Page 7 of Storm and Sea (Storm and Sea Saga #1)

I t was everything he imagined it would be. Each step across the creaky floorboards echoed with memories. The furniture was primarily wooden, worn, and well-loved. The layout was simple: a kitchen on the left and a living space with a single couch and TV on the right. Straight in front of him stretched a long hallway that likely contained the bedrooms Giovanni constantly offered him.

The smell of the pescheria downstairs lingered faintly, mingling with the aroma of Horace’s tobacco and fresh basil. It was cramped, old, and stuffy.

It was perfect.

Nyel was likely thinking the same thing as his head spun, trying to see everything at once. He opened his mouth to speak, but Atreus quickly covered it with his hand, stopping him from asking something stupid like, What’s a window?

“Make yourselves at home, fate come se foste a casa vostra . Horace is already in bed for the night, so the space is ours,” Giovanni said, tossing his leather gloves on the round kitchen table. “Dinner will be ready in an hour. You boys can choose your rooms—any on the left side of the hall are open. I’ve left some linens in the hall for your beds. You might want to crack a window, though; the rooms haven’t been used in some time.”

“Thank you, Signore Marc-” Atreus stopped when the old fisherman raised a thick brow at him. “Thank you, Giovanni.”

His mentor smiled and pulled ingredients from the ice box. The moment the refrigerator door opened and the light inside came on, Nyel’s feet practically floated closer, his mouth gaping in fascination. Atreus grabbed his arm and dragged him to the hall before he could cause a scene.

“C’mon,” he said, rolling his eyes.

He opted to give Nyel the room farthest down, which was also farthest from any of the already occupied rooms.

“This place is amazing!” Nyel blurted the moment the door closed.

“It is,” Atreus said shortly, even though he too was in awe. This was his first glimpse into what life at home looked like for humans. Or anyone, for that matter. He didn’t consider his upbringing homely . But this place…

This is where memories are made. This is a place for family.

“Yeah,” Atreus mused, “It’s nice.”

“I mean, did you see that giant white box? It’s cold. And so much wood, how do they shape it? Oh my gills, I want to touch that dark green thing; I bet it’s soft; how do they make those? And there is light coming from the top of the house. Light without the sun! And did you see the?—”

Atreus let Nyel rattle off every mundane thing he’d seen, only half listening as he opened the window to air out the stuffy room. He found some fresh blankets in the closet and made Nyel’s bed, occasionally giving names to the objects Nyel described.

The dark green thing - couch.

Cold white box - refrigerator.

Tan box with two antennae sticking out of the top - Television.

“It’s even cooler when it’s turned on,” Atreus said regarding the moving picture box.

“I can’t wait,” Nyel said, lighting up like he’d found sunken treasure.

“You need to take a deep breath before dinner. And remember the rules? No questions in front of anyone. I’ll answer them later.”

“What if Giovanni asks me something? What do I say?”

“Let me do the talking. And don’t worry—the old man is comfortable with silence.”

That was one of Atreus’s favorite parts about Giovanni—well, one of his favorites; he admired almost everything about that man. There was a certain stillness in the way his boss stood, a calm that suggested he was someone who observed more than he spoke. And the fewer the questions, the less Atreus was forced to lie.

By the time Atreus showed Nyel where he’d sleep and explained everything about using the bathroom (threatening him at least ten times to dry off completely before unlocking the door), the scent of fresh basil drifted down the hall.

“And what’s the number one rule?” Atreus asked for the third time, blocking the sireno’s way.

Nyel rolled his eyes. “Don’t get wet. Don’t ask questions. Don’t be stupid - I’m not a kid, you know. I can handle myself. ”

“You’re basically an infant when it comes to humans,” Atreus said, pulling back the curtain, hoping for clear skies. The rain continued its merciless barrage with no end in sight.

“Even when it stops, I’m not leaving,” Nyel said, reading his mind.

“Yes, you are.”

“That’s what you think.”

Atreus glared at him, jaw clenched. The flecks of gold in Nyel’s honey-brown eyes sparkled as he fixed his face with determination. His resolve, however misguided, was set. It was plain as day, and Atreus hated that a small part of him admired it.

Stupid fish.

