Once he was standing beside her, she wrapped her arms around his waist and muttered, “I thought I had lost you.”
“I will never let you go again.” Emich caught her eye before leaning in to press his lips to hers.
Epilogue
The trees and earth were soaked from the last rain. The scent of pine perfumed the air as Emich rode down the mountain. His cloak and hood kept him warm except for his hands, which clung frozen to the leather reins. He tried to ignore his achy shoulder. It had been weeks since the wound had healed from his magic, but it still bothered him in the cold.
The first snow hadn’t yet fallen, but it was only a matter of time. He looked up at the gray skies and hunched his shoulders against the chill, resolved. He would travel any distance to find her. Any distance at all.
It wasn’t long before the sounds of the village met his ears, and he coaxed the horse into a trot to get there quickly. The wooden frame of the Swan came into view. White billowing smoke curled high into the air from the chimney stack and dissipated above the treetops. Muffled voices came from within.
He might have stopped in for a drink if he weren’t in a hurry to find Henkel. Who else would have come to steal her away from him on the eve of such an important day?
Emich traveled down the mucky street, avoiding the merchants’ nods as he passed by all the shops. Firelight flickered from inside their thresholds, and the smell of smoke hung in the air. He was making his way to the far end of the village toward the smith’s house when he saw a familiar face come out of the tailor’s shop.
Tybalt raised his hand to him with a smile. Emich slowed his horse to stop beside him. The man patted his waist and presumably his purse hidden from view and muttered with a laugh, “That was an expensive visit. I never thought her to be so interested in such an array of clothing. The tailor was quite confused about her order for a pair of lady’s breeches—said he had never heard of such a thing.”
“Have you seen her?” Emich asked, sensing his patience reaching its end.
The older man tilted his head and peered up at him. “Have you lost my daughter?”
Emich grit his teeth and pressed his hand on his knee. “I was on my way to Henkel’s to see what he has done with her.”
“Well, if he is any kind of friend, we will find them safe and sound at the tavern,” Tybalt answered with a grin and pointed the way Emich had come. “I hope you brought enough pfennigs to fill our stomachs with krapfen and ale.”
“Ja, of course I have,” Emich grumbled in response, casting a concerned glance toward the outskirts of town.
Tybalt began walking toward the Swan, and Emich turned his horse around to follow after. As the older man spoke, his breath marked the air. “I miss eating good meals when I am in the wilderness mining. I enjoy it for the peace and the beauty. You may scoff at the thought—a long-winded man having nothing but the birds and rocks to talk to.”
The gray-haired man paused to chuckle. He glanced over his shoulder at Emich, who was too absorbed with worry to give Tybalt his full attention. The older man must have realized this and led him to the tavern’s hitching post. He continued to talk as he waited for Emich to tie up his horse. “I stopped in and had a jelly-filled krapfen on my return with the wealth of emeralds I mined from the mountains to the south. Satisfied and full, I rode up the trail to your home eager to see my daughter again. When she welcomed me back with her warm embrace and loving words, I could not help but see she had changed. For so long she dreamed of finding a home, but home is nothing if you are not surrounded by the people you love. She loves you, Emich, more than anything.”
Emich finished tying the reins to the post and met Tybalt’s gaze. “And I love her.”
“Good lad.” Tybalt smiled. “I knew fate placed you in our path for a reason.”
They walked into the filled tavern. On such a cold and cloudy day, the best entertainment was having a drink and a bite to eat while sharing a laugh and a tale with your neighbors. The light from the hearth cast a warm glow throughout the dark interior. Voices drowned out the quiet from outside while Emich searched the place for Henkel and Morgen.
At a table near the hearth he found them. Morgen was smiling and laughing with the balding blacksmith. Both were lifting a stein to their lips when Emich stormed up. “You did a poor job at hiding her, you scoundrel!”
Henkel turned his narrowed eyes upon Emich and shook his head. “If you lived closer, I might have had the energy to do better. It took all my effort to get her and bring her here.”
“I thank you for that, kind fellow,” Tybalt said as he lowered himself onto the bench beside the smith. “Every lady should be lucky enough to be stolen away before her wedding. It is tradition.”
The tavern owner came up to their group while wiping his hands on a cloth. “Who may I ask is paying for your day of consumption?”
“The groom,” Henkel answered with a snicker. Emich didn’t think he’d ever seen his friend away from his forge long enough to have a drink.
“And who might that be?” The tavern owner frowned at Tybalt.
“Me.” Emich pulled at the drawstrings of his purse and palmed the leather satchel. Its contents clinked and chimed, which drew the tavern owner’s attention.
The man’s eyebrows rose. “Congratulations to you, sir.”
“I will pay for their afternoon in your establishment and,” Emich cleared his throat to announce loudly to the room, “this round is on me!”
