Page 16

Chapter sixteen

R aggon charged into the cabin, calling for Thessa.

She stopped halfway through buckling her belt over her vest, peering around the makeshift dressing screen that was the only thing separating her from this suddenly desperate man. Raggon was sopping wet. Seawater pooled at his feet, the salty scent of the deep clinging to him like a second skin.

“No, no,” Morris said. He rammed the shouting Raggon back towards the door, his aristocratic hands firm against the younger man’s chest. “Not yet.”

“I need to talk to her.” Urgency edged Raggon’s voice, his eyes darting past the Duke’s shoulder. Thessa scurried back behind the dressing screen, trying to dress faster. Morris had been right—the cabin boy’s things were more her style… plus something he’d found in a chest below deck. A linen turquoise dress, the color of tropical shallows where sunlight dapples through clear waters. She wasn’t sure how much better the dress was than her tail, but the soft fabric was light and flowed around her legs, giving her the freedom she craved.

“And she’s not ready.” The Duke’s voice carried the weight of authority that even Raggon couldn’t easily dismiss. “I’m sorry that my lessons were sadly lacking in manners when it comes to the ladies, but chivalry first.”

“Morris!”

“You’re not getting near her if you can’t keep a civil tongue in your head.”

“I have a message from one of her, uh… friends. Thessa?” His voice softened on her name, almost pleading.

Finally, figuring out the strange buckle, she moved out from behind the screen, feeling shy in this dress and clutching to the side of the desk for support. Her new legs were like borrowed things, uncertain beneath her. Raggon froze at the sight of her, eyes widening, his lips parting slightly.

Heat rose in her cheeks. Did that mean she looked good? Bad? She couldn’t tell from his expression, but her heart fluttered against her ribs like a trapped seabird as she waited for him to speak. He still wasn’t saying anything, just staring as though he’d never seen her before.

“I can put the breeches on,” she said hastily.

“No!” he said even more hastily, if that was possible. “You’re perfect… that way. You’re…” his eyes shifted to Morris and immediately he cleared his throat and changed his manner to one more brusque. “You look good.”

She beamed—not because he’d been particularly smooth, but… because he hadn’t. Father told her that he’d become as stupid as a moon-struck sea turtle the first time he’d set eyes on her mother. So, was this a good reaction? No, bad… very bad! Her thoughts tangled like jellyfish tentacles.

She didn’t know how to feel anymore, only that she couldn’t control these emotions rushing through her like a runaway school of fish. Raggon had admitted earlier that he liked her falling all over him, which was maddening, shocking… pleasing? Her fingers tightened on the corner of the desk. “You have a message?”

“Umm… actually? That can wait.” He shoved forward and gently pressed his hand against hers resting against the desk. Immediately she felt like a sea anemone collapsing in on itself—the last of her rigid defenses dissolving. His black hair had lost the ties that held it back and clung to his sinewy neck in wet tendrils. Something in those vivid eyes pled with her, as brightly as the heart of a flame. “Let’s continue those walking lessons where we left off.”

She laughed, her eyes drifting to his boots dripping against the thick crimson rug, and she stepped back to escape, the movement in her legs still awkward but growing more natural by the hour. “How did you get all wet?”

Raggon threw a hand behind his neck and forced a grin that she couldn’t quite trust. “Got too close to the lads swabbing the deck. They’re more cross-eyed than a drunken albatross in a hurricane.” Now Morris watched on with narrowed gaze, suspicion written in the set of his shoulders. Raggon shrugged at him, before turning his attention back to her—his manner softening as he captured her hand. His palm was calloused but warm against hers. “Do you know what dancing is?”

She’d heard tale of Undine doing it, and how the practice felt as painful as shards of shells cutting into flesh. “I don’t want to…”

“I promise it’s… probably not what you think—but first we’ve got to warm you up to it…”

“No,” Morris corrected, his tone as dry as sun-bleached driftwood. “ First you must change from those damp clothes. You’re dripping all over her.”

“Oh… yes, of course.” Raggon released her hand with obvious reluctance. “Don’t go anywhere.” He rushed to the back of the partition. The sounds of wet clothing peeling from him.

Morris let out a shocked shout, his hand finding Thessa’s arm. He dragged her out the door, though he still managed to do it with courtly grace. Thessa had far less of that, stumbling after him, all while Raggon continued to get dressed like they weren’t deserting the ship like rats scurrying to freedom. Morris berated him all the more for it. “Your Majesty, can you at least act like a prince? I ask you!”

“Thessa knows what I am.” His head moved around the partition and his eyes twinkled at her. “Don’t you? Shadow of the Tide? A horrible, bloodthirsty pirate.”

