Between the Sea and Stars

by Chantal Gadoury

  Her skin heated, but Soren was smiling as if he understood.

  “That was beautiful,” she murmured.

  “Always so polite.”

  “And you’re too modest.” How could Jace think so little of him? “Soren, I . . . I also came here to apologize to you, about last night. What Jace said, what he implied—”

  Soren’s smile dimmed slightly as he set the flute aside.

  “We weren’t there together, not in the way that you thought.”

  “There’s nothing to apologize for, Lena.”

  “But there is.” Her thoughts swirled together, mouth suddenly cold as she recalled the previous night. Jace chasing her, kissing her. “I think . . . I think Jace thought the same thing you did. I must have . . . confused him somehow. Made him believe we were more than . . .” Friends? She couldn’t quite say that word, not after last night, or this morning.

  “Whatever I did to make him think he could . . .” Touch me. Grab me. Kiss me. Embarrassment flooded her cheeks. Soren lowered his brow.

  “Make him think he could what?”

  Lena didn’t answer.

  “A man isn’t made to think, Lena. He just thinks. His choices, his actions, are his own.”

  Lena sighed. “He shouldn’t have treated you so rudely.”

  “He’s not sorry for it, Lena. And you have never been anything but kind. Don’t burden yourself with another person’s misdeeds.” He paused and shook his head. “I’ve known Jace Wyatt since we were boys. I know he has a temper.”

  “I truly did wish to dance with you last night.” Lena blurted the admission aloud before she had the chance to stop herself. The smile returned to Soren’s lips, and the light to his eyes.

  “I suppose it’s for the best that we didn’t. I’ve been known to trample a lady’s toes. It’s safer if I go without a partner, although I couldn’t quite stop myself from asking you.” He tilted his head toward the back room. “Have you had breakfast?” he inquired. “I was just about to sit down to eat before you came bursting in.”

  “Oh! I’m sorry!”

  Soren chuckled. “First you apologize for Jace, though you’re an entirely different person. Now you’re apologizing for improving my morning. Come. I have a fresh loaf of bread and fruit from the market. And I still have that crab you caught.”

  “We caught,” Lena corrected.

  “Yes.” Soren laughed unabashedly at the memory. “I cooked it last night and wrapped it in wax paper to keep it fresh.”

  The mere mention of that succulent meat made Lena’s mouth water. Her stomach growled with hunger. Soren beckoned her along, revealing his living space again.

  Something was different about it. Lena glanced about herself, wondering what had changed.

  There were two chairs tucked beneath Soren’s little table instead of one.

  Soren retrieved the lump of leftover crab and began to unwrap it. “Did you enjoy yourself at Samhain?” he asked, his fingers moving nimbly over twine and cloudy-white paper.

  “A little.”

  “Only a little?”

  Lord Jarl’s revelation repeated in Lena’s head, and her stomach dropped. She gave a small nod, and Soren’s brow furrowed.

  He placed the crab meat on a long wooden board along with a clutch of ripe berries. He gathered a few slices of bread and a jar filled to the brim with a bright red paste.

  “Do you like jam?” he asked, rounding the table and setting the morning meal between them.

  “Jam?” She’d heard the word before, she was sure, though she couldn’t recall . . .

  “Freshly made from the miller’s wife. She crushes berries together and creates this lovely jam for toasted bread.”

  “I don’t . . .” Lena shook her head as she looked at the vibrant, seed-speckled jelly. “I don’t know.”

  “Oh! Well, you simply have to try this.” Soren dipped a spoon into the jar and slathered it across a thick slice of bread. He lifted it to her and waited as she carefully accepted it. It smelled sweet. Lena gingerly took a bite and smiled at the burst of flavor. It was unlike anything she’d ever tasted before.

  “Good, ja?”

  “Good,” she hummed, grinning as she chewed.

  Soren made himself a slice of bread with jam and took a seat in the adjacent chair. A comfortable silence fell into place between them, almost as if they were old friends.

  As she ate, Lena’s violet gaze drifted over the hearth, the humble kitchenette, the cluttered shelves. This was a home, though it was small. Cozy and warm and filled with simple treasures. It reminded her a bit of the cavern.