Nyel would get them both killed. And even if Atreus survived, he could lose it all. Everything he worked his entire life to build. He’d be alone while Nyel returned with his tail tucked to a loving family. This sireno had to go before it was too late.

“Ragazzo! Buon appetito!” Giovanni’s voice boomed from the kitchen.

Nyel stuck out his tongue rudely before ducking under Atreus’s arm and darting to the hall. Atreus groaned, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes.

This guy is going to be the end of me.

The kitchen was small and worn. Mismatched plates and chipped mugs sat on the table, remnants of dinners shared over the years in the cozy, rickety space. The scent of basil pesto and roasted chicken filled the air, mingling with the faint saltiness that seemed permanently embedded in the walls. Atreus’s mouth watered as Giovanni served them generous portions. Only the soft clinking of forks on plates punctuated the quiet.

Atreus carefully interlaced the comfortable lull with safe topics of conversation. It worked for the most part. When Giovanni set a glass of water in front of Nyel, the sireno tensed. He stared at the cold, clear liquid like it might grow fangs and bite him. Smirking, Atreus reached for the glass and took a big sip. Nyel’s eyes went wide in alarm, giving Atreus more satisfaction than it should. He winked, then went on with the conversation about possible repairs to Signore Cicco’s boat.

“He’s been overloading the weight capacity on those cables for years. It’s no wonder that—” Atreus halted midsentence as he and Giovanni both turned their attention to Nyel, whose body suddenly lurched, stopping him mid-chew.

“Is everything alright?” Giovanni asked.

“W-what is this?” Nyel asked, prodding a pale strip of meat on his plate. Atreus groaned internally.

“It’s chicken,” Atreus filled in. “It is very healthy. Has lots of protein,” he said through clenched teeth, communicating with his eyes.

Hearing the threat in his voice, the vegetarian squeezed his eyes shut and forced a swallow. Nyel shivered as the meat passed.

“So good,” he said through a painful smile.

“What do you think about the new docks the mayor commissioned this year? They should be helpful at high tide.” Atreus directed attention away from Nyel as the sireno meticulously picked out all the chicken from his pasta.

They talked back and forth until Giovanni let out a great sigh, reaching for the bottle at the center of the table.

“I fear those blasted ships will hurt our catch this year,” Giovanni said as he poured himself his second glass of red wine.

“They aren’t allowed to fish in the harbor. Right? That’s protected?”

“Yes, but they’ve taken nearly everything outside the harbor, fishing the sea until it’s bare. That is not our way. We take only what we need. They’re taking it all. They pour their filth into the waters and have no respect for the life beneath. Soon, our Baia Vita will be empty.”

Baia Vita - “The Bay of Life.”

It provided for the people. In turn, the people only took what they needed and respected the sea—keeping it clean, nurturing it, and protecting it.

“Do you think—” Nyel cut himself off as Atreus shot him a glare.

“What is your question, ragazzo ?” Giovanni asked politely.

Nyel looked from him to Atreus as though he were asking for permission. Atreus sighed and nodded, giving him the go-ahead.

“You said those ships are making the water dirty. Will that hurt the plants and animals under the water?

Giovanni huffed. “I can almost guarantee you it will. Waste like that is more than just dirty. It’s poison.”

“It’s already happening,” the sireno mumbled, almost to himself.

“What is?” Giovanni asked, his mustache twitching.

“The ships. The water. It’s already making the kelp below the surface sick. Some people—I mean animals are getting sick too.” Noticing the other men’s quiet shock, he added, “I heard that from a friend. He likes to dive and see stuff underwater. But not me! I- I hate swimming.”

Atreus stiffened as the word ‘people’ slipped from Nyel’s lips. This was getting dangerous—time to wrap it up.

“Maledizione!” Giovanni cursed, slamming his fork to the table. “I will have to speak to Mayor Gianfranchi about this, see if we can widen the island boundary, push those ships farther away.” He sighed, and the sound was heavy. It was tired and worried. Atreus itched to take some of that burden.“I fear for our home ragazzi .”

When the stillness stretched to painful lengths, Atreus rose without a word to clear plates.

Giovanni emptied his glass of wine in two gulps. “I will retire early this evening. This home is yours; please make yourself comfortable.” He bid them goodnight, and Atreus hated how his massive shoulders slumped.

