I lose track of time as I lie here, but the ship begins to rise and fall as it rides the waves. The ocean grows rough. Soon, the wind starts. It wails against the hull, and sailors yell from above.
The storm has found us, and the sea is angry.
My stomach rolls right along with the ship. The air is stagnant and too warm. My headache rages, but I must leave the cabin before I’m ill.
Following the wall, clinging to the trim and built-in furnishings, I make my way into the hall. Black smudges bloom in front of my vision, but I cling to the rail in the corridor while willing them to pass. After several long moments, I’m able to climb the stairs and step onto the deck.
The ship rocks to and fro, sending ropes and men careening back and forth. Bran grasps the wheel, covered in a heavy hide cloak. But it’s not Bran I need.
Feeling the urge to be sick, I hurry to the ledge, stumbling as water sloshes over the side and the rainwater stings my bare arms and face like a swarm of angry bees. I scream out, shocked by the biting pain.
“Elle!” Bran yells, though his voice is nearly lost in the storm.
I lose my balance as the ship tips, and I fall, smacking my hip on the hard deck. My body slides until I hit the railing. As I flounder, trying to grab something to anchor myself, I manage to bite my cheek. The metallic taste of blood is on my tongue, and my mind focuses on the insignificant detail.
Blinking through the searing rain, I grasp hold of the rail to keep from rolling back as the ship crests the wave. My world spins, going in and out of focus, as Bran fights his way toward me, leaving his first mate to man the wheel.
“You shouldn’t be out here!” he yells, grabbing my arm to keep me from falling again.
“Sea dragon!” a sailor screams from down the deck, pointing our way.
Clasping the rail, I whip around just in time to see the beast leap from the depths, right next to the ship. His crimson scales gleam in the low light, unnaturally bright, and water streams down his long, sleek body. Time slows as the dragon wraps its jaws around Bran’s shoulder and pulls him into the sea.
“Bran!” I scream as I lean over the rail.
There’s chaos behind me, lots of yelling and shouting. Someone tries to pull me back, but I hold my ground.
Anger and fear burn in my chest, rising in me, all-consuming. The headache persists, as does the fog, but I fight it, screaming into the storm. I feel the moment they both snap—finally unable to keep their hold on me.
My life comes back in one fail swoop, falling into place. Instantly, the storm ceases, and the wind calms.
“Elle!” Galinor yells, trying to drag me back from the edge. I set my hand on the prince’s shoulder, letting my magic bite as I push him away. He’s larger, but I am far stronger.
He stumbles back, startled. I don’t spare him as much as a glance as I climb the rail and dive into the ocean.
The healing embrace of the water does little to ease my terror. My magic envelops my legs, transforming me. Frantic, I rip at my gown, pushing it away as I dive. I’ll never be able to swim with the material weighing me down, tangling with my tail. Finally, I’m free of the fabric, and it sinks, falling from view.
My eyesight adjusts to the dark water, and I whirl about, looking for both Bran and the sea dragon. It’s been too long. If I don’t find him soon, he’ll drown, and even I won’t be able to revive him.
Movement catches my eye from the right. The glowing dragon swims in a circle, looking stunned. He’s free from the controlling magic. Below him, Bran’s unconscious form slowly sinks, weighed down by his heavy boots and clothing.
I let out a sound of horror, though it’s lost in the water. With the powerful thrust of my arms and tail, I swim for him, hoping to catch him before he’s too far down.
And then I have him.
My hand clasps his arm, and I pull him up, toward the surface, toward the precious air he needs. We break the barrier, but Bran doesn’t gasp as he should. His head falls back, and he’s limp in my arms.
“No!” I whisper, feeling panic squeeze my chest.
Holding Bran with one arm, I place my palm flat on his chest and will my magic to enter his body, push the water from his lungs, spark his dwindling heart back to life. He’s already lost too much blood, been deprived of oxygen for far too long.
I was too late.
I’ve lost him.
