He raised her up, letting her climb over his shoulders onto his back. He held his wings out as far as he could, giving her room to settle between his shoulders. As soon as she had a firm grip on his, and had stopped moving, he dove through the air, undulating his body in smooth, rolling movements. He tried to remember the few times he’d seen one of the merpeople swimming, tried to think of how they’d moved. It wasn’t as similar to flying as he’d originally thought, but he furrowed his brow in concentration and kept trying.
“You’re trying to simulate swimming.”
Marcela’s voice whispering so softly against his ear sent a shiver down his spine. He couldn’t tell from her tone what her mood was, so he tried to keep his voice nonchalant when he spoke.
“How am I doing? I have to say, I’ve only ever seen it done. My wings aren’t exactly conducive to swimming.”
Marcela tightened her grip on his shoulders. “You are doing wonderfully.” There was a strange lilt to her voice. She paused. “Ride the bumps and dips of the current. When you get a good push from a breeze, let it twist your body so you spiral down.”
Patricio set his shoulders and did as she told him. She continued to whisper guidance, and with every beat of his wings the joy in her voice grew. Soon she was laughing, her voice catching every once in a while if he dove too fast. She squealed with delight as he dipped close to the water, filling his senses with the smell of saltwater. Waves crashed over the surface, spraying them with a fine sheen. It was…wonderful.
They flew like that for what seemed like hours and he swore he would never tire of hearing her laugh. Even the rasp that reminded him of her stolen voice couldn’t detract from the beauty of the sound, the pure joy it contained. The fact that she could laugh after everything she’d been through amazed him. Inspired him.
Finally, Patricio reached a hand back and prodded gently at her side, urging her to move forward so he could once again cradle her in his arms. Marcela took the hint and let him help her back into her original position.
“That was wonderful.” She laid her head on his shoulder. “Thank you.”
He just meant to agree, to tell her he’d had a good time as well. But she was right there…her mouth so close…
He took her chin in his hand, turned her head. Her breath caught in her throat, but she made no move to turn away. He had a moment of looking straight into beautiful green eyes the color of spring grass and then their lips met.
She tasted as perfect as he remembered. Like the first breath of the sea breeze when he opened his door in the morning, crisp with a hint of something fruity. Cherry? Heat rushed up through his body, a slow, steady burn. He kneaded her flesh with his hands, relishing every curve, every soft sinew. She moaned and tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer. Desire spiked inside him, sharp, almost painful. The urge to land on the first solid surface he came to so he could follow that moan and see where it led him nearly overwhelmed his better senses. He tore his mouth away and pressed his forehead to hers, relearning how to breathe.
For a moment they stayed like that, and then a sharp current made him lurch to the side. They separated only briefly, but the moment was broken. The silence grew longer, threatening to become awkward.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Patricio said, desperate to break the silence. Marcela raised an eyebrow at him and he cleared his throat. “I meant the flying. Trying to make it seem like swimming.” He glanced down at her briefly, wondering when his brain had abandoned him, before returning his attention to land. “It was nice to hear you laugh.”
Marcela flushed. “I’m well aware of what my voice sounds like now. If my people could hear me, there would be a fine mourning in the sea.”
“It’s a different sound,” Patricio acknowledged.
She went taut and he rushed to finish.
“But I like it. It’s you.”
“It’s not me,” Marcela corrected him. “That’s the point. This voice isn’t me, this body isn’t me.” She closed her eyes. “This…helplessness isn’t me.”
Patricio didn’t like the derision in her voice. “You aren’t helpless.”
“Says the man carrying me.” Her tone was bitter and she didn’t meet his eyes.
Patricio was silent for a while. He beat his wings, climbing higher so he could carry them up from the sea, out over the land that comprised the village. He climbed until he saw the slight rise that indicated the beginning of the road to the palace, wanting to arrive in the village through the gates. He drew less attention when he arrived on foot than if he flew to the center of town. As he flew, he tried to think of something to say that would impress upon Marcela how he saw her.
“I saw you that night. Climbing the ropes to the ship with the sailor holding onto your back.”
“So you said.”
“Well, having seen that, I can tell you that you are not helpless. I don’t think you could ever be helpless.”
She was silent for a moment. “Thank you,” she said quietly.
Chapter Nine
Focus. You do not have time to be giggling like some foam-headed schoolgirl with a crush. The goal is to get your fins back. The plan is to find Benita, ascertain if there are any powerful magic users in the kingdom besides the witch. If so, you need to find them and make a deal to get your fins back. If there isn’t, you need to separate from the angel and get to the witch. Maybe without Patricio there, you can convince her to help you.
Marcela closed her eyes and visualized her to-do list in her head. She pictured herself back in the ocean, swimming with her sisters, her green scales reflecting the light shining down through the waves. That was the goal. Home.
