Page 44 of Goldilocks (Salt and Starlight #2)

Goldilocks

Sam swam lazily next to Roan, keeping his limbs beneath the water to avoid splashing. He half-floated, half-swam, making slow progress along the shoreline. The slow speed bothered Roan none; he exerted little effort to divert the waves around them, keeping the water calm so that it didn’t bother Sam. At this pace, it would be dinner by the time they reached Vi’s nest to check on the progress of the aviary.

“I can swim fine even if you don’t do that.” Sam indicated the surrounding water with a swish of his hand.

“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 – never with 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.

Roan gestured to a servant waiting by the doorway, and she nodded, scuttling away to fetch their food. He sat at Sam’s side. The table was filled with books: Vi’s books on magic runes and sketchbooks that he recognised as having come from Ivan’s hand.

“Dad doesn’t want to bring any here,” Eric said. “He thinks they’d be confused to suddenly be in a new place without any idea of how they got there.”

“Well,” Sam said, “he’s not wrong.” He studied the surrounding fauna. “Though I’m pretty sure they’d live much longer here than anywhere else. What are you doing with those?”

“Debating,” Ivan said. “Apparently” – he gestured to Vi’s book – “these are drawn onto people. This one helps you sleep, this one makes you stronger, this one helps you pick up languages very fast. I drew it onto my arm with pen, and I swear it worked until it got smeared. So, we were wondering what would happen if you tattoo these onto your skin?”

Sam hummed, seeming interested. Roan reached beneath the table and rested his hand on his thigh, and Sam cast him a little sideways smile. “You know,” Sam said matter-of-factly, “the magic doesn’t just come from nowhere. It comes from the world around you, so you have to know how to function as a conduit. If you could just draw a picture and nothing else, everyone would do it.”

Sam gave Ivan a look that said ‘I can’t believe you’re so dumb, and I have to explain this’ .

Roan did not point out that he’d explained the same concept to Sam only moments ago.

Ivan straightened in his chair, eyes suddenly bright. “I didn’t say anything about expecting it to work with just a tattoo alone,” he replied. He never backed down from a challenge.

Sam did a hmm that sounded like ‘You’re just so dumb’ .

“I’m not doing anything. Why are you throwing attitude at me the second you sit down?” Ivan demanded hotly.

“I literally didn’t say anything. Not one word,” Sam replied.

Ivan leaned away from Sam, tilted back his head and covered his face with both hands and groaned. Sam’s cheeks twitched in his effort not to smile. Soundlessly, he slid his drink across to Eric and gestured for him to taste it.

Eric lifted the thermos with a frown. “You don’t like it?” he asked. “I used that pink fruit you always eat. What was it called again?”

“Lir,” Ivan told him through his hands. And his head jerked to Eric too late as he sipped the drink.

Eric’s face muddled in confusion, and then realisation. His gaze slid to Ivan. “Did you put rum in this?” he asked.

Ivan’s expression went through many changes, and eventually it flattened out. His gaze slid to Sam. Sam stoically stared right back at him. “You,” Ivan said, “are a certified brat.”

“You should have mixed it with Malibu,” Sam said, deadpan. “Lir’s too sweet for dark rum. It clashes.”

Ivan appeared to count to a certain number in his head before answering. His irritation smoothed out and he stood. The smile he directed at Sam was so genuine that any onlooker would be easily persuaded of its warmth. “I’ll go get some now,” he promised. He squeezed Eric’s shoulder as he departed, and the moment his back was to them and he was strolling away – not marching, not stalking – strolling, he was cursing under his breath about how spoiled redheads came in pairs.

Roan did not mind the remarks, as he knew Sam enjoyed baiting Ivan, and he could easily tell that there was no real rancour in Ivan’s words.

“Sam,” Eric said.

“Eric.”

“Do you always have to wind him up?”

Sam considered the question for a long time. “Yeah.”

Eric’s fingers knit together. “Ivan’s mom died when he was young, and his dad wasn’t good to him. I know he said a lot of things that made you angry, but I’d like it if you could forgive him for it. He only wanted to protect me, and you as well.”

Eric was, once again, misreading Sam. Roan did not judge him for it, as he, too, had spent months learning that Sam’s words and outward demeanour very rarely matched what he felt inside. His mate didn’t like showing any vulnerability, so Roan had learned to listen to far more than just his words to know what he was truly feeling.

Sam’s smile faded. He studied his brother at length, then moved in, resting his arm on the table and tapping Eric’s wrung-out fingers. “I forgave him already,” Sam said. “Weeks ago. I forgave him the second he got in the car with me, ready to go to war to keep you safe.” And Sam meant every word. If Sam didn’t like Ivan, he wouldn’t waste a breath on him, and Sam, without fail, found something to needle Ivan about whenever they crossed paths.

Relief filled Eric’s eyes as he met Sam’s gaze. “Really?”

“Really. I’m glad you’ve got someone like him looking out for you,” Sam said. His expression lightened as he leaned back in his chair again. He smiled. “But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s fun to wind him up. Is the parlour ready to go?” Sam changed the subject so Eric wouldn’t argue with him anymore.

Eric sighed, though he looked relieved. Unlike Sam, Eric expressed when something bothered him. His openness clashed with Sam’s reservation, though Roan thought the clash healthy. He had often clashed with Belle too, but it was only fondness that he felt when he considered their old fights.