I let out a strangled sob as the magic fails to bring him back. It’s too weak—I’ve lost too much.
Croissin.
Aristos lied—the rings were linked. My king has been stealing my magic all this time—it’s him who called the storms. He who used compulsion on the sea dragons.
Because of him, I’ve lost Bran. Anguish chokes me, makes me wish I were as lifeless as the young king. Anything to take away this all-consuming pain of loss.
And though it’s too late, I keep trying, wasting my magic on a man who’s lost.
Suddenly, Bran’s chest constricts, and he loses the water, gasping in a ragged breath as soon as his lungs are clear.
“Bran,” I clutch him close, relief spreading through me, sweet and pure. He mumbles and begins to weakly tread his legs, an instinct to keep himself afloat.
But even though he’s breathing, he’s barely with me.
Working quickly, I knit the gaping wounds on Bran’s shoulder and chest where the dragon’s teeth sunk into his flesh.
When I’m finished, I hold him around the middle, letting my magic assist me as I look around. The sea is still choppy, but the clouds are breaking up, letting in the last light of the setting sun.
Bran’s ship is nowhere in sight.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Bran
The first thing I realize as I wake is that my throat feels as if I’ve been gargling salt water, and my mouth is bone dry. I groan, but it hurts so much, I cut off the sound abruptly.
My eyes are gritty, but even with them closed, I know I’m close to the sea. Waves lap at rock, and the sound softly echoes overhead. I’m lying on something soft, and my fingers explore the material as I attempt to work out what it is.
“Finally decided to join me?” a woman says from my side—the only woman I ever want to wake up to.
I crack my eyes open, wincing at the dim light, and then I manage a smile because Elle looks like a siren. We’re in a cave. The sun is behind her, lightly silhouetting her, framing her face with its bright glow. Her hair is wavy and untamed, and the mark on her face shimmers
“Elle,” I say, reaching for her and then groaning again as pain shoots through my body.
She gently pushes me back to the ground, keeping me from rising. “Elodie.”
Still reeling from the pain, I roll my head to look at her, confused. “What?”
Stretching out on a bed of palm fronds next to me, she props herself up on her arm, resting her head on her palm. “My name is Elodie.”
“You remember?” I whisper, fear piercing my heart. If she remembers, that means she can leave me. She can go home.
I have to be happy for her, even if I can only feign the emotion. From the content look on her face, I know she finally feels whole.
She nods and trails her hand down my arm, leaving blissful sparks of magic that make me nervous even as they take away the pain. I shy away from the foreign sensation, but she shakes her head, asking me to trust her. “I won’t hurt you.”
As I watch the glowing, shifting sparks of gold that follow the path of her fingers, my own memories slowly return. “You saved me from the sea dragon.”
It all happened so quickly; I only remember bits and pieces—the dragon, the cold bite of the ocean and the horrific pain…the moment I realized the last of my air was spent and the dark waters were going to claim me.
But here I am.
Her expression darkens. “If it weren’t for me, the dragons would still be living in peace, and those poor men who died on their fishing vessels would be alive.”
“How did you wrestle me from
the clutches of a dragon?” I demand, still unable to wrap my head around it, unable to process her last words.
She takes a moment and lets her eyes roam over my body, perhaps reassuring herself that I am indeed whole. “The moment I lost you—the moment the beast dragged you into the sea, I was able to access the strength of emotion that I needed to break the gimly’s spell that made me forget myself…and the link that was draining me of my magic.”
I try to sit up, but it’s impossible. The movement causes me to cough, and the pain that racks my body is incredible.
She places a hand on my chest and sends a tendril of bliss into my very core. It quiets both the cough and the pain. “You’re still healing—you need to rest.”
Though I fear she will deprive me of her magic, I begin to protest.
With a gentle smile, she places her hand over my mouth, shushing me. “It’s my turn to take care of you.”
My chest squeezes, but this time there is no pain. For the first time since waking up, I let myself look at her—really look. She’s beautiful, perhaps more than she’s ever been.