Her heart ignored the pep talk, continuing to pound at the nearness of Patricio, the lingering heat on her lips from their sudden kiss. Home had never offered her passion, never offered her a man that stole her breath and tempted her away from her duties. Keeping a clear head had always been all too easy in the face of her previous suitors, however handsome or kind-hearted they were.
Ha! As if the angel is any prize. Don’t forget what an arrogant ass he was.
“Marcela, are you all right?” He eased his grip. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
Marcela scowled at him. Of course he would be sweet now, now that her head was all discombobulated. Typical man.
“I’m fine,” she rasped.
Patricio nodded, but the lines of concern around his eyes lingered. He circled around, flying closer to the village.
The palace of Meropis was an imposing sight from the sea, especially from the foot of the great cliff, where the palace seemed to rise on hundreds and hundreds of meters of rock before stretching its towers into the clouds. From the air, it was a completely different sight, but no less impressive.
The white stone of the castle stood at the top of a great incline. On one side was the cliff that offered a rocky fall to the sea below. On the other was a gradual sloping hill that boasted gorgeous rich forests and several majestic manors. Farther down the slope was the village, situated around a large circle with a great well at the center. There were farms and country manors even farther down, past the main village. All of it was part of the great kingdom of Meropis. A kingdom that Marcela had known only through stories until now.
Patricio landed on a stretch of road lined on one side by trees and the other by a thin expanse of grass that tapered off into rocky soil just before ending on the edge of the cliff. Up ahead, she could see the start of the village, the first few houses marking the beginning of the main city.
As the angel put her down, Marcela put all her focus on getting her legs under her and not falling over. As unpleasant as the legs were, concentrating on them was infinitely preferable to analyzing the disturbing flutter in her stomach as she slid down the angel’s solid, muscled body. This is what happens when you neglect perfectly normal carnal needs, she chastised herself. You’re all aflutter over the first warm body you come across. She made a mental note to add finding an outlet
for inconvenient physical urges to her to-do list then straightened her spine.
Don’t get distracted. Focus. Remember what his true colors are, how self-centered, arrogant, and cruel he is.
Marcela started to step away. Distance, that’s what she needed.
“Let me escort you.” He took her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm. “It’s expected. It would appear strange if I left you to walk on your own apart from me.”
Frustration singed Marcela’s nerves as her brain stubbornly refused to offer her an excuse for declining his request. She didn’t want to give him her hand, didn’t want to be reminded of the strength that was so obvious every time she touched him. It was bad enough being on land, she didn’t need any other reminders of how weak she was right now. Or of how out of control her blasted hormones had become.
The smile she offered him as she wrapped her fingers around his ridiculously large biceps threatened to splinter as she clenched her teeth. “Thank you.” She hoped her voice didn’t sound as forced to him as it did to her. Then again, with the way the wretched thing had been shredded by Melusine, it would be a wonder if he could read her tone at all.
They started to walk and Marcela prayed that her legs would work without her because her mind was far too occupied to concentrate on something as menial as locomotion.
“So, you mentioned that one of your duties was to look after sailors. Are there other aspects of your position as one of the royal guard?”
“Well,” she started, grateful for the offer of unemotional conversation, “all members of the royal guard are responsible for law enforcement. When my people break our laws, it is part of my duty to see that they face the consequences.”
Patricio kept his gaze forward. Marcela gritted her teeth, cursing herself for steering the conversation back onto uncomfortable ground. Neither of them mentioned Gaspar, but the subject rose heavily between them like a storm cloud ripe with rain.
“I’m not familiar with your system of justice. What are your punishments?” Patricio’s voice was strained, but he was obviously trying.
“If possible, restitution is made,” Marcela answered, unable to think of a way to end the conversation. “For crimes like theft or the destruction of another’s property, the perpetrator is forced to make monetary restitution, with additional interest to compensate their victims for their suffering. In situations where the criminal can’t make financial restitution, they’re indentured to their victim to work off their crime through service. Typically, their heads are shaved to mark them as criminally indentured servants.”
“Interesting,” Patricio mused, genuine interest in his tone. “What about violent crimes?”
“Assault carries a similar sentence of restitution. The punishment for murder largely depends on the circumstances. In the case of one murder where there are extenuating circumstances, for instance a heated argument that erupts and a case can be put forth for self-defense, the culprit is forced to give up all of his or her worldly possessions to the victim’s family. For the murder of one person with no extenuating circumstances, the person is given to the family as a slave.” We don’t just kill them.
“A slave?” Patricio stopped walking. He stared at Marcela, eyes searching her face as if to determine if she were joking. “You give them over to the family? What if the family demands their death? What if they torture the person?”
