Somehow that irritated her even more.
“I come here to think,” she finally said.
“You’ve chosen a good spot. I myself have come here from time to time to clear my mind.”
“And what thoughts would an old man like you need to clear?”
“I have my own past, much like you. The real question is what brought you here today? You’ve been…skulking closer to the village than you usually do. Why? To check on the human prince you rescued?”
“I didn’t—” she caught herself and frowned, unable to finish the lie. At the time, she’d thought him to be captain, not the kingdom’s admiral and prince. “Have ghosts been whispering in your ear?”
“As I said, the ocean tells many tales to those who listen. Why your interest in this man?”
“I wanted to be sure my effort was worth the time it took,” she replied in a flippant manner. “He seems to be well taken care of.” It was worth every speck of magic. Every drop. Watching him with the rescued slave boy cemented her conviction.
Ghost Hawk chuckled. “You could venture into town and see for yourself. Speak with him. I know you’ve given yourself legs before.”
A dry, humorless laugh escaped before she could hold it back. “I could, but why bother? The pain of such a thing would hardly be worth the effort. He knows nothing of me and the villagers would all run scared. The mere sight of my approach terrifies them.” Someone had once spread lies about the sea witch eating little children who wandered too close to her lair. Most knew it to be false, but the tale persisted, passed from one generation to the next.
Ghost Hawk’s brow creased and his thin lips turned down. “Pain?”
“It matters not.”
“No, please, tell me.”
Would it be so bad to speak with another mystic? And who would believe him if he chose to share her secrets?
“I have given myself legs, but each step feels as though I walk on jagged glass shards.” Caecilia didn’t think it was an intention of her father’s curse, but a byproduct of twisting her body. She didn’t want to believe he could inflict intentional pain on her.
“I am sorry. I had no idea.”
“Why should you? I am what I am. People only come to me when they want something.”
“And now you want something but are afraid to take the risk.”
If she had legs, she might have stood and stormed off. “I fear nothing.”
“Only loneliness.”
“I—” She blinked rapidly and stared the old man down. “Why do you say so?”
“You’ve lost the only companions I’ve ever known you to have. Your crocodile and the pirate. One to death, one to love and the open sea.”
“James was never mine to have. And Croc…” Rather than the usual stab of pain and loss, she felt only a dulled sense of melancholy. “Croc made his choice and acted against my wishes when he attacked the Jolly Roger.”
“Yet you miss him.”
“I do,” she replied softly. “There was sweetness and kindness in his soul. My appearance did not frighten him.”
“You don’t frighten me.”
“Your blindness shields you.”
“Ah, I see. You think this man will be frightened to see his true rescuer, so you are content to hide. Might I ask you a question?”
“If I say no, you’ll only ask anyway, so you may as well.”
“Why do you protect this island? If you frighten the people, why bother? You could leave the gulf and cross the vast ocean to anywhere else in Terraina—even find another island you wish to call home.”
Over the centuries, she had asked herself the same question numerous times. “It’s my duty.”
“Oh? Did the great Triton himself set you to the task?”
“Don’t speak to me of Triton,” she spat. “He gave me nothing. He directed me to do nothing.” He punished me and left me without hope.
“Then why?”
She shrugged, though he couldn’t see the gesture. The end of her tail twitched back and forth across the rocks. “I…owe a debt, and that’s all I wish to say on the matter.”
“Ah, I see. So you protect them out of obligation, but you also prey on them.”
“I do not prey on them,” she hissed, offended by the word. “The sea is both cruel and forgiving. It brings death and it brings life. Such is my nature, and I never cause them undue harm. If they don’t wish to pay my price then they go without or they find their solution elsewhere.” She glanced at him. “They go to you.”
“They do. Like the sprite.”
Rocks scattered across the shore, launched by the annoyed lash of her tail. “I offered her a fair trade. Her wings to become human.”
“You wanted to take away the essence of what she was.”
“And you took the remaining years from her life, leaving her mere days.” She sighed, shoulders drooping. “It no longer matters. Siel intervened, and James is gone now. He now has a wife and he’s…happy.”
“But you’re not.”
“Should I be? I’ve long given up on James Hook, and I am even happy for him.”
“Generous of you.”
She scoffed and glanced away. “Despite what you believe, I’m not a horrible person.”
“I never said you were, only misunderstood. Perhaps you should give the villagers a chance to see there is more to you. See this prince and get to know him.”
“I’ve already told you why I cannot walk into town.” Her patience finally dwindled, leaving irritation in its place. “Take your foolish platitudes and bother—”
“I can give you legs.”
Caecilia’s reply stuck in her throat like a stone. She twisted around once more to face him, only to find his gaze trained on her face as if he could actually see her. His smile widened.
“What trickery is this?”
“No trick. There will be a price, of course, but I can give you legs without pain. More, I can make you look as you did before.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I spoke nothing of looking different, shaman,” she spit at him.
“The villagers may have forgotten how you came to be here, but others did not. Your story is known to me.”
“Then why would you help me?”