“Far from it!” Morris was outraged in his charge’s behalf, though he still deftly arranged Thessa’s escape. They emerged onto the main deck where the late afternoon sun painted everything in warm amber light. The Duke patted her hand. “Shadow of the Tide, indeed! I apologize for his behavior, my dear. He’s a good man, you know. True-hearted. It’s just… he hasn’t changed much from the boy climbing the palace walls.” And then his lips firmed. Perhaps he thought he’d said too much. “Now, where were we? Walking, yes. You just—you just…”

He left Thessa perched to the starboard railing while he tried to demonstrate. “Back straight, head high.” The Duke paced the deck slowly. The sea stretching out behind him like polished glass, silhouetting him like a somber pecking bird. “Like so. Small steps at first, so you don’t overdo it and trip.” A few sailors cast curious glances their way but quickly averted their eyes when they caught Morris’s considering gaze—like he’d force them to prance around with the same exaggerated movements. “Now, you need to find your balance as you walk, as I do.”

The cabin door wrenched open, and Raggon materialized from a spray of mist to stand in front of Thessa, wearing a deep blue coat with polished brass buttons. Her breath caught, seeing how the cambric shirt that he’d stolen from where she’d discarded it fit him to perfection. His hair, still damp but combed back, framed a strong jaw that he still hadn’t bothered to shave.

Now there stands a prince!

“Maddox’s old finery,” Morris muttered darkly. “A bit theatrical for my taste.”

And far too dashing for hers! Her knees were already too wobbly as she gripped the ship’s railing to keep steady—against both the rolling deck and her own traitorous impulses.

“Shall we continue your lessons, my lady?” Raggon gave a mock bow that was far too gallant. The warmth behind his blue-eyed gaze throwing her heart into a stuttering staccato might be the reason behind that. His fingers took hers in a move that now felt familiar, almost natural. He swept her closer to him, bringing her snugly against his chest.

With difficulty, she smothered all embarrassing gasps that her new lungs were trying to emit. He certainly was taking a far more intimate approach to his walking lessons than the Duke had.

“Follow my lead,” he whispered. She supposed she should nod here—better that she get this over with, no matter how mesmerizing her tutor was. “Feel the deck beneath you as you step,” he said. “The sea has a rhythm—you know this better than anyone, Thessa.”

She closed her eyes, forcing herself to concentrate. Her legs still felt strange, but less alien with each passing minute. For the next hour, as the sun began its descent toward the horizon, they worked together. His teasing challenges drove her. His hands steadied her when she faltered. “Keep it simple, Clam. Don’t try to run circles around me.”

She laughed. That was kind of him to think so.

His fingertips ran down her arm, kindling more warmth beneath her skin. “Okay, turn.” She did so, feeling the way her knees balanced her movement. They practiced what should be simple movements—walking forward and back, standing still without support—until they became simple. The ship’s gentle rolling became less of a challenge and more of a familiar partner in this gentle harmony.

The horizon began to snuff out the burning sun by the time she could walk the length of the deck without assistance. “You’re a natural,” Raggon said. The sincerity that he usually reserved for his brother, and for his less guarded moments, sent a thrill through her.

He shot a triumphant glance over at Morris, who’d retreated to the helm to pore over maps, though he took the time to occasionally interrupt their lessons with scowls and reprimands to keep a sensible head.

“That’s it!” Raggon said, watching Thessa with the pleased eyes of a teacher. “We’re starting a young lady’s finishing school.”

The Duke rolled his eyes. “Ah yes, taught by the refined Sylphorian pirates. That would go over well.”

Raggon’s laughing gaze traveled over Thessa and turned her suddenly shy. The sky above them had darkened to deep indigo, the last crimson streaks of sunset fading like embers. Now that she was walking on her own, he was no longer touching her at every moment, and strangely she missed the feel of him already. “Never mind you’re a beginner,” he said, “—you move with a grace that I’ve never seen in any maiden on land.”

Was he really complimenting her? Pools of golden lantern light danced across his features, revealing a need to touch her again. Her breath caught, and she moved away, her fingers nervously tracing the weathered grain of the ship’s railing as she fought to regain her composure.

A strange rhythmic sound thumped across the deck, near the mainmast. Her head lifted. “What’s that?” The question was pulled from her.

“Drums. It’s Sylphorian Music.”

Other noises mixed with the thuds—a haunting soprano with no breath and pipes— that sound she recognized. She’d watched a man play one on the shores of Coral Bay once. Some pipes had fallen to the bottom of the sea to join her treasures there, though much to her disappointment, she’d discovered it was mute—the odd instrument needed air to move through the holes to play.

