Page 11

Chapter eleven

T he mermaid met his eyes with pleading. They were so dark, so big, like pools of midnight reflecting the dim lantern light that swayed with the ship’s gentle motion.

His breath hitched. He was a monster! The woman didn’t need her siren voice to tear his heart to pieces, did she? And for good reason—why was he manhandling the poor sea creature like this? The Duke was right—had he no thought for her sensibilities? The dripping maid was miserable, her skin pale as alabaster against Maddox’s garish blood-red curtains.

She was rightfully terrified in a cabin that had once belonged to that leering dolt—the man’s preferences had always run to the theatrical. Raggon’s gaze caught on a massive painting above the bed depicting a leering pirate capturing a mermaid, its gilt frame as tacky as everything else in this room.

The tasteless painting was nothing to the real thing trembling before him. There was something else in those fathomless eyes that made his pulse quicken. His fingers tightened over her arms, feeling the delicate bones under his calloused grip.

“What’s your name?” he whispered, trying to ignore how Maddox’s crystal chandelier tinkled mockingly above them.

Her brows rose in response, and he almost laughed at the ridiculousness. There he went asking questions she couldn’t answer. “I’ll call you… uh… Clam.”

His heart skipped at the fire flashing in her narrowed eyes; they were far more captivating than all the cheap gilt surrounding them. Yeah, he was a monster. His lips curved, despite himself. Teasing her was irresistible. How could he bring back that dreamy look in those captivating eyes after he’d kissed her on the sandy beach?

Was finding the way back to her heart such a mystery? She was only a breath away from him, close enough that he could count the droplets of seawater clinging to her dark lashes. The contrast of crimson velvet drapes—heavy with mildew behind her—made her all the more ethereal.

“Aye, sirens be wicked luck! Dirty bilge-rat!” Sterling’s raucous voice cut through the tense atmosphere. “Drag a man down to the deeps. Bad luck!”

The parrot’s squawk made Raggon twist around. “Sterling!” If the bird was here, perched against the porthole like some colorful harbinger of doom, Tobias wasn’t far… and if the young prince had seen even a smidgeon of his brother’s bad behavior? He’d disown him. Worse, he might blame himself for making Raggon lose his head like this.

But there was only one reason for that.

Don’t forget who she is, you dirty bilge-rat! She’d dropped from the heavens to help them collect the Undine Blade, and a gift like her was far too convenient to be chance. Raggon wouldn’t be surprised if Circe had something to do with this.

Tearing away from the alluring creature and the temptation to finish what they’d started only that morning—thoughts that had no business in his head—Raggon lunged from the bed and peered past the closets lined with Maddox’s ideas of necessities. The vanity was on full display in the gilt-framed mirrors. On closer inspection, gaudy gold leaf peeled from the carved surface, revealing cheap pine.

“Tobias?” he called out He pushed past the massive mahogany desk, its surface scarred by neglect and stained with spilled wine. Something on the desk rattled around then made a strange whirring pop. His eyes narrowed on the compact oil cloth package left behind there.

The pint-sized gift he’d presented Raggon for his birthday this morning had been rescued from their abandoned ship… or stolen more likely! Maddox loved the unusual, and the sounds emanated from there would’ve piqued his interest. Now the box rested on the desk like a powder keg ready to explode. Raggon warily kept his distance from it, still not sure if the one who’d made it wasn’t in here too. “You there?” When there was no answer, Raggon straightened.

A violent tremor ran through the girl sitting miserably on his bed, her soaked form dripping against the ridiculous gold coverlet embroidered in squids. She had to get dry. That was all there was to it, but what could possibly replace that strange getup she wore? Her mermaid gown was possibly the oddest thing he’d ever seen a woman wear—and they showed off those glorious new legs of hers. No wonder his men had been fighting over her like wolves over fresh meat.

Biting his tongue from scaring her further by blurting out any of these scandalous thoughts, he dug through Maddox’s heavy dresser, the painted drawers protesting with each pull. Like everything else the man had owned, it was more about show than function. Inside was Maddox’s usual mess of maps and weapons.

He glanced back at the dripping girl, seeing another raised brow. “Sorry, Clam, I’m a little low on beautiful ball gowns, but…” he spied a chest full of more practical clothes on the other side of the room, past all the useless bric-a-brack, “you’re in luck.” He went for it. “I might have something warm for you to wear.” He tugged out a loose-fitting cambric shirt and threw the soft fabric across her lap. “I think that might cover you more than that—uh… frock.” He ripped his eyes away from her legs and dragged out some breeches. “Maybe these too.”

