A Curse of Gold

by Annie Sullivan

  “I decorated for our feast,” Triton says, waving his free hand around the room.

  “A feast?” The veins in Royce’s arms throb to the surface as he balls his fists. “You destroyed my maps to have a feast?”

  Triton takes another sip from his glass and stares at Royce over the rim. “Yes—this is my first night out of that palace prison, and I’ve decided we’re going to feast in celebration.” He gestures for us to sit in the chairs around the table.

  Royce slowly stands, his face growing redder by the moment and highlighting the indents in his cheeks from his clenched jaw.

  I know Royce is doing his best to control his anger, but Triton’s pushing it even for him.

  I take a deep breath, remembering that it was King Kalisrov who said a leader should always be in control. And right now, I’m far from that, so I push forward.

  All eyes land on me.

  “I . . . I . . .” I can’t think of what to say. I don’t want to give in to Triton, but I’m afraid what will happen if we don’t. How can I placate them all—especially someone as self-absorbed as Triton?

  Then it strikes me. I knew someone who used to be exactly like Triton. I’d even compared Triton’s air to the swagger he’d once had.

  Aris.

  An idea settles in my mind as I clear my throat and start again. “Royce, I know you need to go check in on the crew, but I’m sure the rest of us would enjoy a pleasant dinner.”

  Rhat stands there stone-faced as Hettie gapes at me like I’ve lost my mind, and she slowly shakes her head back and forth either in disbelief or in refusal to my proposal.

  Royce’s eyes meet mine, and I silently plead with him, giving him the slightest nod to let him know I’ve got this under control.

  Not only do I want him to have some time away from Triton—as much as he probably wants it himself—but Triton will be more amenable to my plans without trying to one-up Royce at every opportunity.

  Royce nods in return, turning back to Triton. “Yes, I’m afraid the crew needs me. If you’ll excuse me.” He doesn’t wait for Triton to answer. He turns on his heels and strides out of the room.

  “I didn’t want him to stay anyway,” Triton says loudly. His eyes dart to the seat on his left, and I realize there are four empty seats around the table. So even though he won’t admit it, Triton must’ve been counting on Royce staying.

  But that’s what Hettie and Rhat are for. As much as they’re not going to like it, they’re part of my plan to appease Triton by having some of us join him so he doesn’t feel ignored or slighted.

  Because that’s what would’ve set Aris off—being ignored and not being seen as the most powerful one in the room.

  Not only did Aris revel in attention, in having others listen to the stories of his grand adventures—stories I had eaten up far too eagerly—he had even been rumored to throw lavish parties with incredibly exclusive guest lists. It was the appearance, the superiority those supposed events conveyed that Aris fed off. It gave him status. It gave him power.

  And I can feed into Triton, can seemingly give into his demands, as long as it gets me the information I want. Because if he thinks he’s in control, he might be looser with his words, as those assured of their own power often are. And if I can understand the way he thinks, perhaps I can not only prevent more of his outbursts—making it a more pleasant journey for everyone—but I can also glean information about Jipper from him.

  And that’s the only thing that makes dining with him palatable.

  “Thank you for inviting us,” I say to Triton through what I hope passes for a smile as I move closer to the table.

  “I knew you’d join me,” Triton says. “I’ve saved this seat for you, Princess.” He points to the chair immediately to his right.

  After I’m settled, I look to Rhat and Hettie. “Please join us,” I say with emphasis on the word please. I send them pleading looks.

  Hettie finally throws up her arms and stalks into the room. Rhat’s clearly not about to leave her alone with the half-naked Triton, who’s capable of anything, so he comes too.

  “Eat, eat,” Triton says. He stabs a rusty fork into a plump scallop and pops it into his mouth.

  Besides the scallops, bowls overfilled with clams and mussels line the table while a chipped platter heaped with kelp acts as an edible centerpiece.