“Because everyone deserves a second chance. No one should be without hope.”
* * *
As the moon rose over the Viridian Sea, Caecilia made her way to the shaman’s hut. True to her earlier words, each step sent pain shooting through her legs, white-hot sparks of agony exploding from the core of her bones and sizzling down each nerve. She considered it part of the price she had to pay. Now she wondered what more would be asked of her.
Herb-scented smoke billowed from the old man’s hut and rose toward the moonlit sky. She drew aside the furs hanging over the doorway then stepped inside the dark room. Candles set on shelves and a small fire beneath a cauldron provided the only light, sending tendrils of sweet smoke curling toward a square opening in the ceiling.
“Good. You came,” he said, never looking up from the roots he crushed in a mortar. “The potion will be ready soon.”
“You knew I’d come?”
“I know a soul in need when I see one, so to speak, and my aid is yours so long as you are willing to pay the price the magic demands.”
“Which is?”
Ghost Hawk scooped the paste he’d made into the cauldron before turning to face her. His ability to know exactly where she stood was uncanny. “I can restore your beauty and provide legs without pain, but in trade you will lose your voice.”
She raised a hand to her throat. “What good is beauty if I can’t speak to him?”
“There are other ways to communicate. Actions speak louder than words.”
Her frown deepened. “That’s it? My voice?”
“I regretfully admit there is more to lose than the use of your voice.”
She scoffed and looked away from him, ready to return to the ocean. “Of course there is. Well? Ou
t with it.”
“You will become human. And as a human, you’ll regain your former appearance at the cost of both your voice and your magic.” He held up a hand, silencing her as she was about to protest. “The latter is needed as fuel for this enchantment, a vital component to deflect Triton’s curse. His divine power and what remains of yours will be bound together by fate and spirit, neither able to exist freely without the other. I must use your magical gifts to capture and subdue Triton’s will.”
Caecilia swallowed. It sounded too easy. Too good to be true. “Will I never be able to use magic again? Gone forever?”
His features softened. “No, not forever. Only for the duration of the enchantment. I will give you the means to retake this current body at will, as needed, should an emergency arise.”
“How many times will this be allowed?”
“As often as you like, until the two moons align in the northern sky.”
“That’s only three months,” she muttered. “Three months of happiness, only to become a hag again forever.”
“No, I am afraid it is not so easy. I sense the original stipulation of Triton’s curse, and that is not something I can remove. It will remain, regardless, but should you fail to find someone who loves you for who you are inside, you will die as the sun rises on the final day, becoming seafoam and lost forever to this world. The price of magic is the rest of your life. Succeed, and you will live.”
The choice seemed impossible but she had nothing else to lose. The real question she had to ask herself was whether she had anything to gain.
Her thoughts turned to Joren and the laughter she’d witnessed on board his ship. She wanted to be a part of that—desperately.
“I accept your bargain.”
* * *
Joren’s fever returned with a vengeance. He had vague recollections of the village shaman tending to him, Tiger Lily’s worried face, and even a brief visit from Aureus. Then everything became blurry and incoherent.
When he finally woke, his cozy beachside hut had changed to wooden walls and a firm bed. The tranquil rocking motion of a ship confirmed he was no longer on dry land.
“Good, you’re awake,” a sultry voice murmured from his left.
He blinked and turned his head, trying to bring the approaching figure into focus. The vague silhouette of a tall blonde coalesced into familiar features, hazel eyes and a stern mouth set in an oval face.
“Eliza?”
“Nice to see you remember my name. That’s a good sign, Your Highness.”
“Of course I remember you. We shared a meal only two months ago. Or was it three?”
“Close enough. I’m pleased to see your memory is intact.” Eliza smiled and took a seat beside him. “You took a nasty wallop to the head and have been tossing these past two nights. Your fever broke this morning.”
Two days onboard. He hadn’t been able to say goodbye or even express his gratitude to Tiger Lily and her people. Then again, it meant he was two days closer to home.
“I need to speak to James.”
“No, you need to rest before you overexert yourself. I managed to reduce some of the swelling but there’s only so much magical healing can do.”
“I’ve rested long enough. I need to explain what happened. Get ships out looking for my men.” The moment he tried to stand, the whole room spun out from under him and pitched upward. His stomach protested the movement, dropping him like a stone back on the bedside, where he groaned and let his head fall between his knees. Eliza stuck a bucket out and offered no judgment. When he finished heaving, he lay back down without complaint.
“James has been in here at your side, I assure you, and as soon as I deem you fit to move, you can leave this stateroom. Until then, stay put. Heal. Everything else can wait.”
“But my crew—”
Her eyes softened. “We know. You spoke of it plenty in your delirium, Your Highness.”
“Then you know I must get to them.”
She laid a gentle hand over his, her touch warm and soothing. “They need a strong and healthy admiral, and more help than the Jolly Roger can provide. Rest, and once we return to Eisland, you can begin your plans for a rescue.”
Her quiet words lulled him into a relaxed state, but it wasn’t until exhaustion dragged him to the edge of consciousness that he realized the ballsy wench had cast a sleep spell on him.