She stared at the clothes as if they were jellyfish washed up on shore. “You put your legs into them,” he explained, gesturing awkwardly at his own. Behind her, their reflections multiplied infinitely in the wall of mirrors, making him feel like a fool a hundred times over.

Her chin lifted at an angle that spoke volumes.

“You’re right,” he said with a laugh that came easier than it should. “The breeches will slip right off you. They’re huge. We need suspenders or something.” And who knew he’d be so good at one-sided conversations?

He sat next to her again, the wood of the bed creaking beneath him, and he felt her body tense at the motion. He tried to lighten the mood. “They’re not bad legs. Where’d you get them?”

She stiffened. Wrong thing to say, but neither of them could run from this awkward conversation, and now he was faced with a new dilemma. She was tied up for good reason, and he couldn’t very well dress her, now, could he?

The spark in her eyes challenged him more than pushing him away. Well… maybe he could layer these over what she already had. The lights from the chandelier catching the graceful line of her neck made his mouth go dry. A few errant drops of seawater tracked down her beautifully smooth cheek.

Stop looking so closely, you swab!

He picked up the shirt, feeling the soft cotton under his fingers and feeling like the greatest fool to ever sail the seven seas. This close, he could smell the sea on her skin, mixed with something sweeter he couldn’t name. After a moment’s hesitation, he pushed the collar over her head.

This was ridiculous! The shirt was only getting wet over that glittering spectacle, but he never backed away from anything, and he wasn’t about to start now.

Her hair was caught under the collar, copper strands that felt like silk beneath his fingers as he freed them. He muffled a curse. Yeah, no siren voice needed—this mermaid made his heart pound louder than a Sylphorian bong-gong drum! He shimmied the cotton over that barbaric sheath dress, trying to ignore the alluring sparkle of the fabric.

Now what? How could he get these sleeves on?

Her hands were still tied behind her. He reached around her to get at the knots, swallowing hard when her forehead scraped against his chin. That scent on her was sea lavender and it was making a mess of his head, far more intoxicating than the stale perfume clinging to Maddox’s heavy draperies.

“No fast moves,” he warned her, his voice rougher than intended.

Her breath quickened. His did too. What in Poseidon’s Sea had possessed him to try to help her? He should’ve backed away!

Somehow, he got her hands loose.

His fingers on her were far clumsier than any of his nursemaids back in the day. She stared up at him, her dark eyes even bigger than when he’d started. “I’m just trying to get you warm,” he muttered, but he couldn’t have her singing at him either. He was pretty sure the first thing she’d do was order him to dunk his head in a barrel and drown after his clumsy attempts to be a good host.

While he slipped her arms into the sleeves, their reflections in Maddox’s tarnished mirrors made the two of them look like figures in the overhead painting—the captured mermaid and the unworthy pirate.

No, no! That wasn’t who he was! The poor girl was shaking harder now. Undine’s curse! She made him feel like he was a mean old dragon. And why not? Sylphs were supposedly close ancestors to the ancient skyborne.

Taking a deep breath that filled his lungs with too much of her essence, Raggon put a pause on his good deeds. “Relax.” He tried to sound more in control than he felt, even as she stiffened beneath his hands. “I’m not going to eat you.”

Again, that explosion of temper in her eyes, like cannon fire over dark waters. He hid a grin. Well, who knew what merfolk did to their women? Maybe she had reason to fear that he’d swallow her whole.

Manners, Raggon! He could almost hear Morris’s sermons echoing in his ears, especially as the prince took in her vulnerable state.

His mermaid looked adorable in all these layers of clothing. She almost resembled a waterlogged laundry pile thanks to his brilliant “warming” plan—and still horribly wet and miserable; the cambric shirt hugged the damp dress beneath. He groaned. A gentleman would’ve offered his jacket. That’s what he should’ve done!

Cursing his stupidity, he shrugged out of his well-worn leather coat and began the same sweet torture of dressing her again. The leather swallowed her small frame, but this time he noticed that her shivers subsided.

That was progress at least. He felt less like a monster.

“Raggon!” Morris shouted at him from outside, his voice carrying the sharp edge of concern that always preceded one of his lectures. His dear friend must think that he’d taken one look at the mermaid and tried to serve tea to his parrot while using the porthole as a plate.

Given his current predicament—perhaps Morris had reason to question his faculties.