  She lifted her eyes to the apex of the wall, where the portrait of Soren’s mother gazed over everything. She paused. There was something familiar about it. Something she hadn’t noticed before. Now as she stared at the gray eyes, the fair skin, she felt a stab of recognition, as if a secret were unfurling in her mind.

  She’d seen that face before. Those were the eyes of the strange, old merrow woman.

  Soren followed her line of sight. “She was beautiful, wasn’t she,” he said.

  Lena nodded dumbly. His mother. Soren believed she was dead, but Lena had known her, spoken with her. A frail, frightful, penniless creature, withering away beneath the waves.

  If it hadn’t been for the old merrow woman, Lena never would have escaped the sea god, never would have gained legs, never would have met . . . her son.

  Soren brushed a lock of white hair from his eyes. “I know I told you to lie to me, Lena,” he murmured, “but I’ve changed my mind. It’s far worse to think you’ve taken pity on me. I understand if you don’t believe.”

  She shook her head, hesitating for the barest of seconds.

  Then she reached across the table, slipped her hands into Soren’s, and squeezed.

  “I believe,” she promised.

  Doubt clouded his eyes, then cleared away like smoke in the breeze.

  “I believe.”

  27

  After they finished their meal and chatted over a kettle of mint tea, they took a walk together along the blustery beach. Soren kept his hands tucked into his pockets and his elbows pinned to his sides against the mid-morning breeze.

  What would it have felt like, Lena wondered, to have danced with Soren at Samhain? To be caught in his gently swaying embrace, swept across the floor with his sturdy arms banded about her waist?

  Somehow, she didn’t think it would feel like being caught at all. Perhaps it would feel like being free. Free of her panic, of her grief, for a few minutes at least.

  As they walked, side by side, their arms brushed, sleeve passing over sleeve. The sensation of almost touching felt strangely intimate, especially as Soren began to reveal more and more of what he’d uncovered about the merrow world; all that he’d learned from journals and sailor logs. The quiet passion of his life.

  “You’ve studied this for a long time, it seems.”

  A flicker of pride lit in Soren’s green eyes before he lowered his lashes. “I’ve spent most of my time since my father’s passing trying to learn as much as I can.” He paused to pick up a small shell, bleached white and buffed smooth by the tide. He turned it over in the palm of his hand. “Everything about the world there, beneath the sea, it fascinates me. It makes me feel as though I’m one step closer to my mother, learning about her; what was important to her . . .”

  Lena swallowed. “My mother died, before . . .” Before the shipwreck, she should have said. Instead, she trailed off. Keeping quiet about her past was one thing. An outright lie was quite another. A part of her desperately wanted to tell him everything, to trust somebody again, to feel the weight of her secrets dissolving like sea foam.

  She parted her lips. Bit her tongue.

  She couldn’t tell him . . . everything. Anything. But perhaps she could be a bit more truthful about the things she was beginning to feel.

  With shy hands, she reached forth and curled Soren’s fingers over the delicate, white shell.

 
“Shells are used to save memories,” she explained. “It’s said that merrows keep shells as a signifier of a moment.”

  Soren’s gaze gleamed against the pale light of the sun. The corners of his mouth just barely lifted into a grin. “I doubt I’ll forget this, Lena.”

  Lena laid in her bed, staring quietly at the low wooden ceiling and smiling. She could still feel the warmth of Soren’s fingers as he’d slid the small shell into her hand. He’d hesitated sweetly, then drifted his arm over her shoulder. His chest had sighed as she’d melted against him, and she’d heard the quickening rhythm of his heartbeat.

  She’d kept the powdery-white treasure in her pocket all day, caressing it privately as she’d strolled back to the inn alone, as she’d listened to Edwin retell the fortunes he’d delivered last night. Even as she’d eaten an awkwardly quiet supper with Jace at her side. As night stained her windowpane and darkened her room, she wondered how she could tell Soren what she knew of his mother. That the woman he barely remembered, the woman he missed so fiercely, whom he sought to know every detail about, still lived beneath the sea?

