by Zoe Chant
“No!” With the strength of desperation, Neridia twisted free of the men restraining her. “Give that back!”
The man dangled the pendant from his fist, taunting her with it. “Come and get it.”
“Your challenge,” said a deep voice, impossibly, from behind her, “is acceptable.”
Neridia whirled, and found herself staring at a man as he rose out of the lake. Water streamed from his immense shoulders and bare, muscular back. He didn’t stand up fully, but halted in a kneeling position, head bowed respectfully. His long hair shadowed his face, droplets of water glinting like diamonds in the narrow dreadlocks.
“My lady,” he said to her, completely ignoring the gang of men goggling at him from the shore. “Forgive my intrusion, but I cannot help but notice that you appear to be in need of a champion. If you would allow me the honor?”
Neridia stared at him, utterly lost for words.
Whoever he was, he appeared to take this as assent. He raised his head, his features still in shadow, and looked across at Neridia’s would-be attackers.
“I am the Walker-Above-Wave.” His voice rang out like a church bell, sending shivers through every bone in Neridia’s body. “Emissary to the Land from the Pearl Throne, Knight-Poet of the First Water, Sworn Seeker of the Emperor-in-Absence, and Firefighter for the East Sussex Fire and Rescue Service. You appear to have a treasure which does not belong to you. I strongly advise that you return it.”
As one, all five drunks gaped at him.
“You what?” one of them said at last.
“I am the Walker-Above-Wave,” the man began again, speaking more slowly this time as though he’d just revised his estimate of their intelligence sharply downward. “Emissary to the-“
“You’re fucking mental, is what you are.” The man still clutching Neridia’s pearl rallied, knotting his free fist. “Piss off, fishboy. This is none of your business.”
“As I now have the great honor of being the noble lady’s Champion in this matter, I believe that you will find that it is.” There was an odd, musical quality to his voice. Neridia couldn’t quite place his accent. “Do you wish to withdraw your challenge?”
The spokesman set his feet in an aggressive stance. “There’s five of us and one of you, fucker.”
“Ah.” The man nodded gravely, his mane of dreadlocks shifting over his massive shoulders. “Yes, that is an inconvenience. I too have other matters to which I must attend tonight. Though it is unorthodox, in the interests of concluding this disagreement swiftly, I would be pleased to duel you all simultaneously rather than sequentially.”
“Whazzat mean?” one of the drunks said, looking at the leader for translation.
The spokesman’s scowl deepened, as if he thought the stranger was mocking them all. “It means he wants to get his fucking thick head kicked in. Get him!”
It happened so quickly, Neridia could barely follow the stranger’s movements. One second, he was kneeling at her feet; the next, he’d surged past her, a solid wall of muscle interposed between her and the gang. The first two drunks to reach him were met with a blur of motion that sent them staggering back as if they’d run straight into a cliff face.
That was enough to give the rest pause. The stranger settled back into a poised, balanced stance, hands held loose and relaxed. Despite the fact that he was facing off against a pack of angry drunk men while wearing nothing more than a pair of swimming briefs, he seemed for all the world to be enjoying himself. He was even humming, a strange but unmistakably cheerful tune.
The gang closed in again, more cautiously this time. Neridia noticed that the leader was hanging back a little, letting his friends throw the first punches. She didn’t like the cold, calculating expression on his face. She wanted to shout a warning to her strange champion, but didn’t dare interrupt his concentration.
Still humming, the stranger blocked every would-be attack with his left arm while returning powerful blows with his right. Yelps and shocked curses filled the air. In short order, one man was staggering back clutching a broken nose; another wheezed helplessly on his knees, all the breath driven out of him by a seemingly casual fist to his stomach.
One of the remaining men evidently decided that he didn’t want a drink that badly, and started backing away. The stranger’s humming sharpened, like a violin crossed with a wolf’s snarl. He lunged after the retreating man, one enormous hand closing over the back of his neck.
“Only a coward seeks to retreat from a challenge honorably met.” The stranger straightened, lifting the man clean off the ground without any apparent effort whatsoever. “But if you insist, allow me to assist you.”
