Page 11 of Prima (After the End #8)

Chapter Six

Ten years ago

Are you the next Sea Witch?

Now it’s the girl’s turn to stare at the boy in astonishment. “And you say that because?”

Under the makeshift canopy, his eyes are brilliant, his gaze just slightly devious. “I doubt Dawan has a terrific reputation abroad. Rare is the itinerant man crossing our territorial waters. Women, practically never. Then there’s you.”

“Too harebrained to live?”

“A distinct possibility,” he says, not without some conviction, which cracks her up.

“On the other hand, years ago I overheard an exchange. Apparently those who are considered serious candidates to be the next Sea Witch are required to undertake an unaided trip across the entire region. You’re on this Grand Tour, aren’t you? ”

Well, well, now she’s dazzled by more than just his beauty. She beams at him. “Grilled red snapper?”

Since he didn’t answer her question about his parentage, she has no obligation to confide in him about her potential future occupation.

He glances sideways at her and appears to be rather impressed with her despite himself. “Red snapper would be welcome. Thank you.”

She hands him a fillet on a skewer.

He takes a bite. “Not bad. You’re a decent cook.”

She is vastly diverted by this semi-backhanded compliment. “I assume you must be a far superior one, having trained in the kitchen of the Potentate’s Palace.”

“I will be modest and say that my skills are rusty.”

She laughs. “But those rusty skills of yours still outshine mine as the sun outshines all the other stars?”

“You can judge for yourself one of these days.”

“And when is that?”

She can’t believe it, but she’s holding her breath, waiting for his answer. Is he going to cook for her tonight?

He appears to consider her question seriously. Behind him, the turquoise sea unspools into infinity, a backdrop of light and clarity for his graven beauty.

“When you next come through these parts, I suppose,” he replies.

Disappointment kicks her in the solar plexus. He can guess that she’s on her Grand Tour but can’t deduce that she wants him to reciprocate the courtship?

She bites into a skewer of red snapper too. Not bad her ass; it’s delicious. “The world is big. You’re not bound to remain here, being a lowly patrol.”

With that fast hydrofoil boat of his, he might be able to run the gauntlet of the so-called Disputed Waters in a day or so.

His eyes become shadowed. “I have a mother and a sister. If I disappeared, the powers that be would not look kindly upon them.”

Not everybody in the world has as many choices as you do, her mother has always told her. It occurs to her for the first time that he is taking a great risk by doing nothing more than accepting her invitation to lunch.

She pulls her stool a few centimeters closer to the table. “But if your mother and sister leave Dawan first, you’re still the Potentate’s son—and should be able to slip out at some point in the future.”

He does not protest her characterization of him as a prince of the realm, but says only, “It’s not so simple for them to get away. But they might need to soon: Within a year my sister will be old enough to be gifted to some powerful man as an alliance bride.”

It is unthinkable that young women are bartered as goods. Even more unthinkable that a father would view his own child as a bargaining chip. But this has always been the tragic failure of humanity—too many of its members regard others as expendable.

Something else occurs to her. She takes another bite of her red snapper. “So when you started to follow me, you were thinking of perhaps capturing me so that the Potentate could use me for ransom, and then—”

She shakes her head. “No, he wouldn’t ever allow his own concubine and daughter to go free—even if he wanted to reward you, at best he’d give you an extra concubine. Were you thinking I’d be able to help them?”

“You won’t be able to help them,” he says, his negation complete, unhesitating. “I considered capturing you as a prize, so that I’d be allowed to return to the capital. I must be there, for them to have a chance to get away.”

She chews slowly and swallows. This was why she’d wanted to get rid of him at first, before those abs of his stopped her in her tracks. That and when he called her a mermaid. “Why didn’t you, then?”

Certainly when he swam up to her raft last night, he did not hold any intention to rob her of so much as the leftovers from her dinner, let alone her freedom.

He rolls his eyes. “You know why I didn’t. You are far more heavily armed than I am.”

She laughs. Her raft isn’t simply a raft. It boasts an understructure almost as long and as wide as the raft itself that can detach from the raft and function as a submarine. Sinking The Arrow of Time would be the least of its capabilities.

“Then why did you keep following me?”

A warm breeze ruffles the surface of the sea and ripples the fabric of his tunic against his lean, strong torso. He finishes the rest of his red snapper. “Your spice mix overwhelms the flavor of the fish itself. All it needs is a bit of paprika and some lime juice.”