  The wink of a candle caught her eye, and she bolted upright. Lord Jarl! she thought, but the shadowy figure that squeezed through her barely cracked door and shut it firmly behind himself was broader, taller. Jace.

  She narrowed her eyes against the dark. Jace appeared disheveled and unruly by the wrinkles in his shirt. In the candle’s light, his hair looked as though he had slid his hands through it in a rage. In the dim light, she remembered Lord Jarl’s words at Samhain: “. . . that boy will do anything for me.” She shivered as she peered at him. Was he here for the more Lord Jarl had spoken of?

  He heaved a breath. “I was afraid you were asleep,” he muttered, his voice low. He crossed to her window, where a candle was perched, and lit its wick. A soft glow illuminated the room.

  “What are you doing here?” Lena asked tugging her knees to her chest. “It’s late.” She wrapped her arms around her legs, holding them in place. Jace took a seat on the edge of her bed and sighed as he slid his hands over his knees.

  “Lord Jarl has asked me to move into his manor.” A smile traced his lips, so at odds with his angry appearance. “He wishes for me to begin to live as a gentleman would, in a proper house with proper clothes and . . . and a staff.” His dark eyes glowed.

  “But . . . your mother . . . Edwin.”

  “They’ll do fine without me. Pops has you, after all. And I would still come by. I’d . . . I’d come to see you, Lena, as much as I could.” His hand sought hers and held it tightly.

  Lena struggled to prevent herself from snatching it away.

  “You’re needed here, Jace,” she insisted. “Your mother needs you.”

  “I’m doing all that I can for her now.” Jace shook his head. “All the debts . . . they’re gone. And when I become Lord Jarl’s true heir, I’ll be able to do so much more.”

  “Lord Jarl isn’t the sort of man you think he is,” Lena whispered, releasing her legs as she looked at him urgently. “Jace, he’s so much worse . . .”

  “Lord Jarl is who he is. I know I cannot change him, just as he won’t be able to change me. He might be cruel and unkind, but he . . . he’s complicated,” Jace explained with a shrug. “He’s a great many things, Lena.”

  “No.” She tugged on his hand. “You have to listen to me, Jace. He’s not a good man. There’s no goodness in him at all. Not a speck.” Her mind whirled back to Lord Jarl’s words, the fury on his face when he’d spoken of Mette, of the shell her lover had lost. The rage she’d seen in his eyes; it had been so pure. So . . . personal.

  Realization doused her mind like a vat of cold water, and she gasped.

  “I think . . .” Don’t say it, her mind begged, but the words were already out of her mouth. “I think he’s the one who murdered the merrow queen.”

  Lord Jarl. He’d wanted the queen’s shell, but she’d tossed it back into the sea. So he’d stolen her years instead by drinking her blood. Had searched the continent for merrow artifacts. Had noticed Lena’s necklace, recognized it, the moment he’d first lain eyes on her.

  Jace’s eyebrows shot up, and he laughed. “Did Pops tell you that?”

  “No,” Lena stammered. “But . . . I’m sure of it. I’m sure.”

  He rolled his eyes. “That’s ridiculous, Lena. The legend of the merrow queen is just a stupid story.”

  “It’s not a story, Jace! The merrows . . . they’re real!” She couldn’t let him move in with a murderer, a man who’d killed once. Who’d all but threatened to do so again when he’d pinned her against the wall at Samhain.

  “You’ve been spending too much time with Pops,” Jace growled, standing up. “Not to mention Soren Emil. They’re both crazy, Lena. Everybody knows it. The whole village laughs at them behind their backs.” He plucked a golden watch out of his pocket. “Look at this, Lena. It’s real. Real gold! If Lord Jarl was so wicked, why would he be giving me so many fine things? A new wardrobe. Silk cravats. Silk. And money, Lena.” He replaced the watch, and Lena heard the familiar jangle of coin.

  Jace raked a hand through his tangled hair and shook his head. “I didn’t come here to argue with you. I’m moving in with Lord Jarl. I’m his apprentice now. I need to focus on what he wishes to teach me. After our . . . moment last night, I thought it only right to tell you myself. To tell you that things aren’t over between us, just because I won’t be living here anymore. Things are just beginning. You and me . . .”