He spun, as if throwing a discus, and released his grip. The unfortunate man was sent hurtling through the air, limbs flailing.
Open-mouthed, Neridia followed the drunk’s trajectory. He splashed down into the shallows a good fifteen feet away.
Most of the other men retreated in a hurry, scrambling over each other in their haste to get out of the stranger’s reach. Only their leader remained, still holding Neridia’s pearl.
Except now, in his other hand, he was also holding a knife.
The stranger’s humming cut off abruptly. He went very still, focused on the blade. The man holding it grinned with vicious satisfaction.
“Not so tough now, are you?” he taunted, making the knife weave like a snake about to strike. He definitely knew how to use it. “That’s changed your tune, hasn’t it?”
“Yes,” the stranger replied, clear contempt ringing in every word. “I sang for the joy of challenge, and there is no challenge here now. Only the tedious task of exterminating vermin.”
The man’s face darkened as he worked out the insult. He paused for a second, mouth half-open as if trying to come up with a witty retort.
“Motherfucker,” he spat, and lunged.
Neridia shrieked, instinctively surging forward. She had no idea what she’d intended to do—grab his arm? Try to distract him? Protect her champion by getting stabbed herself?—but as it turned out, the stranger needed no assistance. He calmly sidestepped the attack, the knife missing his bare chest by mere inches. Grabbing the man’s arm, he gave it a sharp twist.
The leader screamed, the knife falling away from a suddenly limp hand. He sagged, only the stranger’s grasp keeping him upright.
“I can only break your bones,” the stranger told him, without any hint of pity or remorse. “And bones quickly heal. You have broken your own honor, and from that injury, there is no recovery. Go, and live with your shame, all the remaining days of your worthless existence.”
The stranger plucked Neridia’s pearl from the leader’s other hand, then tossed the man aside like a piece of garbage. The leader staggered back, curled over his broken arm. The other men grabbed him, hustling him away with nervous backward glances.
The stranger stared after them until they’d disappeared from sight, then turned, holding out his hand. Neridia’s pearl gleamed in his broad palm.
“My lady,” he said, and the voice which had been so fierce mere moments ago was now as soft and gentle as the ripples murmuring against the shore. “Thank you for the honor. I believe this is yours.”
Still feeling as if this was all some sort of dream, Neridia was already reaching out for her pendant. As her fingers brushed his skin, a jolt went through her. It was like a static shock, except a hundred times more powerful…and pleasurable. She gasped, her head jerking up.
For the first time, their eyes met.
“Yours,” the man repeated, his musical voice fading to the merest whisper. “I am yours.”
Neridia couldn’t take her fingertip off his palm, that strange, warm energy sparkling down every nerve of her body from just that tiny contact. She couldn’t stop herself from staring up into those incredibly blue eyes-
Wait.
She was staring up into his eyes.
Neridia blinked. She shot a swift, disbelieving glance downward, expecting to find that he was
standing on a rock…but he wasn’t. His bare feet were at the same level as hers.
And he was taller than her.
She had only a split second to gape at the impossibility, before he crashed down to his knees in a spray of water.
“Forgive me,” he said brokenly, pressing his forehead to her hand like some ancient knight swearing fealty. “I have failed you. Forgive me.“
“Please stand up!” Neridia seized both his forearms, tugging. “I want to-I mean, I’ve never-just stand up!”
He allowed her to pull him back to his feet, unfolding again to his full height. Neridia’s breath caught in her throat.
I’m dreaming. This has got to be a dream.
She barely came up to his chin. His deep chest was thick with muscle, the gleaming skin a shade or two darker than her own. Every line of his body screamed power, from his impossibly broad shoulders to the hard curves of his thighs. He was so outsized and yet so perfectly proportioned that he seemed more a work of art than a man; some sculptor’s final masterpiece.
“You’re tall,” she said stupidly, and could have kicked herself. It was what other people always said to her. “Sorry! I meant, you’re taller. Than me.”
