The Lion of the Sea (The Maiden Ship Book 2) Page 8

  Then he eased his thoughts into an even, soothing tone, and this time the current pushed him forward with such immense force that he nearly toppled into the glowing merrow ahead. He kicked backward, wanting to keep his distance, trying to steer clear of the immediate wake of her lure.

  The siren’s gold eyes gazed at him curiously. Then she waved her webbed fingers again, urging him on. Dain almost reached for her; it took a conscious effort of will to hold his arms at bay. She was so beautiful. When she dove on ahead, he let out a long, watery sigh. He was pretty sure that if he ever touched her again, he’d never leave the sea.

  The underwater world held no wonder except darkness, the only source of light coming from the merrow’s gleaming form, and Dain couldn’t help imagining what might be lurking beyond her spherical glow. The current was a welcome distraction from the dark depths, though. It whirled playfully now, obviously having forgiven him for his earlier affront. Jord had been right—using his talent in this fashion didn’t drain him nearly as much as before, and he couldn’t wait to share the discovery with Sable. His chest tightened, a fervent prayer forming as he stared ahead at the creature leading him—please, let this be the path to saving her.

  Time felt trackless under the sea. Dain had no way of knowing how long he'd been gone, or when or how he'd get back. Would Alis wonder at his absence? Would she search for him? Dain instinctively looked down at the palm he’d sliced. A jolt of surprise nearly pushed him outside of the current’s flow. His hand was unmarked, with no sign of a cut or a scar. The siren’s glow wavered across his palm, growing weak, but his attention only snapped up when her glow winked out entirely, turning the sea tar-black.

  As if it knew where to go, the water continued to push him onward, and it wasn’t long before a pale glimmer burgeoned below. The silhouette of his guide became visible as she picked up speed. The flow around Dain pushed hard to match her pace. The light below them grew rapidly brighter, and soon Dain found himself shielding his eyes, unable to focus. When his vision did adjust, a watery breath caught in his throat. The scene below them more than rivaled the glowing spires of Aalta—mansions, porticos, and archways standing stacked, one atop the other, in an architectural wonder that ended on top with an elaborate palace. Every conceivable surface in the sprawling city glowed of its own accord, and it was the same ice-blue gleam the merrow herself gave off. The light reflected off shingles made of lapis lazuli and walls lined with pearls, illuminating the underwater world for leagues around. Dain watched as merrow swam in every direction, schooling and frolicking with sea creatures of all shapes and sizes. Lush forests of seaweed grew wild beyond the outskirts of the city, while more colorful flora and fauna flourished in the tended gardens within, and the only word that came to Dain’s mind was—glorious.

  His guide dodged and swirled her way through the metropolis with expert ease. Merrow of all ages stopped to watch them pass; there was a broad spectrum of skin, hair, and tail colors, but every single one of them had bright, golden eyes. Those eyes watched Dain with intense curiosity, and one small child even tried to reach out and touch him. Dain was compelled to reach back, a desperate paternal instinct taking hold—he needed to care for the child. He even resisted the current, trying to get to the little merrow, but the water won out, ushering him on. It wasn’t until he was out of the child’s line of sight that his head cleared and he realized the mer-children must have powerful lures of their own. He’d need to be more careful.

  As they moved, Dain noted that they weren’t headed to the castle. Instead, the siren led him toward the lower levels of the city, to the stout, modest homes that laid the foundation for everything else above. He wondered what kind of god lived down here.

  When she stopped, Dain barely managed to cease the current’s flow before tumbling into her and the small pearlescent door that now stood before them. He watched as she pulled a white cord on the wall to the right, then heard a watery bell chime before the door wavered, becoming translucent. There was no time to protest, the merrow simply clasped his hand and yanked him hard through the frame.

  All buoyancy dissolved.

  Dain rolled heavily onto a tiled foyer, gasping on all fours as he vomited water and breathed air—real air. When he’d caught his breath again, he leaned back on his knees, shoving at his tangled hair. It was dry as a bone. He quickly patted his clothes, also completely dry. How in the… A stark flash of light pierced his peripheral vision, and Dain turned to watch as the merrow’s tail split down the middle to form two long, ice-blue legs. The light dimmed as she crossed her new limbs delicately to one side and fixed her golden gaze on him. “Welcome to Eimeras, Dain Alloway. My name is Hannon.”