“Did I say something wrong?” Nyel asked the moment Giovanni’s bedroom door closed.

“No,” Atreus said. “He gets like this. We all do when we see what’s happening to our island.”

“Our?” Nyel asked.

Something in Atreus’s chest twisted. “Theirs, the humans.”

This island doesn’t belong to you.

You don’t belong at all.

You’re lucky to be here.

“I thought the ships were helping the humans. Turns out it’s hurting them just as much as the Sireni in Corallina,” Nyel mused.

“Something you’ll learn is that there are good humans. And there are bad.” He paused, considering his words. “And all of them are just scared.”

Atreus cleared the kitchen, doing everything he could besides washing the dishes. Giovanni might come back while his hands were in the sink. He filled a glass full of water and walked Nyel to his room.

“Here,” he said, setting it on the nightstand. “Human bodies need to drink. A lot. Practice until you can make sure the water only touches the inside of your mouth. You’ll have to drink in front of humans at some point or another.”

Nyel rounded on him. “You say that like I might interact with them for a while.”

Atreus chewed his lip. “You’ve made it pretty damn clear I can’t get rid of you. Not unless I want to make a scene, which I don’t.”

“That’s right,” Nyel confirmed, lifting his chin haughtily .

Atreus narrowed his eyes. “Don’t tempt me.”

“I won’t,” he deflated a bit.

“If you’re going to linger, then you might as well learn the basics. I collapsed from dehydration once. We don’t have to worry about it as Mer, but the land dwellers do. Practice.”

Nyel lifted the glass, holding it with both hands like a child, but didn’t bring it to his lips. His gaze fixed on the clear water as he readjusted his hold again.

“Sometime tonight would be nice,” Atreus said impatiently.

“I don’t know how,” Nyel bit back.

Atreus rolled his eyes. “Here.”

He guided the glass to Nyels lips, which parted over the edge and allowed the water to slide into his mouth. Of course, it dribbled from the sides, running down his neck and into the collar of his shirt. Nyel sputtered, coughing and spitting.

Atreus chuckled. “Not as easy as it looks, huh?” He smacked Nyel on the back as he choked.

“I’ll need more practice,” Nyel said with tears in his eyes.

But Atreus hardly heard him. Something caught his attention. Transfixed him. Something that only appeared with the touch of water. A line of green scales ran from Nyel’s mouth, down his neck, and onto his chest. The air grew still, and Atreus was suddenly reminded that this person, this male standing before him… was Mer.

Like me.

Of course, Nyel was Mer. That’s what they’d been talking about all night. But there was something about seeing the transformation. Watching Marvassa touch someone else right before his eyes. The realization hit Atreus like an avalanche cascading down a mountain, burying him with the weight of the sireno’s presence. He wasn’t alone anymore.

Had he been lonely all this time? Even among the humans?

Atreus reached gently, tracing his finger up the line of green scales starting from Nyel’s neck—his jaw—pausing at the corner of his parted mouth. The scales were cool to the touch, and as the water dried, they melted into flesh before his eyes. Nyel’s skin was porcelain—perfect. Atreus traced a finger along his cheek.

Nyel’s shuddering intake of breath had Atreus jerking his hand away, backing up like he’d been caught doing something indecent.

He cleared his throat. “Well, uh, goodnight. I’ll get you in the morning, and uh… keep practicing,” he said by way of parting as he closed the door.

Atreus paused outside the room, hand still resting on the doorknob. He had no explanation for what had just happened. That was unlike him—encroaching on someone’s personal space. The awkwardness of it all made his stomach squirm uncomfortably.

But he didn’t pull away.

Still, Atreus couldn’t let his infatuation with the idea of another Mer being around lead him to forget basic manners. That was weird, and he knew it.

Atreus walked down the hall and flopped onto his bed, burying his face in the pillow and breathing in the homey smell. He was exhausted, and today had been… a lot. Even the incredible fact that he was sleeping in an actual bed for the first time in his life wasn’t enough to dispel the unease that settled in him like a termite infestation—eating away at his wooden foundation of rules.

Don’t get too close.

Don’t get too comfortable.

Don’t be a burden.

Know your place.

