by Kelex
He needed her as an ally… not an enemy.
Or so he said. There were times he thought his father had little choice as to where the witch lived.
“Well? Are you coming in or not?” she asked tersely, her back turned toward him. She faced the cauldron and tossed in another ingredient that caused a poof of purple gases to rise amid the water. The color faded, and she tilted her face toward his direction. “Do one or the other—I don’t need you darkening my doorway, Prince Llyr.”
How does she kn—
“Of course I know who you are. I also know the Draugar will soon be on their way here, so we have precious little time.” She swam over to her wall of potions and pots before selecting one small vial. When she spun back around, she offered a wicked smile. “This is what you came for. I’ll trade it for the gold and silver in your pouch.”
Llyr’s mouth dropped open. “How?”
“The Draugar,” she whispered before a malevolent howl sounded in the distance.
A chill raced down his spine. If one of those dead things touched him, he would have nightmares for weeks. Months. Maybe even years. Llyr could scarcely believe his father would resort to using them to force him back home.
Back to a marriage he could not bear.
When Llyr returned to face the Enchantress, she was swimming mere inches away. He paddled back a bit, unnerved at how she’d gotten so close without a sound. “How do you know this is what I desire?”
“You want legs. To walk above, on dry land. To experience life as a human—and to get away from dear, dear old daddy.” She lifted the vial inches before his face. “This will give you seven full days as a human.”
“Seven? I need more if I think to get away from him!” He needed forever.
“Trust me, young prince. There’s much that can be done in a short amount of time if the gods will it. So… do we have a deal?”
Before he could answer, another chilling howl sounded in the distance. Closer than the one before. He had little time left… but the Draugar couldn’t reach him on dry land. Yet, what would seven days do? He needed more.
But that time was his only hope… perhaps he could find another way to free himself. He reached for the vial, but she pulled it away.
“Payment?” she asked coolly, one arched brow rising. She opened the palm of her free hand, waiting.
Llyr unbound the coin purse from his wrist and handed it over. She floated the vial his way.
Without another word, he uncapped the vial and drank the potion.
“You’ll also need this,” she said, shooting a pendant on a string his way.
It floated closer before he swept it into his palm. “What is it?”
“With this, it will be impossible for the Draugar to track you. As long as you wear it, they will struggle to track you and your scent. And,” she paused, smiling. “It will help you fit in better amongst the humans.”
Llyr drew the pendant over his head and watched as it slowly floated down to his chest. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” She chuckled, the sound malevolent and perverse. “You’d best swim as fast as you can before death comes for you. Those gills will soon be gone.” She laughed again, appearing much too pleased with herself for offering the ominous decree.
“Now you tell me?” A pain immediately hit him in the gut… but subsided just as quickly.
“Go! Race for the surface… now!”
Llyr sped from the cavern and toward the surface, hearing the howls of the Draugar behind him. Another pain hit him square in the chest, and he suddenly struggled to breathe. His gills were on fire. He reached behind his ear… and realized they were almost gone! Pushing on, his tail was separating into two—tearing apart. Without his fin, he slowed considerably… the surface seemingly growing farther and farther away.
He opened his mouth to scream and water flooded his lungs.
Llyr heard the Enchantress’ words whispering in his mind as the pain nearly took over. He’d thought it was the Draugar she spoke of… not this.
He had to be dying…
Drowning…
Moving his arms and… legs… he pushed upward. He needed air… his lungs burned…
Above, he could see the setting of the sun. He reached for it, praying to the gods they’d help him break the surface.
The sky was ablaze, the colors so brilliant.
So close…
Yet so far away.
His eyelids fluttered closed. The blackness took him…
Captain Oz von König rested a hip against the ship’s railing, the calm sea soothing. A stiff breeze washed over him, the scent of the salty air filling his lungs. He took a deep inhale of the clean, crisp scent, remembering the first time he’d stood aboard a ship so very, very long ago. Memories he cherished.
Memories… that’s all he’d soon have.
Tensing, he fought off the familiar anguish that had grown stronger and stronger as each day passed. There was so little time left… he needed to memorize the peaceful moments he’d never truly appreciated—not like they deserved to be cherished—until now, when they would soon be torn from his fingers.
He searched the horizon, where the sun set and the artistry of the gods reflected on the peaceful surface of the water. The more he searched, the more Oz struggled to determine exactly where water met heaven. He would not find it.
Nor could he find the peace he desperately required.
Behind him, his sailors drank their ale and rum while others played music to accompany one singing a miserable tale. There was little more they could do to occupy themselves. They awaited arrival in their penultimate port of call—before finally returning home.
Home.
It had been far too long… yet not long enough.
The hopelessness of the tune only added to his own melancholy. I don’t want to leave this behind. I belong on the open seas—not dry land.
“What is it you’re searching for?”
Oz glanced over his shoulder at his best friend and sometimes lover, Commander Dagr von Burgstaller. Love swelled in his heart as he eyed the man… and that heart shattered all over again as he realized his affections could never be truly realized. “A way out?”