Surprised expressions were turned his way, but he ignored them as he sat beside his soon-to-be bride. The people at the neighboring table raised their mugs and said, “Many thanks, Herr Schmidt!”
He nodded back, feeling uncomfortable from the attention. Warm hands wrapped around his arm, and Morgen leaned against him. Her breath touched his cheek, and his discomfort was immediately forgotten.
“Did you worry for my safety?” she whispered.
Emich glanced down at her and pulled her closer to him. “I missed you.”
“But you did not worry?”
He shook his head. “Who would be foolish enough to cross you? Not I.”
The tavern owner brought drinks for both Tybalt and Emich. When Emich lifted his to his mouth and took the first sip of the golden brew, he overheard the people at the neighboring table.
“Have you seen that brightly clothed fellow again? What did he call himself—Gelfrat, was it?”
“Was he the one who was asking about dragons?”
A man across the room spoke up and joined the conversation. “We warned him not to tangle with the beast. If it is trouble you seek, it is trouble you will find.”
The crowd nodded in agreement. Then an elderly man added, “It was not more than four weeks ago when one of my goats went missing. It was the same day I saw fire coming from Drachenberg.”
Emich sensed people growing uneasy as they asked around to learn if any other livestock had been snatched. He chose to do something very unlike himself and stood up. He cleared his throat and said loud enough for all to hear, “Gelfrat passed my home some weeks ago searching for dragons. I daresay he found what he was looking for. Fires followed screeching, though it lasted no more than the span of a morning, and I have not seen him since. Rest his soul.”
A woman at the neighboring table murmured, “Do you suppose he slayed one of the beasts?”
No one would ever find Rubrecht’s dragon remains—Emich had made sure of that. But belief in the legendary creatures of Drachenberg must live on.
“Nein.” Emich shook his head. “I have seen signs of them since.”
The man who’d complained of his missing goat rubbed his beard. “If that man had not gone searching for trouble, he might have shared an ale with us again. ”
Emich walked across the room to touch his mug to the elderly man’s and made eye contact. “Prost.”
Pairs of mugs were raised and other voices echoed the toast, and Emich returned to Morgen’s side. She looked at him in surprise, a
nd he said defensively, “As I have always said, good company is better than being alone.”
“Have you, now?” she muttered.
Conversations around them filled every space in the room, and from across the table, Henkel leaned in to say, “I have never seen anything like it before.”
Emich frowned. “What do you speak of?”
“Your bride.” Henkel raised his stein to her and winked. “Never seen a woman take to the forge like her. She is a natural—stronger than she seems.”
Morgen warned him with a raised brow. “Do not ruin my surprise.”
The smith set his stein on the table and raised his thick arms. With a shake of the head, he answered, “I would not dare.”
Emich looked at Morgen questioningly.
She blinked back at him and said with reluctance, “It may not be traditional, but neither am I. I made something for you—for us.”
Her eyes misted over with emotion, and she pinched her quivering lips together. From the leather sack by her side, she pulled out something and placed it in his hands.
Emich stared down at the forged iron, wondering at her talent. Between two black metal wings, a fierce dragon clamped a ring in its toothy jaw. Scales marked its face and its detailed eyes held Emich’s gaze. The door knocker was one of the more elaborate he’d ever seen.
He touched her cheek and muttered, “You are amazing.”
She shook her head, blinking away the tears that had eroded her strong exterior. “Before you I only dreamed of having a home…”
He interrupted her. “When you walked into my house, you made it a home. Without your love, I would have nothing.”
Her brows furrowed, and he could tell she was preparing her argument when he silenced her the only way he knew how. With a kiss.
* * *
The End
* * *
If you enjoyed SPARK, read another in the SHAPESHIFTER SAGAS
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About the Author
Natasha Brown’s active imagination has always been a distraction. When she was a child, the forest outside her home and the books read in the dark past bedtime taught her that exciting worlds are created with dreams and a voice. Once she started writing, she couldn’t break the habit. By day, Natasha’s an assistant teacher at an elementary school, and by night, she’s a book cover designer. Her weekends are spent writing and spending time with family, unless she’s not busy dreaming up her next imaginary world.
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Tainted Siren
Isra Sravenheart
Tainted Siren © 2017 Isra Sravenheart
* * *
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This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Tainted Siren
Tainted by Death, Cursed by Life!
Esme is sixteen years old. A mermaid born into royalty, she longs to be free. All her life, she has dedicated herself to the kingdom but she does not want to be queen. She tumbles to the bottom of the ocean and meets the mysterious merman, Lazarus. That’s when things turn stormy.
Tragic events ensue, placing the fate of the kingdom in her hands.
Lazarus sends Esme on a path of darkness and rebellion, giving her the choice to roam by his side or to do her duty and save her kingdom from a curse.