  But as I stare at the food, I can’t help picturing the clam that talked to me in Poseidon’s palace. Maybe one of these is that clam. In fact, the more I stare at the mussels, the more it looks like one is opening and closing its shell, like it wants to tell me something or scream for help.

  I tear my eyes away as Hettie speaks.

  “If you’re prince of the sea,” she says, a disgusted look passing across her face, “aren’t fish and clams and things your subjects?” She glances over the platters before swinging back to meet Triton’s face.

  I’d hoped she and Rhat would be too busy eating to ask questions—or to say anything really. So I bide my time, waiting for the moment I can jump into the conversation.

  “Yes,” Triton replies, prying the meat out of a clam and slurping it off the shell. “It’s no different than humans eating all those land creatures.”

  “They aren’t our subjects,” Hettie replies.

  “What subject wouldn’t be willing to give his life up for the nourishment of his prince?”

  “Ugh,” Hettie says, but Triton’s words don’t stop her from spooning a mound of clams onto her plate. Next to her, Rhat does the same.

  And I know this is my chance.

  “Triton—” I begin.

  “Prince Triton,” he says, again emphasizing the word prince. Then he waves his hand, telling me I can continue.

  I sigh, summoning all my diplomacy skills and what I can remember from Prince Ikkin’s writings about knowing the terrain of upcoming battles. “Prince Triton, since you’re one of the few powerful enough to go to Jipper, let alone make it out alive, what can you tell us of the island?”

  As I scoop several seaweed strands onto my plate, I pray stroking his ego and giving him a chance to share his knowledge and stories will help, that he’ll rise to the challenge and revel in having all attention on him.

  He slips another piece of clam meat into his mouth before answering. “It’s a small island, only a few miles in any direction. But it’s dangerous to weak humans like yourselves. Just because I’m capable of surviving it, don’t think you are.”

  “What makes it so dangerous?” I ask. I tear off a piece of seaweed and slip it into my mouth. It’s slimy and salty and chewier than I expected. But that doesn’t stop me from doing the same thing over and over again so Triton doesn’t think I’m ungrateful for the food.

  “Well . . .” Triton picks up a mussel and tips the shell toward his mouth before throwing it empty onto the table. “Dionysus likes to keep things interesting. There’s a volcano that goes off whenever he wants it to, but honestly, that’ll be the least of your worries.”

  I notice he doesn’t include himself in the group that will have to face the island dangers, but I don’t press it.

  “You’ll have to deal with some of his cursed creatures,” he continues.

  “Like what?” Hettie questions, slurping a strand of seaweed into her mouth.

  Triton leans back, resting his feet on the table. “He’s won a lot from other gods over the years, so any sort of creature could be lurking on the island.

  “Oh, and rows and rows of grapes surround his house. He grows them to make wine. When you’re passing through, don’t eat the grapes. Some of them are poisoned. For that matter, don’t drink the wine he offers you either.”

  “So no grapes, avoid his creatures, and hope the volcano doesn’t go off,” Hettie says. “That doesn’t sound that hard.”

  Triton slides his feet off the table. “Those things are more dangerous than you think. And even if they weren’t, they’re meant to slow you down, if nothing else.”

  I shake my head.
“Slow us down? Why would that matter?”

  Triton rests his elbows on the table, leaning forward eagerly to tell his tale. “The island rises and sets with the sun. Any mortal still on the island when it sinks becomes bound to it. It’s why Dionysus will try and get you drunk or ask you endless questions or give you an impossible task to complete.” He flicks his hand around so one long finger points at his own chest. “Personally, I’ve never stayed on the island after sunset because it enters another realm—Tartarus—when it sinks. Dionysus certainly invited me enough times, and that’s exactly why I refused.”

  “So do you think we can cross the island in one day?” Rhat asks.

  Triton shrugs as he finishes what’s on his plate. “I only have to get you there. The rest is your problem.”

  “Do you even have a heart?” Hettie asks, tossing an empty shell back onto her plate.