* * *
The rats in the belly of the Jolly Roger made good playmates, but the cats were kinder and gave better cuddles, especially at night when a chill settled in the cargo hold from the enchantments designed to keep perishable goods in prime condition until reaching their destination.
A considerable amount of smoked salmon and jarred preserves made up the provisions, all of which became a delicious temptation to Caecilia during the four days she spent hidden onboard. Were it not for the vast amount of dried meats and the exotic desert fruits, she might have starved.
Nothing had gone according to plan and now she wondered if stowing away aboard the Jolly Roger had been a foolish idea. Leaving the island had not been part of her impulsive plan.
An orange tabby with golden eyes meandered around the crate she used as a backrest. He bumped his wide head against her leg and rubbed along her thigh, loud purr rumbling like thunder rolling across stormy skies. She stroked his back and enjoyed the companionship.
Eventually, the cat helped himself to her lap and rose up on his hind legs, front paws on her shoulders, and sniffed the shell dangling from a woven cord around her neck.
She gently coaxed him away from it by rubbing his cheek. The big cats inhabiting the island were her faithful companions, unafraid of her and fond of swimming in the grotto. Occasionally, one even brought her a slaughtered bird or a fish, and most of the pieces were intact. Even the smaller cats brought to the island on the ships didn’t run away, though they favored the Lost Boys and Girls.
Eventually, he lost interest in the shell and curled in her lap for a nap. Caecilia didn’t fancy discovering what would happen once it opened. Ghost Hawk had captured all of her power, the essence of her withered divinity within the pale pink clamshell, promising if she were to open it, his glamour would come apart and restore her true self.
Her ugly true self.
She sighed and dropped her fingers from the pendant. She’d made her choice and there was no use wallowing in self-doubt. She had three months to make a miracle.
Somewhere above, voices drew closer. Careful not to disturb her snoozing friend, Caecilia drew her legs in and squished her body between a barrel of curry spices and a crate of pomegranates. The hatch above the storeroom opened and footsteps stomped on the wooden stairs. The laughter of two men filtered down.
“Don’t forget that cask of spiced meat for Cook,” one man called in Eislandic, while the other started moving around the barrels and crates.
“About time we get more than fish. Tired of blasted oyster soup and grilled lemon fish fillets,” the man in the room grumbled, sounding as though he was drawing nearer. “Bloody boring shite.”
When Caecilia scooted to her left, her furry friend protested. In his leap from her lap, his back claws dug into her skin and left red furrows. She startled back, rocking the crate and knocking over the basket perched above it.
“What the—? What are you doing, Scamp? Cook will cook you if you mess up her spices. Gods, I hope the lot of you didn’t get into the curry again. Smee almost had my hide for that last time, with all that product we had to toss overboard.”
She held her breath, hoping the sailor would believe the cat responsible and leave. Fate had other ideas. The man came closer, pausing to scoop up the cat, then stepped around the crates—presumably to see the damage—and froze.
“Um…” He blinked and reached up to scratch his head, rubbing a stump against his temple. Then he swore under his breath and set the cat down. He wandered back to the ladderway and tilted his face toward the hatch, his remaining hand cupped beside his mouth. “Hey,
uh, Nigel. You may want to bring your arse down here to look after all!”
“Why?” came the responding shout.
“Trust me on this one, mate.”
Footsteps thumped above them.
Caecilia shrank back smaller against the crate, desperately seeking an escape route.
Any doubts that she’d harbored about her impulsive plan popped like soap bubbles at that moment. She couldn’t afford to be captured and taken back to Wai Alei. Not yet. The urgency of her three-month window meant she needed to reach Eisland.
Much too large to follow the felines through the narrow gap between several stacked barrels of fruits and vegetables, Caecilia squeezed herself into the corner and debated opening the sea shell.
No. Not enough space. Not only would it blow her cover, but she’d be helplessly unable to maneuver among so many crates. Her magic would only wreak havoc and the last thing she wanted to do was endanger another ship and crew.
“What’s this all about, Tom? Did the cats get into things again? Please tell me we won’t be feeding more curried kitty shit to the sea.”
“Oh no. Definitely not. You go and have a look over yonder.”
Caecilia heard Nigel’s heavy sigh.
Blast. She knew that man was Hook’s second-in-command, a handsome enough fellow who had never liked her, vociferously laying the blame at Caecilia’s feet for Croc taking James’s hand. Approaching boot steps indicated his approach. When Nigel turned the corner and saw her, his brows shot up toward his wavy blond hair.
“Who are you?” he asked. The seconds of persisting silence deepened his frown, but she sensed frustration more than anger. He pinched the bridge of his nose and asked again, this time using the islander language. His accent needed work.
“She hasn’t said a blasted thing. Looks afraid, if you ask me,” Tom said.
“Well, she can’t stay here.” He stepped closer to Caecilia and held out a hand. “I won’t hurt you, I promise, but I need you to come with me.”
Sea Witch and the Magician Page 4