  His throat was too tight to respond. The siren’s lure felt two-fold now, amplified more, he was sure, by her fully naked form. Those legs. He swallowed, then hastily pushed himself to his feet.

  Hannon followed his lead, gracefully reaching for a robe that hung on a coat stand in the small entryway. He tried to avert his gaze while she dressed, but he just couldn’t do it. He did at least manage to keep his hands to himself. When she finished dressing, she led him down a small corridor that shone much like the exterior city. The glow was more subtle, though no less beautiful, and along either side, inlaid in the walls, were intricate seashell designs. The art included pearls and bits of colored sea-glass as well, and Dain couldn’t help running his fingers over the craftsmanship as they passed. It ended in a room whose walls also shone a soft ivory-blue, but they were lined, top to bottom, with shelves of books. A comfortable sofa and several divans were placed invitingly to the left, and to the right sat a writing desk carved from what Dain could only guess was white coral.

  His host indicated the seating. “Please, rest. I’ll gather some refreshments and tell her you’re here.”

  “Tell who?” Dain knew his manners were remiss, but he was trying hard to keep his head clear. Every glance her way made him swoon.

  “Why, my grandmother, of course. That’s who you’ve come to see, isn’t it?”

  Dain didn’t know how to respond, so he simply gave her an awkward nod as he headed for the sofa. Hannon disappeared through the door behind the coral desk, and he rubbed at the back of his neck in relief, thankful that her lure had vanished with her. Definitely never telling Sable this story—ever. His chest tightened, fingers unconsciously trailing toward the Dernamn at his neck. Taking several deep breaths, Dain distracted himself from the thought of Sable by eyeing the shelved books. The spines held no titles, only dates, with some volumes appearing to be from ancient times. And there weren’t just a few shelves; there were dozens of them. Dain couldn’t help wondering why a god would keep a library like this.

  As though in answer to his silent question, a voice broke through his thoughts. “Don’t tell me. You think you’ve summoned a god?”

  13

  A stooping elderly merrow stood, cane in hand, just inside the door behind the coral desk. Her skin was the same color as Hannon’s, though more grayed, with dark blue veins popping and twining over her age-spotted arms and hands. Her face had more lines than a wooden boarding plank, and Dain guessed that she must be at least two decades older than Toff himself.

  He respectfully stood, bowing as she hobbled toward him.

  The hem of her long robe caught under one of her toes, and she teetered. Dain reached to steady her, but she waved her cane at him furiously. “I’m fine. Sit, sit.” Once she got her balance, the crone made it safely to a divan, lowering herself with a groan. He wanted to offer to help the old siren further into her chair, but she’d already refused him once. When she’d finished settling herself, she peered at him sharply. “I thought I told you to sit? Are you always so disrespectful?” She flipped an irritated hand in his direction. “Back in the day, when my lure was strong, you’d have jumped at my orders.”

  Dain eased himself down on the sofa, staring at her wrinkled form, giving thanks that her lure had faded.

  She squinted. “Since you’re
not going to answer my last questions, can you at least answer my first?”

  Dain cleared his throat. “Your first question?”

  The old merrow groaned, rubbing a pale, webbed hand over her face. “Surely the world of men is dulled with every new generation.”

  “Now Grandmother, don’t insult our guest.” Hannon’s sweet voice was a relief against the abrasive nature of her kin. Dain looked up to see her carrying a tray of refreshments toward them, setting it on the table near her grandmother’s divan before she continued, “Captain Alloway has traveled a long way to meet you. And I’m sure he’s here for an important reason.”

  Her grandmother grunted. “His reasons are probably as self-serving as all the others.”

  Dain barely heard the old mer-woman, his eyes glued instead to the younger siren’s lips. Maybe I should just kiss her one more time…

  “Hannon! Damper your lure—can’t you see the boy is about to drool all over my furniture?”

