Page 10

Being the last one to enter, and leave the outside bath house, Narsus showered the sand out of his cracks and folds. Then used the hose to spray down the area, just in case any oils from his body lingered.

He sat stiffly in the beach house parlor—fully dressed and fiddling with the sculpted leather of his father’s beaked mask.

It was a little unnerving to have so many people around him in such a confined, unfamiliar space.

He took a deep breath, then bent his head to exhale into the thick scarf he kept around his neck.

When he got nervous, he sometimes exhaled a miasma of toxic fumes.

Cinder had made more tea, and now extended a glass to him.

Narsus hesitated, and sent Brightside a subtle glance.

Only when the elf silently encouraged him with a beaming gaze above his cup did he accept it.

Narsus knew he had to get over the trauma of simple interaction with Cinder—but this forced proximity with both Cinder and Lune was making him a wreck.

Narsus controlled his shaking hands by using both of them to steady the glass.

It was Lune who broke the tense silence. “If you’re more comfortable with your companions here, for what I have to say to you, that’s fine. But if you’d rather do this in private, that’s fine too. ”

It was difficult to start with everyone staring at him, but he’d done this to himself.

It was time to try and explain his behavior.

Narsus motioned for his friends to leave.

Not making a fool of himself in front of Brightside and Cinder was ideal.

And, he’d rather not have Cinder around right now making him even more uncomfortable.

“We’ll see if we can get some food somewhere.” Brightside pulled on a loitering Cinder, who was grinning, obviously wanting his ear to the juicy drama.

As they exited, Lune called out, “There’s a farmhouse about a mile up the road. Tell them I sent you.”

They nodded and left.

“I wanted to apologize,” Narsus began, fingers tapping on his mask. “This isn’t easy for me.”

“Because you’re a Verdigris,” Lune finished for him. “A phoenix full of poison. Born of a phoenix forge who cannot touch.”

Narsus blinked. “How did you know? There aren’t that many Verdigrises here in the Star Land archipelago.”

There was a half-smile. “This is the farthest island from the main island, but we’re not that isolated out here.

Our schools are top-notch, run by Elders who hire retired teachers from the main island.

It was pretty easy to confirm what you were when I saw you on the beach just now.

And, it kind of helped me understand why you’re an asshole. ”

Narsus cracked a reluctant grin. “I figure you had other phoenix as teachers, besides my grandfather?”

Lune laughed. “That phoenix teacher you speak of was Calico himself. See? We’re getting along. Talking civilly. I don’t understand why you didn’t give us a chance. ”

Narsus turned his head away. The breath in his lungs momentarily escaping in his nervousness. “My poison. I’m toxic to the touch.”

Lune leaned forward. “Even if you don’t believe in the compass, I do. What more proof do you want? Your grandfather raised me! How marvelous is that? May I tell you a bit about myself?”

It took a moment of gathering his courage for Narsus to nod.

“I’m not human. I’m of siren heritage even though I’ve never been able to shift.

But I never tried, really,” he added. “Bipedalism suits me too well—even though I breathe underwater just fine. I can stay down indefinitely. In fact, I kind of prefer the water and don’t like being on land much.

I do act a bit drunk and disoriented when I first surface though, if I’ve been down for hours. I have to get used to dry land again.”

Narsus tried not to feel endearment. Getting to know more about Lune was making it harder to keep his distance. He had to keep his distance. For their own good.

Lune kept talking. “I don’t know if I’m a half-breed or not, but I’ve been stung by jellyfish. Bit by certain poison octopi—the one with blue rings. I’ve never gotten sick. Or died, obviously.”

Lune talking about dying was a prickly subject to a phoenix—even an undead one, so Narsus ignored the mention. Compass-mate or not, if you weren’t phoenix-born, you would never know a phoenix’s secrets. The sanity and life of their race depended on it.

Narsus frowned as the rest of the story filtered into his brain. “Those are sea creatures you mention. I’m undead. Of fire and air. Another reason you and I are incompatible.”

“Maybe we should test that sometime.” Lune’s hand reached out, palm up. “We are Compass-matched after all. ”

“I don’t think so.” Narsus hid quivering hands before they became fists. He didn’t want to commit to something so dangerous. He couldn’t bear for someone to be hurt. Or suffer. Again. Because of him. Was Lune a thrill-seeker, or just didn’t care about his own life?