“There’s only one way out in the direction you’re looking… and it’s not the kind of end I’d allow you,” Dagr replied before resting his bottom against the railing. Silence fell between them, heavy with all the things they wished to say. Things that would only cause the end so much worse than it was.
“You think we can prolong our trip? Stay in port an extra day or two?”
The expression in Dagr’s eye was longing. A need to say yes. Maybe even a yearning for them to never return home. “He’ll only wait for so long. We must arrive soon. You have your du—”
“Stop reminding me. I know what’s needed of me.”
“I’ve been not reminding you for nearly three fortnights now. You can’t keep pushing him off.”
“I know!” he spat a little louder and more forcefully than he’d planned. The singing and music stopped. The silence, deafening. He felt stares on him and refused to allow them to intrude on their moment. Oz gazed over one shoulder at his men. “Sorry… proceed. Please.” He waved his hand. “But stop with all that sentimental nonsense. Play something a little more… lighthearted.”
The men did as instructed and played a song only marginally more cheerful than the last. One would imagine they would be more excited to be nearing home, but it was as if they all sensed their journeys were now over. A truer end in sight. He shook his head with a sigh and turned back to Dagr. “I’m sorry. I’m not cross with you.”
Dagr gave a slight nod as his acceptance.
“I’m out of sorts, knowing this is soon to go away. And I’m angry.” His grip tightened on the railing, his knuckles going white. “Angry I can’t simply run away from it all.”
“Well, you could.” Dagr searched out before him a moment before tilting his head to face Oz. “But is
that the man you desire to be?”
Oz clenched his jaw, craving to say the word yes. “No.”
Silence hung between them, albeit for the waves lapping against the side of the ship and the last notes of the song being sung. There was also a lost destiny fading between them. No words were needed for him to know Dagr felt it as keenly as he did.
“I understand your frustration,” Dagr finally murmured. “How do you think I feel?”
Oz frowned, holding Dagr’s gaze. What did he say to make things better? There was nothing. Absolutely nothing he could utter which would cause either of them to become happy. Both their lives would change and not in the ways either wished. “We’ve one more port between here and home—and should be there in less than an hour. One more night to celebrate our freedom.” He broke the stare holding them together and glanced at the surface of the water, seeing none of the beauty. Not in his current state. It was impossible. “And then we aim toward home. Happy?”
After glancing around, Dagr reached out and caressed Oz’s shoulder. Oz struggled to face Dagr in that moment, his heart rending in two.
“Happy? How could you think it would make me happy?” Dagr asked lowly. “In time, we will find a way through. One day, we might be happy again.”
“No,” Oz said, shaking his head. His voice broke slightly as he spoke again. “I doubt I will ever be truly happy.”
All he craved was to fall into Dagr’s arms and forget about the world and its troubles. Forget about duty and responsibilities. Forget everyone else but this wonderful man who was a part of his own flesh. They were a bonded pair, soon to be ripped apart. How would he function without the better half of him at his side? Tears burned the backs of his eyes, the frustration oppressive. Unwilling to bear it, yet Oz had little choice.
He observed the setting of the sun, another day gone… another day closer to a destiny he was loath to journey. Please… if there are truly gods above… help us. Help us find a way to remain together. Help me hold on to this man I love.
Dagr’s palm spread on his back and lulled him into a false sense of comfort. He closed his eyes and let the contentment seep into every muscle… into the very fiber of his being. Oz aspired to remember that feeling for the rest of his life… of being loved… because he’d have to hold on to those memories on the cold nights ahead.
Forcing those thoughts from his mind, he offered his friend as much of a smile as he could muster. “We have a few more days. Let’s make the most of them, eh?”
“Indeed,” Dagr murmured. “We can have a pint or two in the inn… maybe get a room there for the night. Their beds were always soft and clean. And the owners turn a blind eye.”
“So you want to have your wicked way with me, eh?”
“The trying is the best part,” Dagr added with a wicked grin.
Oz returned the smile before he stared back out at the sea, still searching for the peace he’d never find. Standing shoulder to shoulder with Dagr, they’d face the coming storms until life finally ripped them in separate directions.
For nearly twenty years they’d been side by side…
Something caught his attention. Tilting his head, he attempted to get a better look. “What’s that in the water?”
Oz glanced at Dagr before following the path of the man’s gaze. A spot of white rode the surface. When a gust of wind lifted a few long copper tresses to curl on the air, he realized it was a body floating in the water.
“Man overboard!” came a cry from one of their sailors high up the rigging.
A wave of misery washed over Oz with the next breeze. His gut clenched.
“Dear gods,” Oz whispered before instinct took over. Even though he realized there was no way the person could still be alive, he rushed to drag his jacket down his arms and kick off his shoes. Beside him, Dagr did the same, finishing first. Dagr dove in seconds before Oz.
The cold northern waters were a shock to his system as he plunged beneath the waves behind his friend. Rising to the surface, he checked where he had emerged seconds before swimming toward where Dagr already headed. He reached the man as Dagr rolled him over. Together, they dragged the body back to the ship—where his men awaited them at the side the help them back up onto the deck.