The work of this long day had drained her, but somehow this music filled her with energy that was no longer her own. This was a type of magic in itself!

Raggon turned to her. Years had fallen away from his features as the melody gained momentum. “Circe thought she’d taken our spirit, but it lives on in the sounds of our people.” He guided her to a sheltered spot near the ship’s rail where a pile of canvas sails had been neatly folded, creating a makeshift alcove away from the others.

Not waiting for an invitation, Thessa settled against the seating with a sigh of relief. She swayed to the unusual rhythm as it moved through her soul. She missed the music of her own voice, but this had its own charm—earthy and solid where merfolk music was fluid and ethereal.

Raggon’s shoulder brushed against hers as he settled beside her, and she felt herself relax at his familiar presence. His elbows pressed into the coiled ropes behind them. “That’s Theron, Adair.” he pointed out the men. “Cass is the drummer there. Circe meant to keep them as hostages on this ship before I came back.” A dimple appeared in his left cheek. “I might’ve stolen the rest of her crew while I was at it.”

That’s where those grumbling shadows had originated! From their vantage point, she was able to pick out the Sylphorian crew from the mercenaries. Where the hired sailors were rough around the edges and frowning, Raggon’s countrymen were marked by an easy camaraderie. They dressed differently too, their clothes simpler but well-made and clean, with patterns of waves and birds woven into the fabric.

The crew had transformed the deck with their celebration, clearing a space in the center. Some already engaged in a peculiar twitching movement, as if responding to invisible currents. Was this dance? They didn’t look in pain. The ship’s cook bowed deeply to thin air—to what? To whom? She didn’t understand this at all, though a big, sloppy grin had taken over his mouth. She hid an answering smile.

“For years, Circe watched our kingdom in her jealousy,” Raggon’s voice dropped to a near-whisper, and she leaned in, not to hear, but shockingly, to be closer to him, though she prayed he didn’t guess how much she was softening.

His expression had a faraway look that spoke of pain and loss. “The witch despised our prosperity, our joy, our simple lives, and secretly wanted our happiness for her own, but even after she’d taken it, she could never possess what wasn’t hers.”

The music had grown more complex, layers of melody weaving together like currents in a tide pool. The fiddle sang of longing while the pipes added hope, all grounded by the steady heartbeat of the drum. “She’ll never have our music, our home, our lives.” The soft glow of the lamp cast half Raggon’s face in shadow, and the grief she saw tugged at her heart. He’d lost his kingdom, his inheritance so long ago. She couldn’t imagine how she’d feel at such a loss. “How did you escape?”

“Morris protected us. My parents stayed behind to face Circe. They were executed. My sister… I don’t think she survived. Our spies could find no trace of her. She was so young! That was more than a decade ago. She’d be twenty now—a beautiful child —she looked just like our mother, hair the color of gold, with the sylph powers of our ancestors misting her fingertips.”

The tragedies from those years were long past, but the grief was still freshly written across his face. Why hadn’t the merfolk helped these people? Her father was so powerful… but he didn’t interfere in the lives of humans. It was one of his strictest rules.

But Circe was a Land Witch. It was so unfair.

The melody that somehow captured both melancholy and defiance in the Sylphorian’s music struck her soul, especially as she watched the tangle of emotions pass through Raggon’s features. And just like that, she released the last of her defenses, sinking fully against his shoulder, her surrender tasting like the sweetest relief, as she rested against the strength of a man who had the power to love so deeply.

The sound of flapping wings joined the sounds of celebration, as Tobias emerged from the hatchway leading to the lower deck with his parrot. Raggon turned rigid, his attention drawing to the last member of his family. His young brother moved slowly, his steps careful but determined. Thessa understood Raggon’s fierce protectiveness now.

The parrot circled above Tobias, so closely in sync with his movements that it made her pause to consider. Circe was powerful, but flying creatures were naturally resistant to witch’s magic. Was Sterling watching over his young master, giving him his last thread to humanity?

The music erupted into a lively tune, crashing through her thoughts. What she’d taken for a steady soprano she could now see was a threaded instrument. The man ran a stick over strings framed by cherry red wood, his hand moving faster and faster as the rhythm took hold of her soul and refused to let go.

Raggon locked eyes with her, his steady gaze sparkling with reflected light. “And so, we live and dance and sing. This is our resistance against Circe.” The soberness that had captured his face transformed into a grin, and suddenly she understood him all too well. The hope playing in his expression was actual rebellion against the one who’d stolen everything from him.

The drum thrummed faster and faster, making her heart pound. Or was that because of the delicious warmth of Raggon’s eyes on her?