Lune brought his compass into view, as if to prove his words as truth. “We can’t be that incompatible, or do you not believe in the magic?”

Being questioned on this belief made him uncomfortable. Because he had lost faith. He also didn’t want to explain his personal, tragic details. “My heritages are visible. Something I can see and know to be the truth.”

“When did you meet other Compass-bearers? They seem very comfortable with you.”

Lune changing the subject was suspicious. Maybe he could read body language. Maybe the siren understood this line of questioning was getting too much for him to handle. But that was impossible, especially since his Intended had been raised by Calico, the master of adorable bumbling cluelessness.

“Brightside and Cinder have been my friends for ages.”

“Where are their Compass-mates?”

“They don’t have one. Not as yet. We were housemates for a few centuries. Before I figured it was better to—uh, safer to live on my own.” That was, of course, when Cinder ‘died.’

“So you don’t see their hope for success either?”

Narsus skirted the question. “The three of us each have our own troubles.”

Lune was leaning forward, staring holes into him. “What troubles? Or is it too personal to share?”

Why was he squirming in his chair like a five-year-old in trouble? “We’ve all been waiting a few centuries for our calls. Most other Compass-bearers are paired and living happily ever after before their quarter century mark.”

Lune was staring at him funny. Narsus suddenly wondered if what he’d just said had been voiced too sarcastically.

Lune seemed to accept his answer, but posed one of his own. “Those paired—were they elves and phoenix too?”

Narsus took that minute to think. “I’m not exactly sure, but a handful of them were definitely human. Other races too.”

“There you go, then.” Lune gave a smart nod, as if that explained everything. “Elves and phoenix are long-lived beings. Humans aren’t. It makes perfect sense if the magic paired humans off so quickly.”

“There’s no proof of that,” Narsus scoffed. “Of your theory, I mean.”

Lune pressed the glass of iced tea against his neck. “You would know, being the one educated in Compass-lore. Being a god and all.”

“I’m…I’m not a god.”

Lune shrugged. “Demi-god, then.”

There wasn’t any sense in arguing it. Especially since Lune didn’t seem to treat him with any divine favor.

More likely, interacting with deities held no mystery for this siren, as he’d been raised by Cal.

So Lune had most certainly associated with extended family during family gatherings and festivals—activities which he himself always avoided.

Lune was still dabbing the glass of iced tea against his sweaty neck. Narsus tried not to watch, fascinated at the gentle undulation of those gills. He was horrified at the urge to lick them. Then trail down lower to score a possessive bite.

A bite? What had prompted that urge? He barely ever got blood-urges .

Narsus gripped the armchair rest. What the fuck was happening?

The fangs he’d done his best to keep hidden suddenly felt so very heavy.

So very empty. With a slight, aching pang that wasn’t to be ignored.

He thought he’d been safe. Because he’d never had the urge or desire for blood.

Or consider the heady tang of an ocean-blood.

Would Lune taste of salty brine? Or of the ocean breeze?

Lune wiped the sweat off his upper lip.

Sweat. A salty-delicious dampness that was the prelude to a glorious meal. With just a taste, Narsus knew he’d be well satiated.

No. Stop it.

Back to the sweat. Narsus tried to convince himself it was more proof they weren’t a true pairing. Lune couldn’t take the heat of the tropical Star Lands. The fire goddess—his great-grandmother—created the Star Lands archipelago eons ago, specifically for a phoenix’s comfort.

Narsus sighed. Trying to get Lune to accept that his Compass-lore theories were wrong wasn’t working. When he didn’t keep the conversation going, Lune veered in yet another direction.

After another sip of tea, Lune said, “The priests wanted me to come back for an orientation on Compass-lore, but I declined. I was getting antsy being away from my cove.”

“The compass never summoned you for an orientation?” Narsus asked in true surprise. “Everyone who’s Compass-born has been through orientation when they come of age.” Narsus was puzzled at the furrowed brows and uncertain frown on Lune’s face.

“N-no. When was that supposed to have happened?”

“When the compass first manifests.” Narsus wanted to prove his point, but didn’t want to appear disagreeable. Instead, he bit his cheek, checking the placement of his fangs with his tongue. The longer he sat here, the longer the urge to take a nip manifested.

Oh fuck. He wasn’t lisping around his fangs like a goddamn fledgling-biter, was he? He was too old for this. Even more annoying was the term of fledgling. It was used by phoenix as well. He felt mocked and tormented over this second double entendre.