“Open this door at once!” The Duke ordered. “There will be talk!”

“Wait a minute!” Raggon called out. First, he had to make sure that the mermaid didn’t try to slip from his fingers. Searching under the bed, past Maddox’s cluttered treasures, Raggon fished out a small silver bell. Its surface sparkled under the chandelier. “Not that I think you’ll get too far with those new legs of yours,” he murmured.

Her eyes narrowed at his teasing tone.

He shrugged, sliding the bell through the discarded ropes. She might not be able to walk yet, but he’d put nothing past her if she escaped. “Don’t think I won’t hear you if you try anything.”

Once again, feeling the villain and chiding himself for caring, he bound her hands, though he tried to be gentle. The bell chimed softly with each movement. “Someday we’ll laugh about this… after you get me that dagger.”

Not skudding likely, but they could always pretend they could let bygones be bygones. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth when he dwelled on what could’ve been.

His gaze shot to Sterling. The parrot’s bright feathers ruffled in defense. “Polly wants a cracker,” Raggon said. “That’s what you say if she tries to leave. Got it, bird?”

Good luck getting Sterling to have the brains to follow any order, but she didn’t have to know that. The parrot just cocked its head, beady eyes reflecting the lantern flames.

“Raggon! Have you no care for propriety?” Morris scratched at the door like an impatient cat. A chuckle rumbled through Raggon’s throat at the familiar lecture. “I must insist, Your Majesty!”

He’d used the title—Morris had reached the end of his patience. Raggon glanced over at the mermaid and tried to ease the tight wrinkle of stress against her eyes. “You hear that loudmouth out there?” he asked her softly. “He’s a good man. It won’t be all bad here, I promise. If you need someone to trust, then he’s the best friend you’ve got.” He dragged a thick woolen blanket over her lap, and dropped more soft fur throws on her for good measure, grateful to find some practical items in this useless finery. He patted her cheek, ignoring how his hand lingered against her soft skin. “See ya, Clam.”

He couldn’t help the grin at her sharp intake of breath. That fire in her eyes was like the finest rum—warming his blood and giving him a thirst for more.

The door shook with a violent tremor, the brass hinges rattling. The Duke wasn’t messing around anymore.

“Relax, old man,” Raggon said, casting one last look at his captive. The sight of her wrapped in his coat, swimming in fabric that normally molded against his shoulders, sent an unexpected wave of satisfaction through his chest. She no longer had anything to complain about—siren voice or not, he’d turn her to his way of thinking in no time! “I’m coming, Morris.”

Bracing himself for a diatribe the length of their country’s ancient charters, he charged through the door in a spray of sea mist. The cool night breeze caught him as he materialized on the other side, smothering him with mingled scents of tar and brine.

Lanterns cast pools of amber light across the deck. Morris glowered at him from the other side of the threshold, looking every inch the disapproving nobleman.

Raggon made sure the door was shut with the kick of his boot and grinned, though the expression felt forced. “Take it easy, friend. It’s only a mermaid, not an attack of Circe’s armies.” The words tasted hollow even as he spoke them.

“Is she…” Morris’s face flushed with delicate horror at his charge’s reckless behavior, “—at peace?”

“What? Do you think I killed her with my rum-soaked attempts at poetry?” He laughed at his friend’s scandalized intake of breath.

“Brute! I’ve a mind to box your royal ears for speaking that way! You likely terrified her with your headstrong ways! Never mind she’s a mermaid—she doesn’t know the kind of man you are, especially after all that storming around like an overbearing troll in a rowboat!”

Overbearing? Never! Raggon brushed past his advisor, though the humor didn’t quite ease his discomfort—even he had felt like a cruel captor. “If you’re volunteering to be her nursemaid, you’re more than welcome to take the job.”

Ironically, Raggon wished he would.

“This is not a joke,” Morris said, his voice dropping to an urgent whisper. The old advisor’s eyes darted around the deck, taking in the rough faces of the crew moving in the growing darkness. “I don’t like the looks of the men on this ship. They’re a rough sort, nothing like our usual Sylphorian recruits. The way they watch that door…”

Raggon scoffed, though his back stiffened at the thought of those vulture gazes fixed on her. He immediately called out for his most trusted man from his Sylphorian crew. “Theron!” his voice cut through the evening air. “Take charge of the door.”

Theron, a bear of a man with honor as solid as oak, took position with a sober nod. His presence alone would discourage any unwanted visitors coming to that garish cage. She was more precious than any of Maddox’s collections, and everyone on that ship had better figure that out soon, or he’d toss them overboard.