  The sharp tone snapped Dain to attention, his cheeks warming fast as the old mer-woman scrutinized him.

  Hannon sighed, weaving her webbed fingers through her long salmon tresses. “I’ll lower my lure, if you start minding your manners.”

  Her grandmother only grunted again.

  The young siren seated herself on the sofa next to Dain, and this time he managed to focus on her without any inappropriate thoughts. Still, it took some willpower. Hannon said, “Please forgive my grandmother, she gets—difficult when her time is near.”

  The old mer-woman ignored them, snatching instead for the treats on the tray beside her. Dain watched out of the corner of his eye as she stuffed the goodies greedily, jelly oozing from the corner of her mouth. Dain grimaced before returning his attention back to Hannon. “Uh—no problem. You said her time is near? Is she ill?”

  Hannon’s golden gaze flitted toward her grandmother, then back to Dain. “No, but her life-cycle is near an end, and she’ll soon be reborn.” He must have looked confused, because her lips turned up in a patient smile as she explained. “Mer-women don’t die; we are reborn as babes after each life-cycle. My grandmother has only days left before we take her to Gloranna’s cove for rebirthing. You came to us just in time, Dain Alloway—if you’d waited much longer, she would’ve been an infant, unable to answer your call.”

  Dain glanced sideways at Hannon’s grandmother. A myriad of questions popped into his mind, including why she wasn’t a god, and why the Dernamn had summoned him here instead, but for some reason he asked, “Will she remember this life, or does everything start over? You said only mer-women are reborn—what about the men?”

  Hannon leaned toward the tea set on her tray, pouring a steaming cup that she handed to Dain. “Mer-men live only one lifetime, but it is extended compared to the lives of humans; they can live up to three hundred years in one span. And yes, my grandmother will keep some of her memories from this lifetime and the lifetimes before, but for convenience they are recorded in the annals you see around you.”

  Dain peered in awe at the dated books lining the shelves. “You mean to say… she’s lived again and again, since ancient times?”

  The siren nodded politely, taking a sip of her own tea. “As will I for centuries to come.”

  A loud snore pealed through the small library.

  They both turned, taking in the slumped form of Hannon’s grandmother, who now slept soundly on the divan with fruit jelly covering her chin.

  Hannon sighed. “Perhaps you should just tell me why you’ve come, Dain Alloway?”

  He looked toward the shelves again. “I had hoped—” Then he glanced back. “How do you know my name?”

  She gave him a secretive smile, the tip of her pointed canines showing this time. “We’ve met before, though not formally—it was months ago, during a storm.”

  Dain stared at the merrow in confusion. The last storm he’d been in was the night he’d discovered his elemental talents, and it felt like years past, not mere months. Dain searched his memories. He hadn’t seen—actually, wait, he had seen something. “I—I saw someone fly through the rain across the decks. I’d thought it was a sailor, but when no one was reported missing, I assumed I’d been seeing things. It was you?”

  She took another sip of her tea. “Yes, there were three of us on storm patrol that night. We’d been following your ship for days. We knew what was coming, so we lingered. We couldn’t have saved everyone, but we may have saved some. In the days before the storm, I overheard your name mentioned by the crew—they spoke highly of you.” Hannon’s eyelashes fluttered as she flicked her gaze away for a moment. Dain thought he saw a purple hue rising to her cheeks as she said, “When I saw a young man amidst the storm drawing on unseen forces to save the ship, I knew it had to be the captain—” When she looked back at him, her lure had amped up again. “Fate always brings those destined to meet together again, and again.”

  Dain’s body was fully reacting to her lure now; he barely grasped what she’d just said, and it took all his strength to set his teacup aside and try not to look at her mouth. Angels of the sea indeed. He licked his lips. “You patrol the seas?”

  “We do what we can.” Hannon set her cup aside as well, and this time, Dain was helpless to resist looking at all of her. Every curve of her body was visible through the thin robe she wore, and he unconsciously reached for her. For a moment he thought she’d let him take her in his arms, but after a glance at her grandmother, her lure dimmed again.