There were too many new things happening all at once. That was the only explanation for his behavior in Nyel’s room. He’d return to his right mind after a good night’s rest.

Still, the restive image of jade scales turning to porcelain skin consumed his thoughts until he finally fell asleep.

A yowling cat jarred Atreus from arguably the best sleep he’d ever had. Sleeping in an actual bed designed for a human body was incredible. He’d be sorry to return to the lumpy pad in his lighthouse—because he was going back. He and Nyel were not staying.

Last night was a fluke.

The sound of the crying cat (maybe a small wounded animal?) scratched his eardrums until it was too much, and he rose. If he didn’t already know what made that noise, he’d wish to put the poor creature out of its misery. Alas, Atreus was all too familiar with the sound now coming from the kitchen—not a dying creature, but Marina—singing. In her most elegant soprano, she forced songbirds into a life of mutism.

Giovanni’s daughter, a few years his junior, must have arrived on the merchant barge early that morning (or late in the night) once the rains eased. He’d listened to that singing voice almost every day of every summer since he was thirteen. As a child, it was cute, but now that Marina was well on her way to womanhood, it was painful.

Atreus opened the door, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He’d have liked to yell for the vocalist to knock it off, but this was her house—not his.

Remember your place.

Nyel was already awake, dressed in the clothes Giovanni had lent him, and sitting expectantly on the edge of his bed.

“G-good morning,” Atreus said, surprised to see the gold-flecked eyes so alert.

“Morning.” Nyel’s expression was placid. Way too awake for this early in the morning but untroubled.

He doesn’t look upset.

Maybe Nyel forgot about his awkwardness the night before.

“Time to eat. And I promise to warn you about any meat.”

The sireno’s shoulders relaxed. “Oh, thank the Spirits. I don’t think I can force down another bite.”

In the hall, Atreus reminded him for the millionth time, “Remember the rules.”

“Follow your lead,” Nyel said with an eye roll.

“And there is someone else here?—”

“Atty!”

Atreus only caught a flash of thick, curly red hair before he was bear-hugged and nearly knocked off his feet.

“Oof— hey, Marina. Good to see you,” he said, returning the embrace for only a second before easing her back to create some much-needed space.

“Oh yep, sorry. Not a hugger, forgot,” she said, then promptly slapped him on the arm.

“Ow! What was that for?” He recoiled.

“I didn’t get a single letter from you this winter - again!”

Atreus rolled his eyes. “You know I’m trash at that kind of thing.”

“You could still tryyyy,” she whined. “I’d have been happy with a stick-person drawing.”

“I don’t draw.”

“Yes you do Atty, I’ve seen it,” she said with hands on her hips.

“I do not, and it’s Atreus.”

“Do too,” she said, sticking out her tongue. “And can you call me Rina? Pleeeease. I gave you a nickname; why don’t I get one?”

“I’m not doing that.”

Before she could argue, Marina finally noticed Nyel. “ You brought someone over? Atty, did you make a friend while I was gone?” She sounded like a proud parent.

“Don’t call me that. And this is Nyel,” he grumbled. “And I have plenty of friends.”

“Sure,” she said, extending a confident hand. “ Buongiorno! I’m Marina Marcello.”

Nyel took it (correctly, this time after he and Atreus practiced). “Nyel Veritani, it’s nice to meet you. I’ve never met a female before—I mean-” Nyel scrambled and turned beet red. He sidestepped far enough so Atreus couldn’t stomp on his feet. An urge Atreus barely resisted.

“A— what?” Marina said, eyes alight with curiosity.

Atreus would have been more worried if Nyel had said that to anyone else, but Marina was a special peach.

“He meant a woman as pretty as you,” Atreus filled in. “He doesn’t get out much.”

“Awww, Atty, you think I’m pretty?” she said, pinching his cheek.

Atreus swatted it away. “Don’t call me that. And I know you’re basically a feral cat with red hair. You can’t fool me.”

She laughed, a sound much more pleasant than her singing voice. “You do know me. Anyway, come eat! Papà cooked way too much food.”

She skipped to the kitchen, her bare feet slapping on the wooden floorboards and her voice resuming its call.

Nyel flinched.

“What?” Atreus asked.

He lowered his voice to a whisper with a horrified expression. “When I heard it this morning, I thought the humans were killing our breakfast.”