“Yes, almost,” Eric said. “We can open next week, as long as we pass inspections, which we will. We know what we’re doing. What about you? What are you planning? Not that there’s any pressure to come up with anything right away or anything,” Eric added quickly.

“I’m going to swing into college,” Sam said, and Roan tensed. “And thank a professor who was kind to me,” Sam said pointedly, looking sideways at Roan. “No other reason. And I’ll grab Mary as I come back through. I already asked her to free up a day, so I’m going to show her all this. I might see if Fionn wants to come along for the weekend too.”

“Is having them on the boat together a good idea?” Eric asked.

Sam shrugged. “If anyone gets pushed into the ocean, there are plenty of mermen to save them.”

Eric, Roan believed, was finally realising the lightness with which Sam was speaking. The playfulness that was emerging now that he was being cared for properly. Roan couldn’t help but squeeze his thigh, delighted to see his happiness so close to the surface.

Sam cast him a sideways smile as he dropped his hand to his and knit their fingers together.

Ivan returned with a jug of Lir juice and a bottle of Malibu on a tray. He once again squeezed Eric’s shoulder, checking his face, as he always did, for any signs of distress. Roan thought him a suitable, attentive mate for Sam’s anxious sibling.

“Who wants a drink?” Ivan asked, his tone friendly.

“I didn’t realise I had a choice,” Sam said.

Ivan’s mouth opened, but before he could say anything, Eric butted in. “He’s just teasing,” he reassured Ivan. Ivan slowly turned his head to Eric, who smiled at him. Roan thought Eric didn’t realise how he’d just got on his mate’s nerves with his intervention.

“Well,” Ivan said. “I guess it’s nice that you’re acting like brothers now instead of like two stray cats hissing at each other from across the street.”

“To be fair,” Sam weighed in, “I was the only one acting like that.”

Ivan and Eric cast Sam looks of equal surprise. Roan wasn’t surprised; he was holding his mate’s hand, sitting by his side. This was not a moment where Sam felt vulnerable.

“Huh.” Ivan sank into his seat. “That was…very…honest. Coming from you.”

“You make it sound like I go around telling lies.”

“Your general honestly is fine. However, your emotional honesty? Getting you to talk about your feelings has been genuinely impossible,” Ivan said frankly. “I didn’t think it would ever happen.”

Eric was squirming in his seat. “That was because of the ghoul,” he said, defending Sam.

Ivan hummed. He didn’t think so, but when Eric frowned and opened his mouth to argue, Ivan beat him to it. “Seeing as we’re being honest…” His gaze slid back to Sam. “How are your eyes?”

Sam’s grip tightened for a second on Roan’s hand, but his resistance faded only a second later with a sigh. “I still have dyslexia, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“It wasn’t caused by the ghoul, like with Eric?” Ivan spoke with a more careful tone, like he was testing the waters now instead of rashly jumping in. He, Roan decided, had also learned how to see what Sam didn’t say, and perhaps saw the discomfort his question had caused.

“It probably wasn’t helping any.” Sam shrugged. “I’m a lot better. I can actually read again, but it’s still…it’s still there. I was hoping it wouldn’t be,” he admitted.

Ivan winced. Eric’s expression filled with concern. He opened his mouth to deliver a reassurance that Roan knew would only have the opposite effect on Sam. Sam preferred vulnerability to be talked around, addressed in the corner of conversations, not the forefront.

“Pour our drinks,” Roan said firmly, flashing a warning look at the pair.

Ivan raised a brow. Eric looked at him, seeming slightly vexed, though his attention returned to Sam quickly. He opened his mouth again and with an irritated twitch of his fingers, the jug of Lir juice fell, the contents falling on the table and pouring onto Eric’s lap.

“What the—”

“Go change,” Roan said.

Ivan stood first. “Come on.” He nudged Eric. “I need to talk to you about something.” He led a grumbling Eric from the garden, and Sam cast Roan a knowing look.

“You didn’t need to do that,” he said.

Roan hummed.

“I’m trying to, you know… bond with Eric. And since he can’t read a room to save his life, I need to actually say things.” Sam’s smile was self-deprecating. “Which I suck at.”

Roan hummed again. “Paint him a cup. You said he liked the last one greatly?”

Sam opened his mouth. Closed it. “You’re really something else, you know that?” He leaned in, and despite the fact that Oisín and Vi were approaching and Sam hated being physically open in front of others, he pressed a kiss to Roan’s lips. “He’d love that,” Sam said. “ Love it.”

And Sam could connect with his sibling in his language, which wouldn’t leave him feeling so vulnerable and defensive. Roan, pleased that Sam was pleased, wrapped an arm around his shoulders and rubbed his chin over his crown to share his warmth.

Oisín and Vi claimed two seats, and Vi waved a hand and a servant appeared to gather the books. On which, Roan had made sure, no juice had spilled.

Sam turned his attention to his sire and engaged him in conversation. Vi raised an eyebrow at the spilled jug, which Roan didn’t acknowledge, and Eric eventually returned with Ivan in dry clothes. Food arrived – all of Sam’s growing list of favourites – and they ate. Together. Relaxed. His court. His family.