  “Hettie,” I hiss.

  “No, it’s all right,” Triton says to me. “She’s welcome to come put her ear right here”—he points to his bare chest—“and listen. She hasn’t been able to stop staring anyway.”

  “Why you—” Hettie’s words are cut off by Rhat’s chair scraping across the floor as he stands.

  Hettie has one hand strangling a dinner knife, and her other hand is twitching toward her sword.

  I leap to my feet, drawing everyone’s attention to me again. I run my hands through my hair. Managing Triton is like managing a country that’s trying to do everything it can to cause a war despite having a treaty.

  “That’s enough, Triton,” I say.

  He leans back in his chair, flexing his arms back behind his head. “You’re right. That is enough. I’m full.” He pats his stomach. “Enough sitting for one night. There has to be some form of entertainment on this ship.”

  “I don’t know,” Hettie says, venom staining her voice. “We can’t even dance without getting attacked by sea monsters.”

  Triton claps his hands together. “Excellent idea, land girl. Dancing. That’s perfect. It’s been ages since I’ve danced.”

  Before I can even think how to object, he strides out of the room.

  “Great,” I groan, sending Hettie an exasperated look. Now I have to go deal with that situation when all I want to do is go crawl into bed and go to sleep, like the rest of the men probably have. But I can’t, because I’m sure Triton will have no qualms waking the men up to play music for him. And that will not go over well.

  “Don’t act like this is my fault.” Hettie bolts out of her seat and plants her hands on the table, leaning over her plate toward me. “He does nothing but insult us all the time, and I’m not going to take it. You’re the reason he’s here, so from now on, you keep him away from me.” As she shoves backward, her chair topples over with a clatter, and she doesn’t bother righting it before she storms out.

  “Hettie, wait,” I try to call.

  She doesn’t turn back.

  “It’s probably best to let her have some time to cool off,” Rhat says. “I’ll talk to her.”

  I nod, but I doubt even his calming presence will have much effect on Hettie.

  And as much as I want to go after her and smooth things out myself, I have to deal with Triton first. Because he’s like Hettie was on our first voyage—with the addition of magic powers. There’s no telling who he’ll annoy to get what he wants.

  Yet I have no idea how to deal with him or how to make things right with Hettie. I don’t even know where to start—except to head after Triton, hoping I can stop him before he causes even more trouble.

  CHAPTER 17

  I hear Triton shouting before I even emerge on deck.

  “Dancing,” he calls.

  When he spies me stumbling onto the deck, his smile widens. “Ah, you’ve come to join me.” And somehow he gets louder, shouting across the ship, “The land princess and I wish to dance.”

  I skid to a stop, my stomach feeling like it did while staring at the mussels a few moments ago. “No, we’re not—”

  “Hello, musicians,” he hollers over my objections. He meanders over toward the mast as if sailors might be hiding behind it. He nearly trips on one of the deep claw marks Grax left behind the deck.

  “Your captain should really take better care of his ship,” he says.

  Before I can tell him his pet did that, he’s already gone back to searching the deck for any sailors he can force into being musicians.

  I scurry behind him, but just when I’m about to tell him there will be no dancing, he turns around and throws up his hands.

  “Doesn’t anyone on this ship know how to make music?”

  “The sailors are most likely sleeping,” I say, holding up a hand to stop him while I go on. “And we will not be waking them up to play music.”

  “Fine,” he replies.

  The stern objection that had been forming on my lips dies.

  Fine? I’d been expecting him to argue. But at this point, I’m too tired to care why he’s given in so easily. I just want to thank him and get out of there.

  I’m opening my mouth to do just that when he snaps his fingers.

  “Don’t worry,” he says, a wide, lopsided grin streaking across his face. “I fixed it.”

  A slow melody hums over the ship. It seems to come from all around us at once. The notes are low and long, accented by little clicks that almost sound like bubbles popping in a steady beat.

  “What is that?” I ask.