Atreus barked a laugh before he could stop himself.

Breakfast was eggs, bacon, sausage, and a mouth-watering Fette Biscottate .

Atreus usually skipped breakfast—oversalted canned clams weren’t exactly an appetizing way to start the day—but he couldn’t stop his mouth from watering at the sight of the meats covering almost every inch of the table.

Atreus restrained the urge to pile a mountain of food on his plate and only took a small portion. He directed Nyel to the Fette Biscottate , sliced bread with a sweet glaze.

“Antonio,” Horace greeted from his designated spot in front of the window, “Good to see you again.”

Horace, Marina’s Nonno on her mother’s side, was among the remaining men who served in World War II. Atreus hadn’t been alive then, but the stories never failed to send shivers down his spine.

Horace was white-haired, with a bristly mustache and lined skin. He barely hobbled with his cane from one chair to the next. Still, his gap-toothed smile never failed to brighten the day of anyone who slowed down long enough to talk.

“It’s good to see you too. And it’s Atreus, Signore Finotto.”

“That’s right,” he said, but Atreus knew he’d be reminding him all summer. “Maybe now that you’ve arrived, this questo bestione will stop moping around.”

Giovanni huffed indignantly. “I do not mope.”

“You’ve been rattling my rigging all winter with your sulking.”

“Call it sindrome del nido vuoto . But now my empty nest is full,” Giovanni said, extending his arms to the crowded breakfast table .

“ Grazie a dio for that,” Horace said, toasting his orange juice like champagne.

A black-coated and white-mittened feline leaped to Horace’s lap, sniffing for scraps.

“Niccolo down!” Marina ordered, but for all the mind the cat paid to her, she may as well have been a fixture on the wall.

Atreus caught the way Nyel flinched at the creature’s sudden appearance. “That’s his cat,” he explained. “A family pet.”

“Uh-huh,” Nyel said and continued to watch the creature as though it might target his lap next.

“He is always by my side.” Horace wheezed through a cough. “Though he enjoys his nightly prowls.”

“And you keep leaving your window open at night and letting the chill in,” Marina scolded. “Then you wake up with a chest cold.”

“But he cries so terribly when he’s locked out, don’t you micino ?”

Niccolo purred, his milk mustache curved as though he were smiling. Atreus bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at the way Nyel, not so casually, moved his chair further away from the rumbling creature.

“Gabriella, would you be a darling and bring your old grandfather his pipe?”

“Not at the table, Nonno . I’ll bring it to you outside,” she said as she set a plate of eggs in front of him, kissing his cheek. “And it’s Marina.”

“You look so much like your mother,” Horace said, another phrase Atreus was used to hearing.

“I know, Nonno .” Marina smiled fondly.

“Thank goodness,” Giovanni commented from the stove, “I would have feared for her had she looked like me.”

“Oh, Papà , you’re as handsome as ever,” she said, patting her father’s shoulder.

“It is good to have my Bambini back home. ”

“Only one more semester of school, Papà , and then I’ll be here forever. You’ll get tired of me.”

“Never,” he chortled. “How I’ve missed your beautiful voice in these early morning hours. It fills my heart with joy.”

At this, Atreus and Nyel shared a glance with barely repressed smiles.

Horace squinted across the round table as though looking from a great distance. “We have an intruder in our midst.”

“Oh, sorry, this is Nyel, a friend of mine,” Atreus said through a mouthful of pancetta.

“Hmmm.” Horace narrowed his watery eyes. “A new young face.” He inhaled dramatically. “I served in the twenty-fourth division of the Marina Militara .”

“Here we go,” Marina mumbled under her breath. They’d all heard this story.

A few times.

Per day.

Every summer.

For most of their lives.

Horace ignored his granddaughter and reached a trembling hand to the sleeve of his shirt, pulling it to reveal the number twenty-four tattooed in roman numerals.

“Wow,” Nyel said, his tone sincere. “You fought in the huma—I mean the war?”

“Sure did, young man,” Horace grunted with a proud smack on the table. His breakfast was forgotten. “The twenty-fourth fought on the fiercest ship in the Marina Militara. We called her La Balena Foroce .”