“What link?” I ask as soon as she moves her hand, obeying her command and staying still.
I too am lying on palm fronds over the sand, and the cocoon she’s created is surprisingly comfortable.
Slowly, making sure she has my full attention, she slowly pulls the ring from her finger.
I catch myself holding my breath, and I let it out slowly.
“This isn’t a promise ring or a pretty bauble…or a wedding band.” She holds it up, letting the reflected sunlight catch it. “It’s a shackle.”
Not understanding, I shake my head.
Without hesitation, she flings it into the sea. Then she leans close enough I can smell the faint scent of coconut and flowers coming from her skin. “Croissin, the king of my people—the king of the merpeople” —she smiles as she says it, acknowledging her previous loss of memory— “chose me to be his queen. The day before our wedding, I was forced into a promising ceremony, and he slid the ring on my finger. It was enchanted, and it allowed him to siphon my magic into a matching band he wears.”
“You’re married.” The pain in my body is temporarily eased by the numbing of my chest. It spreads through my body, claiming my veins, making me feel dead inside.
“No,” she breathes. “I ran away from him later that night. The bands were supposed to be charmed with an illusion, but apparently, they weren’t. My dearest childhood companion—Croissin’s brother—warned me of a scheme, something twisted that the king has been plotting for years. Aristos said Croissin planned to attack Triblue. Obviously, I couldn’t give him my magic, so I ran. For all the good it did me.”
“You’re not married,” I say, narrowing my eyes as I grasp hold of the most important part of her explanation.
Her smile is immediate and bright. “I’m not married.”
I manage to roll onto my side and prop my head up on my hand, mirroring her position. “And you’re not in love?”
The smile softens, becomes hesitant and hopeful. “I didn’t say that.”
Hope I didn’t realize I was harboring attempts to take root. “And no one else can claim you?”
She raises an eyebrow, perhaps about to protest my phrasing.
Something comes to me—something dark and wicked and intensely selfish. “Besides you, who knows I’m alive?”
Elle—Elodie—frowns. “When I brought you to the surface, the ship was gone. No one knows, not yet.”
Despite her murmured protests, I force myself to a sitting position. My muscles ache, but my wounds are knit together—the skin is new, pink and tender. I’ll carry scars to mark the day, but I am in one piece, and that is an amazing thing.
I rub my hands over my face, not daring to dwell on the thoughts churning in my head. “They think I’m dead.”
Elodie shifts closer. Her hand lands on my shoulder, and I clasp it and turn to her. My eyes must look wild because her mouth parts in surprise.
“They think I’m dead,” I say one final time.
“I suppose they must, but—”
Taking her by surprise, I pull her toward me. She’s warm in my arms, her skin is soft, and I feel as if she’s belonged here all this time. She makes a soft sound of exclamation—something that sends fire through my veins. “Now that you’ve reclaimed your magic, is Triblue safe?”
Her gaze drifts over my face, and concern darkens her eyes. “Croissin can no longer use me.”
“Where are we?” I ask, finally looking around the sea cave.
“Off the coast of Triblue, but I’m not sure where. It was a long swim.” Her hand strays to my face, and concern creases her brow. “Are you all right?”
I catch her hand and bring it to my lips. “Thank you.”
The thought of her dragging me all that way…it’s inconceivable. She’s far stronger than I ever gave her credit for.
“Let’s leave Triblue,” I finally say, getting to the point. “Run away and never look back.”
“Bran—”
“The world thinks I’m gone. You are the only soul who knows I’m alive.” I search her eyes. “You and I…we can be together.”
Her breath quickens. “What are you saying—”
“You know,” I whisper, locking my eyes with hers. I tighten my hold on her, pulling her closer, giving her no room for doubt.
She licks her lips, looking torn. “But Triblue, your people—”
My gaze drops to her mouth. “Will both be fine without me.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Elodie
I’m overwhelmed by his declaration—overwhelmed by how tempted I am to accept it. “Bran, you’ve already sworn your allegiance to another—to an entire kingdom.”