  “Seahorses singing through their trumpets. Magical, isn’t it?” He sways back and forth, and his eyes twinkle as they stare down at me. They’re misty blue—just like the ocean where the tide meets the shore—a swirl of blue and white melting together.

  I clear my throat and look away. I don’t need to be staring moonstruck into his eyes. He may be handsome, but I know better than anyone that real beauty is more than skin deep.

  “Aren’t you tired?” I venture.

  Triton leans in close. “I don’t need rest. I’m immortal.”

  But I barely hear his answer because his face waits inches from mine. His skin smells fresh and light, like the breeze that drifts in through my windows on a warm summer’s day. The smell overwhelms my senses. I’m vaguely aware this must be how Triton lures women into becoming his Temptresses.

  Something about the music, about his eyes, the way he smells, it all makes me want to lean forward and kiss him.

  I pull back, stumbling away from him, the feeling fading the farther I move away. “What did you do to me?”

  Confusion crosses his face as his brows narrow. Then some sort of realization must dawn because he crosses his arms and stares out toward the ocean around us. “I forgot about that. It’s been a long time since anyone’s visited.”

  “Forgot about what?” I say, my feelings still settling inside me.

  His jaw tightens, and for a moment, I don’t think he’s going to answer. But without looking at me, he says, “That was Dionysus’s magic. He made it so that if any woman falls in love with me, or I with her, she turns into a Temptress. His magic draws women to me. Once they’re close, the magic takes over, heightening all their feelings, making them want to love me. And if they do love me—or I them—they become fully entranced and eventually turn into Temptresses. It’s what I got for losing a bet against Dionysus, so you can see why I’m not eager to go back and face him again. Not that I have much else to lose at this point.”

  “So you didn’t ask Dionysus to create the Temptresses for you?” I stare, wide-eyed. True, Poseidon had told me Dionysus’s magic had a hand in making the Temptresses, but so much had been going on I didn’t stop to think about it. I’d always just assumed Triton was a monster, turning ordinary women into sea witches out of spite when they no longer loved him. That’s what the legend said.

  “Not on purpose,” he snaps, his gaze meeting mine. “But everyone assumes I did, so I might as well have.”

  “I just always thought—”

  “You thought wrong—just like you
humans always do.” He turns and stares back out toward the air bubble, his shoulders slumping forward. He waves his hand, silencing the music, plunging us into an eerie silence. “You can leave now. I’m no longer in the mood for dancing.”

  But I don’t leave. For the first time, I look at him. Really look at him. Sure, he’s attractive at first glance, but there’s a tightness around his eyes that shouldn’t be there on someone who appears so young. Not to mention the way his brow stays furrowed as he stares resolutely ahead and how he wraps his arms around his chest like he’s holding himself together.

  With his wall of confidence gone, he looks broken in a way I know all too well. And for the first time, I realize Triton and I might have more in common than I ever thought. People think he’s monster, just like some people think that of me and my golden skin. And we both know what it’s like to be caught in Dionysus’s magic web and what it’s like to have false rumors floating around about yourself. It isolates you, sets you apart. And in his case, it’s made him bitter against the world.

  I can’t imagine what his life has been like—especially having Poseidon as a father—but I’m beginning to understand why he pushes people away. Because either people—like his own father—have pushed him away or they’ve gotten too close and been turned into Temptresses. He pushes them away before they can abandon him.

  I can’t imagine how lonely he must be. Or maybe I can. Didn’t I feel the same way when I was turned to gold? I lost touch with my own father and everyone around me. I didn’t let anyone in. But I turned things around, and maybe he can too. He just needs some help getting there.

  “You know,” I say, “if you gave humans a chance, you might find we’re not so bad. Maybe you’d even find friends.”

  “You humans and your friendships,” he scoffs. “They never last.”

  I rub my forehead. He certainly doesn’t make this easy. And I’m wondering how I can possibly get through to him when he finally transfers his gaze to me.