A small circle of sailors surrounded them as Oz reached for the man’s pale neck, searching for a pulse he knew he would not find. He hated being correct. Still, he and Dagr pushed on the man’s chest, working to get the water from his lungs. After a few minutes, it was clear there would be no reviving him.
“How the hell did he get all the way out here?” Dagr asked as they hovered over, water dripping off them onto his pale, naked flesh.
Enthralled, Oz stared—bewitched. There was also a sense of intense sorrow he didn’t understand. “A shipwreck? Maybe he floated in on the tide?”
Dagr lifted his gaze and looked out upon the water’s surface. “If it was a shipwreck, we’d likely see flotsam nearby. I see none.”
“A lone swimmer who swam out too far and the tide took him?” Oz offered.
“More likely,” Dagr replied.
Again he let his eyes roam over the man… one who seemed so familiar, yet…
A sudden rush of lust hit Oz square in the gut.
Long, wavy copper tresses spread out around a lovely face more Fae-like in its beauty. His pale skin almost gleamed with a life that seemed to linger. Odd tattoos trailed over one arm, nothing like anything he’d seen before—as well as a shell-like mark on one shoulder. Muscles appeared tense, as if ready to move. Oz knelt at the side of the man’s long, lean body and reached for a pulse, sure there had to be one.
Alas, there was nothing.
His chest tight, he struggled to breathe. Tears burned the backs of his eyes. How could he feel such grief for the loss of a man he’d never known? Oz shook his head, trying to rid himself of the strange emotions.
Dagr knelt on the other side of the body. He lifted one small hand into his before lifting it to his lips. Dagr’s stare then went to Oz’s… and he could see the same remorse mirrored in his best friend’s eyes. Oz saw the glimmer of tears… from a man who he’d only seen cry once in twenty years.
“Did we know him?” Oz asked, his voice low. “It feels like we know him.”
“No.” Dagr let out a slow sigh. “I think we would’ve definitely remembered him.”
True. Oz took in a shuddering breath. No, they had never met this man. But I deeply sense we were meant to.
The drowning victim suddenly sputtered, and water shot from his mouth.
And it just kept coming…
2
Dagr cursed inwardly at the man gasping for air—and then quickly rolled him to his side. In a torrent, water streamed from his lips onto the deck. Too much water… There was no way anyone could’ve ingested it all and survived. He shot a shocked look to Oz before returning to watch the spectacle before him.
Once clear, the man took in an extremely deep inhale. It was a magical sound to Dagr’s ears. The hoarse cry of pain that came after, not so much. Their drowning victim lifted his hands to cover his eyes, as if they pained him.
Silence—albeit the strangled breathing of the man on the deck—reigned. Oz lifted his gaze to Dagr. They held it for a moment, not needing words to share their astonishment and disbelief. The dead rose back to life before their very eyes.
A spark of something captured Dagr’s notice. A tingling to his fingers. Magic.
He narrowed his eyes, trying to determine the source.
“There, there… you’re alright,” Oz ultimately murmured as he took one of the man’s hand in his. “You’re safe… onboard my ship.”
The man didn’t respond at first. Finally he croaked. “So bright.”
Dagr frowned. Sunlight fading, darkness fell around them.
Finally the man removed his hands, but kept his eyelids narrowed.
“As I was saying… you’re safe. Onboard my ship. You can call me Captain König. That’s Commander Burgsta
ller.”
A pair of turquoise eyes scanned Oz’s face before refocusing to take in Dagr’s stare.
Dagr frowned, realizing he’d been mistaken. Yet the turquoise shifted…
Cerulean…
No, no… jade green.
But then they eddied back to turquoise.
Frowning, he watched the maelstrom of colors swirling in the depths. Somewhere deep inside his mind he sensed something was amiss. The spark of magic… it seemed to emanate from the man.
Is that what had saved him from drowning?
Dagr’s stare again went to Oz’s. So many questions churned in the depths of his friend’s eyes. Questions they both likely had and feared voicing. How… how had this man survived? Where in the world had he come from?
“Where… are we?” the living dead man asked, his voice raspy.
“Not far off the coast of the Eirish Isles,” Oz answered. “We should dock in the port town of Galford before long.” Oz paused a moment, his gaze washing over the stranger’s face. “Is that where you’re from?”
The man shook his head. “No.”
“You must be from somewhere close,” Oz pressed.
“No,” the stranger repeated.
Dagr eyed the long, red hair and the alabaster skin and knew the man appeared as if he was from the Eirish Isles. But why would he lie? “Where are you from?” He hesitated for a moment when the man’s ever-changing regard fell on him like a strike of lightning. “And how did you get out in the middle of the sea?”
“Your skin,” the living dead man murmured before stroking his hand over Dagr’s. “It’s so… beautiful.”
Dagr nearly hissed in pleasure-pain. A powerful need took hold. The barest touch of the man’s hand on his had him reeling. When the man gazed up again, the look of adoration in his eyes was enough to send all of Dagr’s questions flying. Need burned in his gut. The need to make the man his.