I am attracted.”
“Long hair? Big with dark eyes?” Dar snorted and shrugged. “No shit. She knew your type. It’s not that difficult to figure out.”
Dylan reached toward Dar and brushed his cheek with his fingers. “You’re my type.”
“Of course I am,” Dar said with no sign of insecurity. “You have more than one. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“You’re not upset?”
“Why would I be?” Dar said, moving closer. “You refused a goddess to keep your oath to me. I’d say that was drowned romantic.”
And just like that, the overwhelming power of attraction as well as the guilt and fear were gone. Relieved, Dylan kissed Dar. “You’re wonderful.”
“So are you,” Dar said, kissing back.
Dylan’s hand drifted to Dar’s lap.
Dar’s voice acquired a low note that could almost be a purr. “Don’t start something you don’t intend to finish.”
“What? The game?”
THREE
The setting sun cast glowing embers across the gently rolling ocean. Gazing out at the expanse of water from the gunnel, Dylan heard yet another series of clanks and thumps indicating opened and closed message boxes. He waited while Dar refilled the reward containers and indicated it was time to move on. Then Dylan lifted the sacks of crumbs, fish scraps, and other treats intended for Dar’s partners in the messenger business and followed Dar to the next station. It was tedious work, but Dar enjoyed it. Anxious, Dylan had joined Dar in his twice-daily check for messages as a distraction, but it seemed the perches and cages would all be empty, and Dylan had started to wish he’d chosen to go aloft and read a novel instead. His duties as weathermaster often came in short bursts of fierce, exhausting work spaced with longer periods of inactivity. Rest being a requirement for recovery, it was necessary. Unfortunately, Dylan tended toward fits of unease during long calms. He knew this about himself. His senses would grow sharper with each passing day, making him twitch with vigilance at any hint or sign in sky or water. And that was why he hadn’t said anything when he’d felt that odd empty flattening sound and raising the hairs on the back of his neck.