  Lena wrinkled her brow. “Jace,” she began. How could she tell him what she really felt—what she didn’t feel—without angering him?

  “There’s . . . nothing between us,” she said meekly. “You were my friend. At least, I thought you were. And now—”

  “Now we’re more than friends,” he insisted. He took a step toward the head of the bed, his gaze focused deeply on hers. Lena planted her eyes on her knees.

  She felt the air shift as he stiffened. Breath caught in her throat as she waited for his temper to explode. But when he spoke again, he spoke softly.

  “I won’t turn my back on you, Lena,” he murmured. “As long as you don’t turn your back on me.”

  He retrieved his candle from the windowsill. The floor groaned beneath his feet. Each thud of his boots caused Lena to shudder visibly.

  “You’re wrong about him, you know. You’re wrong about Lord Jarl. He believes in me.”

  He blew out both candles, sealing the room in darkness. Then he slipped into the hall, leaving her alone.

  Alone.

  He didn’t believe her, about Lord Jarl, about the merrow queen.

  Even so . . . as she listened to the vanishing sound of his retreat, her blood rushed with relief.

  “My grandson is a dumme dreng,” Edwin muttered, sliding his hands over the cards scattered across his desk. “No good will come from his foolishness.”

  Lena sank into her usual armchair, wishing the wilted fabric could swallow her whole. It had been two days since Jace had lugged a sack over his shoulder, popped a piece of toast into his mouth and bid them all good-bye.

  “Don’t worry about me so much, mor,” he’d groaned. “This is a good thing.”

  Mrs. Wyatt had snorted her disagreement and blown her nose loudly into a handkerchief.

  Jace’s eyes had raked over Lena, lingering curiously on the pink shell that dangled from her neck, as if he’d hardly noticed it before. “See you soon, Lena,” he’d murmured, coughing against the unnaturally high pitch of his voice. Then he’d kissed his mother’s cheek, clapped his grandfather brusquely on the shoulder, and departed.

  “Dumme dreng,” Edwin said again, this time under his breath. “He’ll regret going to that man. Lord Jarl will feed him to the wolves.”

  Wolves? Lord Jarl would actually feed Jace to a wild animal? Lena ran a nervous hand through her hair.

  “You don’t really think he would kill Jace,” she breathed.

  “He’s going to destroy
him, lass,” Edwin sighed. “He’s going to shape that boy into someone we’ve never seen before.”

  “How do you know?”

  Edwin raised a brow. “Some of us have better eyes than the seeing.” He selected another card from the deck. A hiss of dismay emerged from his lips as he drifted his fingertips over the bumps and grooves of its textured face.

  Lena peered at the card, taking in the foreboding image—two savage, sharp-fanged creatures huddled together, gazing up at an eerie, yellow moon.

  “It’s no good, lass,” Edwin sighed, jolting his hand away from the card. “It’s only a matter of time.”

  “What is?” Lena’s pulse raced at the despair in his tone. “What are you speaking of?”

  Edwin tapped his finger against the wooden desk and locked his lips together. After a long moment of silence, he began to gather his cards, blindly pushing them back into a tall stack.

  “Edwin, please.” Lena’s fingers trailed to her necklace. The pink shell hummed to life in the palm of her hand.

  “I can hear it, you know,” Edwin whispered, a smile cracking through his dismal exterior. “The sweet call of the sea. It emits so beautifully from you.”

  “From me?”

  “From the shell . . .” His fingers quivered slightly as he gestured in her direction. “The sea queen’s shell. Sailors call it Magiske skal.”

  Lena rose to her feet with a start, trembling violently.

  “Lord Jarl must have his eye on you, lass,” Edwin continued, reaching out for her again. “And that means he’ll have Jace watching you too.”

  “Jace—”

  “My grandson might not know what you are yet. But with time, your secret will not be so easy to hide.”

  “You know?” Her chest ached against her thundering heart. “You know what I am? What I was?”

  “I’ve known since the moment you came to us. You smelled of the ocean. Of salt and sand and the mysterious deep. Your light . . . such a light I’ve never seen. So pure and rich, untamed, like shafts of stubborn, glittering sun slicing through a volatile sea.”