He shakes his head, adamant. “Dristan can rule—he will make a fine king. I choose you.”
And I know. I love him, this man who became a dear friend when I needed one the most. Now I realize what I felt for Croissin was girlish infatuation, not love at all. Love grows slowly, winds its way around your heart like a flowering vine until it’s a part of you. It’s not attraction or lust but a connection that cannot be severed.
My heart clenches, and for just one moment, I close my eyes and picture the two of us together, far away from Elden. Just us, forever.
But we don’t have forever. Slowly, I open my eyes and meet his gaze. I don’t want to tell him, don’t want to see a shadow spread over his face, hardening his features. But I have no choice.
I take his hand, looking at it as I trace the lines of his palm. “I can’t let you do that, not when I don’t know how much longer I have left.”
He looks taken aback, but before he can argue, I continue, “Croissin took so much of my magic in such a short amount of time. It’s weak. And so am I.”
Bran begins to shake his head. “We’ll find a way to heal—”
“I can’t live without it. I don’t know how much of my life he stole.”
His eyes flash, but he quickly lowers his head, hiding his thoughts from me, but I can tell from the rigid set of his shoulders he’s fighting the same emotions I am.
As soon as my memories returned, so did the anger. Croissin used me, not caring what became of me, not even near enough to monitor me should something go terribly wrong. All he wanted was my magic. He never cared for me—that was a lie, just as I knew it was.
After several long, tense minutes, Bran lifts his head. “Earlier, you mentioned a gimly?”
I tell him the story of the man on Everson’s ship who knew what I was, of how he invited me onto the deck just to block my magic and memories and send me overboard. Bran looks livid by the time I’m done, but I shrug, more irritated about the whole thing than truly upset. “Gimlies are all half mad—seeing glimpses of possible futures will do that to a person. I’m sure he thought he was helping me find the right path.”
And that path brought me to Bran. It’s hard to be too angry at the man, even if he caused me
a mess of turmoil.
Bran coughs again, turning away from me to hide the pain it causes.
“You need rest,” I say softly, knowing he’ll likely resist. To my great surprise, he nods and lies back on the palm fronds, groaning as he settles and looks at the cave ceiling.
Light reflects from the water outside, casting dancing patterns on the stone. This particular cave is shallow, but we’re high enough to be safe from the rising tide. It’s warm with the afternoon sun beating on the ledge outside, and the sound of waves lapping at the rock below is soothing.
I stretch next to Bran, exhausted myself. I’ve never swam so hard in my life—and never with a man in my arms. Part of me wants to shift closer, fit myself into his arms, but he’s still healing, and now is not the time to have these thoughts.
But even if I close my eyes, they persist. I lie here, staring at the rock wall. Bran’s behind me, more than an arm’s length away on his bed of sand and palm. From the rhythmic sound of his breathing, I believe he’s found sleep—apparently he’s not having the same trouble I am.
“Elodie,” he says after a long stretch of time, startling me. Though he’s quiet, my name amplifies in our little cave.
I tense but don’t roll to look his way. “Hmmm?”
His bed rustles as he moves, and I hold my breath, my pulse quickening. I feel him drawing nearer, pulling his bed with him, and eventually, he lies just behind me. I can feel the heat from his bare chest, but he’s careful not to touch me.
“It’s cold in the cave, don’t you think?” he asks. I can hear the smile in his voice, and he’s close enough, his breath tickles my neck. It sends shivers down my spine, but I try to hide them from him.
“Freezing,” I agree. We both know it’s a blatant lie. It’s warm enough to make even a sun-loving sea lion content.
His hand finds my arm, and he trails the tips of his fingers down the length of it, making me shiver again. This time, I’m unable to keep him from noticing.
“So, you’re actually a mermaid?” He shifts about, getting comfortable, keeping that wretched space between us. He’s going to drive me mad.
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