His fingers tangled through hers again. “It’s time to try something you’ll never forget. Ready for this?”

Before she could take another breath, he helped her to her feet and reeled her from the shadowy alcove. His hand pressed against her back as he brought her close. “Right foot forward, then back. This is what we call dance!”

She gasped. But this was supposed to be fearful, painful, wretched! He led her through the steps, and it felt as rhythmic as swimming, but altogether different in his arms. “Now to the side. That’s it.” His movement guided hers like when he’d taught her to walk. “Turn—good!”

She let out a laugh. Spinning was losing all control, but lending it to him awhile as he steered the dance. Scylla had been so cruel to make this painful for Undine. This was heavenly without that interference! Humans had discovered something close to the gliding motion of the waves. Thessa dropped his hand, found his fingers again, and spun.

The pattern of the dance brought her closer and closer to his chest with each turn until she could feel the warmth radiating from him. Her pulse quickened as his arm once again encircled her waist, this time with a possessive urgency that set her skin on fire.

His breath became hers as he leaned nearer… nearer. His eyes dropped to her lips, and for a beautiful moment, the entire sea seemed to hold its breath.

A horrible clanging sound shattered the spell—Tobias had produced a strange instrument, something like a series of curved metal bowls attached to a wooden base. She peered around the solid mass of Raggon’s arm to see his brother run his fingers across the bowls, producing a discordant noise that made several of the crew wince.

Raggon breathed out an amused chuckle. “At least he didn’t drag out my birthday gift.”

Tobias shot his brother an answering grin, then winked at Thessa. “This belonged to Father.” His voice sounded lighter than the last they’d talked.

“It’s the Sea’s Blessing,” Raggon explained to her. “An instrument of our people. Legend says it can call the spirits of the deep… when played by someone who knows what they’re doing.”

Tobias gave him a level look and, responding to the challenge, his fingers moved more deliberately, coaxing a haunting melody from the metal bowls. The sound was unlike anything she’d heard before—liquid and ethereal—he’d given the water itself a voice.

As the notes rose and fell, the flames from the surrounding lanterns stretched upward, their light intensifying. Tiny motes of phosphorescence began to rise from the deck in a mystical glow.

Her hand rose involuntarily over her mouth, watching as the spiraling patterns swirled to the music.

“Our father used to play that way,” Raggon whispered. “I’ve never heard Tobias do that before.”

The glowing motes danced around them, casting an otherworldly light that transformed the deck into something divine—neither of land nor sea. An involuntary gasp ripped from her lips at the beauty.

“You like that?” Raggon asked. That dimple she’d spied earlier made another appearance. “Just wait until you see this.” He guided her toward the ship’s bow, so she could see the lights glittering over the waves in a stunning display of color. She leaned against the railing, captured by their scenery.

And still, even surrounded by the soft glow of the sea’s magic, Thessa turned, inexplicably drawn to this man instead. She studied Raggon’s profile against the swirling phosphorescent lights. They caught in currents of air stirred by Tobias’s music, witnesses to the world of what Sylphoria had lost to the Sea Witch’s magic, but here stood a man who’d withstood it all.

She touched his arm. “I’m sorry that Circe took your home.”

“We’ll get it back.” Determination steeled his voice. “My family doesn’t bear this curse for nothing. We come from a proud sea people… Undine fell in love with our great king for good reason.” He somehow made that sound like a happy thing. Wait, did he think it was? “Their love made the king’s bloodline spirits of the air. A sylph…” He leaned closer to her, his eyes reflecting the dancing lights around them. “And we’ve always been partial to mermaids.”

Her heart climbed into her throat; its beat so strong she was certain he must hear it. How could he celebrate such a horrible disaster?

“Partial to mermaids?” her voice rang at the horror. “Do you tell that to your children to get them to sleep at night?” She couldn’t stop the sarcasm dripping from her lips, especially since she was also falling for his royal charms and should know better! Suddenly, she remembered how he’d joked with his brother about being related to Undine, though he’d denied being an heir to the Sea Sovereignty because that was over a thousand years ago.

What if these truly were the legends circling among his people?

“Here’s the true tale,” she cried. “A long time ago, the first ruler of Sylphoria betrayed Undine by marrying another. Her heart was broken, but she was given a chance to live—run a blade through the heart of the enemy of her people, but the stupid lovesick fool couldn’t do it, so she dissolved into seafoam and died, so no… your great king was a faithless, selfish man. And if he was cursed for it, then he deserved it!”

His hand tightened on hers, warm and strong, despite the chill in her words. “What?” his voice was breathless. “What are you talking about?”