Atreus tuned out the majority of the conversation. He’d heard it a thousand times—the ship’s victories, the battles it had seen, until its inevitable demise when it finally succumbed to the violence of war, sinking to the bottom of the sea where it now slept. The pescheria was named the ‘Sleeping Whale’ in honor of the sunken warship.

As long as he kept the story true to its official series of events, there shouldn’t be a problem. It was when Horace diverted into fiction that the problems began?—

Horace reached for a framed black-and-white photo he always kept close by. “This was the twenty-fourth regiment, and this man,” he pointed to a young man with a bright face, visible even in the grainy black-and-white photo. “That is me.”

Nyel leaned forward in his chair as Horace’s finger slid over.

“And this man beside me was my best friend, Kirill. And he was a Mer.”

Atreus choked on his eggs.

“ Nonno , what did we say about telling that story?” Marina warned, though there wasn’t any weight in her words.

“How can I not tell the truth? Just because the papers refused to print it does not mean it didn’t happen. Uomo del Mare fought in the war whether you kids believe it or not,” he said, banging a non-threatening fist on the table.

“ Nonno ,” Marina said in a pitying voice, “Mer do not exist.”

“How can you say that when I have a photograph right here!” he said, shaking the small picture as though this settled the matter.

“That is a picture of a man, Nonno .”

“They transform! Kirill looked like a man on land, but once in the water, he turned into a creature unlike anything I’d ever seen. He had scales blue as the darkest part of the sea and gills like a fish.” He made three slashing motions on the side of his neck with a pointed finger.

“Oh, Nonno ,” Marina said, resigned to her breakfast.

“Kirill was my best friend, but as soon as the war ended, he took to the sea, and I never saw him again. All the Mer have hidden from us now.” Horace stared at the picture with a sad expression. His fingers trembled as they traced over the faded faces, unfinished words lingering on his lips. “I often wonder what I said to make Kirill want to hide from me. I never got the chance…” He trailed off, lost in a past he couldn’t change.

Atreus tried to keep his face neutral as his jaw clenched. Nyel looked from him to Horace as though to say, Are you hearing this!?

Atreus shook his head, telling him to keep quiet.

He had heard it. A million times told in a million different ways. All from the mouths of the old crowd—men and women who saw the war and lived to tell the stories. Horace wasn’t the only one who spun tales of Mer, but those tales were becoming fewer and fewer as the oldest generation passed. Now, their stories were largely regarded as fiction—legends at best or delirious war stories born of trauma and drink at worst. One day, even Horace’s stories would be gone from this world.

And the idea of Mer will vanish from humans entirely.

The thought was both sad and comforting. His species would remain in the confines of fiction, and that was for the best.

Better forgotten than remembered and feared.

Marina was ready to say more, but her father cut her off.

“Horace likes to entertain us with tales of the old days and how he remembers them. Now let’s get to work.” Giovanni said by way of ending the conversation.

“Good call. I have to get to city hall,” Marina said, quick to clear her plate and race to the door. “I’ll come find you later, Atty!”

“Don’t call me tha?—”

She was already out the door.

“Just like her mother. Never could sit still for more than a handful of minutes,” Horace said with overflowing fondness.

“Will you tell me more about your friend later?” Nyel asked as Horace moved to return the picture to its place on the mantle.

Horace’s face lit up. “Now, here is a young man who knows a good story when he hears one,” he said, clasping Nyel by the shoulder and shaking him. “Of course, ragazzo , anytime. Remind me your name again?”

While Nyel tried to get the old man to remember his name, Giovanni and Atreus helped him down the stairs and into his wooden rocking chair. Once settled with a pipe and a blanket over his lap, Horace wished them well as they made their way to the docks.

They crested the hill, and the view of Baia Vita spread before them. The sound of a ship’s bullhorn tore through the air. A massive fishing vessel, only a speck in the distance, reminded them of its presence and power.

Atreus couldn’t hold back the snarl contorting his face and the hiss rising in his chest. He had to force both reactions away, as humans didn’t express themselves like that. But instinct had him wanting to bare his fangs and flare his fins at the intruder.

Stay out of my waters.

“To work, boys. With any luck, there will be some fish left over for us,” Giovanni said with a defeated sigh.

Atreus wished there was more he could do.