Page 120 of Goldilocks

“You swim far more when I do it,” Roan pointed out. Sam spent long hours in the ocean with Roan these days, in a way he never did before.

Sam scrunched his nose. “I don’t swim at home because the water is too cold. Here, it’s perfect.”

Roan hummed. He darted in closer and ran his hand up Sam’s side. Before Sam, he’d never noticed how much colder humans were. “I will keep you warm,” he promised.

Sam cast him a small smile. “I know you will. How do you do this, by the way? It’s magic, like Vi has?”

“No.” Roan caught Sam by the hand and tugged. He delighted in his mate’s trust as Sam let Roan manoeuvre him onto his back and rested his head against his chest. He held him carefully, making sure no water would lap into Sam’s face, and swished his tail to keep them moving. “Vi wields magic. She studied for many years to learn it, and the magic does not come from within her; it is borrowed from the world. Her runes are instructions. If they are written correctly and she serves as an adequate conduit, the magic takes.”

Sam absorbed that. “So Laurence will be able to learn it,” he said.

“Perhaps,” Roan said. If it was so easily mastered, everyone would wield it. That it was reserved to only a few talented individuals spoke to its difficulty. Though, with the monarch as his kin, Laurence would have access to whatever teachers he wished. Even Vi would provide teaching, though she would at least wish to meet the monarch first, and he had not visited her nest yet despite being invited.

“How is what you do different?” Sam asked.

“My abilities come from within,” Roan explained. “I have power, not magic.” Roan had never had to learn how to use his gifts; they’d been with him from the moment he was born. The only time they lacked was when he went through The Tear into Sam’s world. The further he went, the more he…lessened. His form locked into its natural shape and became rigid, and the ocean did not obey him the way the seas here did. Roan had not even realised that his vocal cords were altered to allow speech, that in his original shape, he could mimic whales and dolphins and seals, but not humans.

Sam shifted, his head dipping back to touch the ocean water along his crown. He pressed his mouth to Roan’s throat, his altered position giving him access. The touch sent a warm thrill through Roan’s body, and he tugged his mate tighter against his body. “I think I understand,” Sam said.

“Vi has told me that many scholars have studied how to mimic merfolk abilities. Nothing comes close.”

“I think what she did to return my memories is pretty impressive, don’t you?”

“Yes. But it required finesse, not raw power. Though Vi is the most talented magic wielder in the region by far.” Not that Roan paid much attention to others outside his circle. For years, he had made sure that Vi had all she needed to maintain her nest and that he was present often enough to ensure that none would question her position. Outside of that he had wandered along the coastline, often with Bee and Dew –neverwith Adonis – and amused himself with what he could find.

Nothing had caught his interest.

Nothing until he’d seen Sam’s painted hull. He’d fallen in love at once with the paint strokes, the depicted scene of the underwater world. He’d followed the boat for days, fetching the painted fish and bringing them close to compare. He’d found sea sponge and carefully cleaned away any grime. Vi adored her artists, and Roan had grown up with many coming and going as Vi made commissions, and he knew the work and dedication that went into creation. And he could see plainly the dedication and love and passion poured into the decorated hull.

Roan ran his palms up Sam’s sides, purring. How fortunate that his artist had turned out to be so lovely in person too. Roan found Sam’s hands, running his touch along his fingers, finding fresh callouses from his art and fading ones caused by fishing. The marks from labour would fade, but Roan knew the marks of creation and passion would remain forever, remade time and time again.

He brought Sam’s hand to his mouth, kissing his fingers. Sam chuckled, a relaxed and happy sound. “If you keep pampering me, I’m going to turn out so damn lazy,” he said.

Roan hummed. Sam would not. Sam liked his art too much for that.

“I’m serious.” Sam laughed, pulling his hand free from Roan. He rolled off his body and sank into the water, diving below. Roan dipped underwater with him, going slow to keep pace, and he counted to fifteen before Sam thrust upwards for air. “I’ll swim the rest! I need to work out.”

Vi’s dock was not far ahead now, and Roan could see a crate left out next to Sam’s nest. “We could visit the academy, if you’d like,” Roan suggested after some thought.

“Academy?” There was an immediate defensive note in Sam’s voice.

“For artists like you,” Roan reassured Sam quickly, not wanting him to think for even a moment that he would try and push him to return to the studies he so despised. “Vi is a beloved patron and has a close relationship with the professors. The institute is in a coastal city in the north.”

Sam eased his swimming stroke to a slower one as he twisted to meet Roan’s eyes. His mate studied his face at length. “Do you think I would like it?”

“I always enjoy it,” Roan said.

Sam’s eyes brightened. “Then I want to see it.”

They reached the pier, and in the crate next to Sam’s nest were folded clothes and a thermos from Sam’s world. Sam plucked up the thermos and the clothes that had been left for him and hopped onto his nest to change out of his swimming shorts in the privacy of the cabin. Roan dressed on the pier, and when Sam emerged, he offered the thermos to him.

“There’s some rum in there,” Sam said. “I’m guessing Eric wanted to leave out a cold drink for me and Ivan got his hands on it. He thinks I’ll be nicer to him after a drink.” There was a note of mirth in Sam’s voice, a mean delight in his eyes.

Roan hummed. He tasted it because Sam had offered it to him, and he wished to keep his mate happy. They walked together to the aviary, an immense space that dominated the back of the villa with thick panes of pale green glass. The warbling in the glass cast dappled light across the ground, which was already filled with plants from Sam’s world. There was no pool cut into the centre here, as the space was reserved for Sam’s sire who had a fragility to him still, though he strengthened with each passing week.

Oisín stood at the back of the aviary with Vi, discussing their plans for the garden. Sam glanced at him, checking, as he always did, his well-being before he approached the table where his sibling and his mate were together. Eric smiled when he caught sight of Sam. Ivan studied him carefully.

“Are they still arguing about the birds?” Sam asked as he sat.