“Torture is not permitted,” Marcela answered calmly, holding on to her temper with both hands. “And if the family unanimously desires the perpetrator’s death, then my father takes that into consideration. Usually, if the decision is unanimous, he agrees and the murderer’s life is taken in repayment. However, if even one member of the family does not agree, then the death cannot be called for, and the murderer is given to that family member as a slave.”
Patricio pondered that for a moment. “And in the case of multiple murders?”
“Death.” An image of Gaspar sprang to life in her mind, despite her best efforts to avoid it. How many people did you kill, brother? How did you make your soul so irresistible to the avenging angel?
If Patricio noticed her growing discomfort, he didn’t show it. “Who carries out the death penalty?”
Marcela took a few deep breaths, reaching for the well of peace that rested deep, deep inside her. The pool of calm that she dipped into whenever her emotions overwhelmed her. “My father.”
Patricio glanced at her. “So, you never…?” He waved his other hand awkwardly.
“Killed anyone,” Marcela snapped. “How can you possibly hesitate to say the words when you don’t hesitate at all to do the actual killing?”
Patricio halted suddenly, his lips parting. She pressed her lips into a thin line, closing her eyes for a moment as she struggled to grasp the frayed ends of her patience. Calm down, Marcela. Keep it together. Losing your temper won’t solve anything.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I—”
“No, I’m sorry.” Marcela rubbed a hand over her face. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”
“No, it’s understandable. You’ve been thr—”
“To answer your question, yes, I have killed,” she continued, not allowing him the chance to finish his offer of pity. She may have lost her temper, but she would not be so careless with what was left of her pride. “My father is responsible for carrying out the death penalty amongst our people, for crimes reported to the crown, but outsiders are another story. As part of the royal guard, I take a turn on patrol. If I encounter a threat during those patrols, I may use deadly violence to avert the threat.”
“For instance?”
She shrugged. “Sharks, giant squid—”
“So anim—”
“Pirates.”
Patricio’s eyebrows shot up. “Pirates?”
“Yes. You’d be surprised what a danger a man can become after he starts to believe he’s the ruler of his own little floating kingdom. Pirates bring violence wherever they go, and their method of justice often draws sharks, which for some sick reason pleases the pirates to no end. On occasion, it has become necessary to reacquaint a captain or two with his maker.”
“You sound like you find that part of your duties very distasteful,” Patricio observed quietly, continuing to stride toward the village.
She bit back the sharp retort that leapt to the tip of her tongue. It was beneath her to rub his face in what she perceived to be his over enjoyment of death and violence. She had to keep reminding herself of that. “Not distasteful,” she clarified. “I don’t look forward to that part of my responsibilities, but I don’t shy away from it. It’s simply something that must be done. It’s for the good of my people, and I am happy to serve.”
She could practically feel the tension crackling in the air between them. She should let this conversation go, steer them back to happier topics. Minutes ago they’d been laughing, and before that he’d showed a softer side of himself when he’d held her so she could sleep in the sea. He was trying, she could see he was trying. Considering what a complete ass he’d been when she’d first left the sea, the change was absolutely astounding. She would gain nothing by pushing him into conversation that could not end well.
Better to fight him than fall any deeper into this mad infatuation, a little voice in her head taunted her. He’s being kind now, but his curse could swallow you up again at any time and then he would sneer at you as he did before. You would be a fool to fall for him twice. Push him. Make him show his true colors.
“You mention that executions are part of your duty, not as a prince, but as who you are,” she said, a little too loudly. “Where did this divine duty come from?”
Patricio focused his gaze forward, and Marcela breathed a little easier without the weight of his crystal-blue gaze boring into her. His eyes grew cloudy, as if he were looking into the past. He was silent for several moments. Just when she was sure he wasn’t going to answer, he spoke.
“I was taken from my mother at a very youn
g age.” His voice was nearly too low to hear. “Zeus came for me himself—at least that’s what I’m told. He took me to the temple of Ares, the god of war. As soon as I was old enough to hold a weapon, they started my training. After I grew older, I realized I had a burning need inside me, a hunger that I didn’t know how to satisfy. I struggled with it, lying awake at night staring into the darkness thinking I was going mad. Finally my mentor noticed my struggle. That night, Zeus came to me. He told me that what I felt was the call of injustice. He said there were sinners out there, eating the light with their darkness, a blight on humanity. He told me I was born to see that good souls received justice and bad souls were punished. He claimed he’d seen that need inside me, known I was born with it. He chose me to be one of his harbingers of justice and told me that all of my training had been leading up to that moment, and I was now ready to go out into the world and carry out divine punishment and redemption.”
Divine Scales Page 12