Lazarus proves deadly as Esme falls for his wayward charms. He becomes a seductive distraction while a curse wreaks havoc on everything Esme holds dear.
Will Esme give into lust and plunge her people into a cataclysm?
1
The sea air was fresh and fragrant, and the sand soft and silky. Then the humans touched it with their bare feet, poisoning nature with their toxins. They destroyed everything just by uttering a breath, in Esme’s mind. Humans were the enemy.
Many knew this to be true. She had heard the tales. She knew the rhymes declaring them anathema to mermaids. While her family thought her woefully uneducated, Esme was keen to learn when given the chance. And she knew enough to know that humans were trouble.
Esme fondled a long lock of glistening pink hair, her fingers sliding through it as she mused. She wasn’t supposed to be on the shore. She wasn’t allowed anywhere near it. Plenty of merfolk had been killed by straying too close to human land, getting caught in the nets of human traps.
But Esme was not afraid. She wanted to see the human world for herself. She considered herself a shy girl who persevered. She didn’t fear the human attacker. If you had an enemy, shouldn’t you learn as much as you can about him? Moreover, the possibility of death did not deter her. She had been to the shore many times and not once had she been caught in a fisherman’s hook and gutted like a trout. She had taken many risks and still had not fallen prey to the terror that lurked above.
The sun was coming in fast. Its orange rays hit the sand, making it glisten like fire. She knew it was time to go back home. She couldn’t hang about here much longer. Her father would be wondering where she had gone.
She’d need a fabrication worthy of a sorcerer in order to pull the wool over the king’s eyes.
Esme sighed and then pushed off into the boundless ocean beyond.
Swimming along, she considered what she’d seen. What if human and mermaids could coexist one day? Wouldn’t that be a nice? What if we could visit the murky shores without fear of attack? she mused. Could mermaids and humans ever unite in friendship? That really would be something.
Sighs broke the silence in the throne room. Esme idly studied the room’s elaborate architecture as her father, King Nereus, grumbled from his throne.
King Nereus was old, his beard growing whiter by the day. Esme was his only daughter, the child of his first wife, Lorelei, who had died shortly after Esme’s birth. The king had married again, not out of love but for the sake of his kingdom. Love was not important when there was a kingdom to rule and protect.
Queen Nixie was a noble woman, a wise and resourceful creature. The dashing lady wore her glistening ruby-red hair hanging in waves all the way down to her bottom. A pale green seashell held some of her curls in place at the side. She had a motherly look about her, an hourglass figure that had filled out slightly due to all the years of childrearing and a lack of love from her king. She maintained her strong wit and independence, choosing to remain in her own residence during the marriage.
The king was understanding about this and allowed his wife the privacy she desired so long as she was always present at family gatherings and important royal events.
But Nixie was not all she seemed to be.
Nixie had a past, a dark, disturbing past. Nobody would have wanted her anywhere near the kingdom’s seat of power if they knew of it.
For Nixie dabbled in the magical arts, creating all manner of spells and potions.
She also had an array of ex-lovers discarded in her wake before her the marriage to the king. This glamorous siren had crushed many hearts before she dedicated herself to her king.
Being a practical marriage, it worked. Nereus did not see Nixie as a lover, nor did he express much affection for her. There was some roma
ntic interaction in the early days between Nereus and Nixie, but that was only because both partners saw such closeness as their duty. Love never factored into their arrangement. Nereus wanted a queen who would do as she was told and to be loyal to him and the crown. Nixie happened to be a favorite lady among the court and so he chose her to be his wife.
Nereus also had another duty, to provide his daughter with a mother. As a stepmother thrown into this role so early on, Nixie had to raise Esme. Nixie tried her utmost to guide and advise her stepdaughter, since she knew what painful tasks would be required of the child when she reached the age of eighteen.
In truth, Nixie wasn’t as enthusiastic about childcare as she made herself out to be. She’d never had a child herself. If she’d had the choice, she would have chosen not to engage with Esme at all.
Nixie was often exhausted with Esme. Time and time again, Esme took precedence over Nixie in King Nereus’s life, and the king rarely needed his wife or gave her his approval. This wounded Nixie deeply as she so badly wanted his love. Esme was a sore reminder of that, for the king doted over his daughter as any loving father would.
Nevertheless, Nixie and Esme got on well, for the most part. But Esme found fault in Nixie as Nixie forced Esme to learn about all the laws of the kingdom in order to prepare her for her birthright as queen. But Esme did not want to be tied down with the responsibilities of being queen when she came of age.
Still, if Esme were ever to find out Nixie’s dark secret that she hid, then she would know that Nixie didn’t care any more about the queenship than Esme did.
Despite the clashing between them, when Esme had a problem, it was undoubtedly Nixie that she turned to for advice.
Sirens and Scales Page 159