Raggon turned to Morris as they made their way to the quarterdeck. The evening sky had deepened to rich blue-black, with the last traces of twilight turning the waves into liquid obsidian. The salty air whipped at their clothes as they found a quiet spot near the stern, where the flames from the oil lamps rocked to the gentle rhythm of the sea.

“She’ll be safe. Happy now?” Raggon asked him.

“No,” Morris said. His usual worried lines were softened by the shadows, but his voice carried the weight of years spent keeping Raggon out of trouble. “What are you doing, lad?”

“She’s getting us the Undine Blade.” Even as he said it, Raggon knew how impossible gaining her help would be, but what choice did they have? Tobias’s life depended on it.

Morris sighed and ran a hand through the silver threads of his hair. “And she just shows up here when we need her? That’s far too convenient.”

Once again, Raggon agreed, but what else could they do? He muttered something noncommittal. “We’ll keep an eye out for trouble.” They were facing the gaping maws of death by defying Circe and stealing her blade away. The thought of the Land Witch gave the night wind a sinister feel.

“Raggon.” Morris caught him with his steely look. “This crew is a rough lot who haven’t felt the touch of civilization for ages, and the rivalry grows deep between our people. Sailors hate mermaids. Every lowlife on this ship will try to take revenge on her for what the seas have done to us.”

His heart raged at the thought of anyone hurting Clam. The nickname felt different now, less teasing and more… protective. Yeah, Clam would do for the present… until he could figure out how to communicate with her and get her real name.

And the second that gag came off, Raggon would be putty in her hands. He could blame her siren powers, but… well, there was more to it.

“I don’t care how you do it,” Morris said, “but you’d better claim this woman as your own—say, she’s your betrothed, a Sylphorian princess in disguise. If it comes down to it, stage a marriage if need be.”

Raggon scoffed. None of that was necessary. “If anyone touches her, I’ll throw them off the plank with my sword in their back.” The steel of his words matched the steel stiffening his spine the longer he dwelled on her in any kind of danger. “How’s that?”

Tobias let out a bark of laughter behind them. “Sounds like love.”

Raggon twisted around in surprise. Without the power to materialize at will, Tobias shouldn’t be able to sneak up on him like before. His nerves must be more frayed than he’d realized.

The flickering lantern light caught the dull edge of the enchanted collar, and Raggon’s stomach turned. What had been gleaming silver this afternoon now showed patches of rust-like corruption where it touched Tobias’s skin. In the evening gloom, the collar seemed to writhe with a sickly greenish tinge. Raggon’s voice lowered to barely more than a whisper, rough with worry. “How are you feeling, brother?”

Tobias forced a smile to his lips. “The collar’s starting to hurt.”

An understatement if he ever heard one. The flesh around the enchantment had taken on an angry, mottled appearance—Typhon’s Kiss was leeching something from his brother’s very blood.

Raggon ran his hands through his hair, feeling like he was getting pulled in every direction by invisible hooks. The ship’s lanterns swayed above them, their light catching the bruised shadows beneath Tobias’s eyes. The mermaid’s captured presence in his cabin behind him suddenly felt less like a guilt-weight and more like a lifeline.

Let her hate him. Let her curse him with those haunting gazes. If she got them to the Undine Blade, he could bear a dulled conscience. There was no other way.

Some prices were worth paying, though this one might cost him fragments of his soul. And if anything happened to her? The thought sent an icy finger down his spine.

He stood quickly. He needed some rum in him. The night was young, the dangers were mounting, and somewhere below deck was a leather flask with his name on it. The burn would wash away the memory of her trembling frame beneath his hands, the way her eyes had flashed defiance even as she shivered in fear. He was desperate to forget how right it had felt to wrap her in his protection, but…

Well, who would protect her from him?

Morris and Tobias exchanged a knowing look in the darkness, but Raggon pretended not to notice. His mind was already back in Maddox’s garish cave of treasures, with a mysterious siren who could either be his salvation or his doom.

“Some birthday, huh?” he glanced over at his brother, and caught him tugging at the collar. Taking a deep breath, he threw his arm around Tobias’s shoulder, gesturing for Morris to follow. They all needed to forget their troubles. “You ready to celebrate this day properly with me?”

The sound of Sterling’s mocking cackles inside the cabin’s open porthole followed them across the deck. “Bad luck! Bad luck!”

Stupid bird—why couldn’t he say something they didn’t know?