  Dain blinked rapidly, his wits returning as he retracted his arms. He was pretty sure she looked disappointed by his withdrawal, but she recovered quickly, her voice polite. “Please, just tell me why you’ve come?”

  “I’d hoped the Dernamn would…” Dain’s voice trailed off awkwardly.

  “Summon a god?” she offered.

  He grinned at her, knowing how crazy the whole thing sounded—and yet it had summoned someone unexpected.

  “Many have come with this expectation, but I’m sorry to tell you that your historians are wrong.” She leaned forward, reaching to touch the pendant around his neck. “I want to tell you a story, Dain Alloway, one that few of your kind have heard, but this tale is impossible for you to fathom without”—her gold eyes glanced up at his—“a deeper connection.”

  With the mer-woman’s full lips only inches from his face, he kind of liked the sound of a deeper connection… Dain caught himself again. Blasted lure! Wasn’t she supposed to be dampening it? He slid away, his tone growing cautious. “What kind of connection?”

  She gave him a coy grin. “Oh, nothing like that, Captain, although I wouldn’t say no if you offered.” She winked with her impossibly long lashes before continuing. “All it requires is a small sacrifice.”

  His thoughts flicked back to Alis’s words. A portion of his soul. Dain had been willing to sacrifice his soul to save Sable, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to just for a story. Speaking of which, this whole thing was getting him no more close to saving her than when he’d been aboard The Wildflower. His jaw clenched.

  Hannon must have noticed the tension, because she added, “I only need a tear.”

  He squinted at her suspiciously, trying to keep the frustration from his voice. “Before I hear your story, or make any kind of sacrifice, I need to know if you can even help me. I have to rescue someone—someone important.”

  A sudden roaring snore from Hannon’s grandmother made them both jump on the sofa.

  The young siren tried to stifle her laughter, but failed, and the tinkling, lively sound managed to melt the tension that’d built up inside Dain. He couldn’t help chuckling as he lowered his gaze to the floor, mother-of-pearl tiles glistening up at him. “I’m sorry, Hannon. I’m intruding on your home, demanding things that don’t even concern you.” He stood.

  Hannon reached out, but this time there was no lure in her touch, only tenderness. “I think my story will help, maybe not exactly the way you want, but in a—broader sense.”

  Dain r
ubbed at his eyes, trying to come to terms with his disappointment. The Dernanm hadn’t summoned a god. There wasn’t going to be any divine intervention for Sable, but, he supposed, any scrap of hope was better than none. He pulled his hands from his face and nodded. “I’ll hear your story.”

  With a genuine smile, Hannon pulled him down on the sofa again, placing one hand over his heart as her golden gaze locked seriously on his own grays. “The sacrifice must come first—I will need a tear.”

  Dain wasn’t sure how she planned to obtain it, but he nodded his permission, and then her palm pressed hard against his chest.

  Memories invaded Dain’s mind, bad memories that caused him to flinch away from Hannon, but she wove her free arm behind him, pulling her hand tighter into his chest. His breathing grew erratic as his thoughts shoved him from the loss of his first pet—a cat named Esme—to what he’d believed was the death of his mother, and on to the gory slaughter of his father. A flood of trauma relived, but it was the final memory that forced tears from his eyes—the memory of watching Sable torn from The Maiden, her screams echoing inside his soul.

  The siren embraced him, cupping his cheeks and lifting her mouth to run her tongue over his tears.

  Dain felt his eyes widen in surprise as some kind of connection snapped together between himself and the merrow. It was a deep, intimate understanding, and the siren before him transformed in his mind’s eye. She was no longer the flirtatious mer-woman who’d lured him to the bottom of the sea—she was so much more. He could see her soul—he knew her soul. The sound of her breath echoed in his ears like waves on the shore, the smell of her skin swirled like the sea on star-kissed nights. She felt like the soft sway of seaweed beneath his palms, and she glowed like the city of Eimera itself—clear, ancient, true, and inherently good. Yet, it was even more than that still. Shutting his eyes, he sensed all of her, knew all of her, and he understood, deep down inside, that she sensed and knew all of him as well.