“Say something nice about it.”

He refills her teacup, and then his own. “It’s grilled properly.”

She grins. “Thank you. Not too dry?”

“Do you want the truth or do you want more compliments?”

“More compliments, of course.”

“It’s tender and juicy.”

She doesn’t know about his but the one she just finished was indeed tender and juicy. She smiles at him. He stares at her, which makes her feel like a cauldron on the inside, so hot that she bubbles and brims over.

She sets her elbows on the table. “You may compliment my personal attributes too. Surely once you realized my superior firepower, you kept following me only because you wished to be close to me?”

He snorts. “You are not that beautiful. I kept following you because I was looking for an opportunity to seize your raft—it would also make for a decent present to the higher-ups.”

Mind. Blown.

She leans forward even more, her arms squeezed in, her breasts straining against her sarong. “So if I must swim home, I’ll have no one to blame but myself, as you’ve already made your intentions abundantly clear.”

To his credit, his gaze only descended to her lips before traveling up again. “Precisely.”

“Is this how you treat other girls who are interested in you?”

He wrinkles his nose—and looks incredibly cute in doing so. But is he insulted by her question? “Madam, I accepted your invitation to lunch, I brought you a present, and I even made you compliments. That is not how I conduct myself with other girls.”

“One.”

“What?”

“You made me only one compliment, after I requested it.”

“Not true.” He oscillates his skewer a few centimeters left and right for emphasis. “I also said that you’re a decent cook.”

“And being told that I’m merely decent at something is a compliment?”

“It’s the best compliment I ever received during my culinary training. And you, madam, are nowhere as good as I was.”

She giggles. Goodness, she’s in full-on infatuation mode, isn’t she? “How do you treat other girls, then?”

He sighs—at her insistence or the answer he is about to give? “I ignore them when I can. And when necessary, forcibly remove them from my immediate vicinity.”

That sounds drastic. Yet he does not appear to be joking—or even exaggerating. In fact, his expression is grim, like that of a sailor who finds himself in the middle of a storm.

“Are you cleaving to some impossible standard of virtue?”

Now he just looks tired, as if his youth is but an illusion that can shatter at any moment. “No. Should my mother and sister make their escape, I would like to join them at some point. It’ll be much easier to do so on my own, rather than weighed down with concubines and children.”

She recalls that in Dawan a man sleeping with a woman is enough to mark her as his property and responsibility, culturally and legally, no pregnancy or children necessary.

Straightening, she glares at him. “So you agreed to lunch because I’m a transient in your life and will supply you with a pleasant time that will not make it more difficult for you to defect in the future.”

“I—” For once he seems at a loss for words. He bites the corner of his lips again. “If by ‘a pleasant time’ you refer to physical intimacy, I did not consider that to be on the menu, so to speak.”

“Then why?”

An even stronger breeze tousles his hair, hair almost as long as her own. He sets down his bare skewer on the plate before him and turns the skinny stick round and round. “I was still debating whether I could successfully hijack your raft.”

“Are you thinking of it right now?”

“Of course. It would be most useful to me.”

She doesn’t even need to close her eyes to know that he’s lying. “Should I boot you off and eat all the braised sea cucumber by myself?”

For a moment his features become drawn, tense. His attention slips to her stool—underneath which she has stowed her weapon. But when she makes no move to use it on him, he relaxes a little. “I do like braised sea cucumber. How did you make it?”

“With soy sauce and plenty of brown sugar.”

“That is the proper way. Why don’t you—why don’t you boot me off after we have it?”

He does not look at her as he asks his hesitant question, his eyes downcast, his fingers still spinning the skewer. It dawns on her, after a moment, that for this proud boy, the request constitutes more than an entreaty. It is a plea.

Let me stay a little longer. Please.

“Why not tell me that you followed me because you couldn’t help it?”

He stills, his posture suddenly rigid.

“That’s what I’d say if I wanted to steal your boat,” she slowly finishes the rest of her thought.

She places a plate of braised sea cucumber and two bowls of rice on the folding table. He watches her scoop some sea cucumber onto his rice. He is breathing fast—with relief? Because she lets him stay or because she chooses not to probe further into his motives?

“Eat,” she orders.