He started to sink back to his knees, and she hastily waved her hands to stop him. “No! I like that you’re tall! Um, not that you care or anything, it’s just-“
“I care,” he interrupted her. His eyes were still very wide, as if he was as shell-shocked as her. “I care very much.”
He brought up one of his hands, almost but not quite brushing her face. Very slowly, never actually making contact, he traced the curve of her cheek. Neridia trembled with the desire to lean into his touch, to close that last distance between them…but she didn’t dare.
Despite his gentle words, the stranger’s expression was pure agony. He had the look of a man abruptly confronted with everything he ever wanted…and could never have.
“Oh, my lady.” Water ran down his face. “Where were you?”
Neridia could barely process the question, still lost in disbelieving wonder. “When?”
“Now. Then. Always.” The man dropped his hand, gesturing out at Loch Ness. “All this time, you were here?”
She nodded. “I’ve always lived here. Why?”
Her simple assent seemed to hit him like a blow to the gut. He closed his eyes tightly, as if he couldn’t bear the sight of her any longer.
His obvious pain made her own heart clench in response. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“I…I…” All his previous eloquence had apparently deserted him. “I searched for you, my lady. I swear to you, I searched.”
He searched…for me?
Some long-silent part of Neridia’s soul sang in pure joy, even as she tried to wrap her rational brain around what was happening.
Before she could ask him what he meant, the man took a deep breath. His chiseled features settled into a look of grim, stoic determination. Setting his shoulders as though lifting a heavy burden, he opened his eyes.
“What is your name?” he asked her.
“Neridia,” she said. She braced herself for the inevitable comment. “Neridia Small.”
He shook his head. “Not your air name. Your real name.”
Caught off-balance by this unusual response to her painfully ironic surname, she could only blink at him.
“Come.” The stranger turned, and started wading deeper into the loch. “Swim with me.”
Neridia found she’d actually taken a step after him. The chill kiss of water against her knees brought her crashing back to sanity.
“Wait!” she called after his retreating back. “I can’t-wait! I don’t even know your name!”
He was chest-deep in the water already. He looked back over his shoulder at her, and her heart broke at the despair in his eyes.
“I will tell you,” he said.
And then-
Chapter 3
For the first time in his entire life, John didn’t want to shift back to his true form.
I must. She asked for my name. I must tell her.
But the instant she heard the swirling music of his name, she would know how badly he had failed her.
Sea dragon names were not like human names. A human name might carry some hidden meaning or association—like his own air-name, “John Doe”, which he had been told was traditionally given to one whose true identity was unknown—but it could not capture the true complexities of a person. Humans were more than their names.
But sea dragons were not.
A sea dragon’s name grew and changed over time, recording their deeds and proclaiming their honor for all to hear. John’s own true name had started as the same simple five-note sequence that all male noble-born infants bore, but by now it had lengthened into a symphony that took a full three minutes to sing in its entirety.
And it started with the unmistakable, thundering chord that proclaimed the bearer was a Knight of the First Water. Sworn defender of the Pearl Throne.
Mateless.
The day that chord had been prefixed to his name had been the proudest of John’s life. Now, he would have given anything to be able to undo it.
It is already undone, insisted his inner human. John could practically feel its fists clenching round his bones, trying to prevent him from shifting. She is our mate! All other loyalties mean nothing now. Abandon knighthood, abandon oaths, choose her!
John savagely flung the puny creature down to the deepest, lightless depths of his mind. Just to listen to such whispers was dishonorable. He was the Emperor’s servant, sworn to his duty. Nothing could change that.
He held onto that thought as if it was a sword, steeling himself for what he had to do. His mate—his mate!—was still gazing at him from the shore, making no move to follow him into the water yet.
He longed to swim with her, just once. If only he could hear the heart-rending beauty of her own true name, before he forever shattered the growing bond between them with the sound of his own…
No. Every second I delay is another small lie. I have taken a vow of candor. I must tell her.
He shifted, and for the first time it felt like shouldering a burden rather than being set free. Closing his eyes so that he would not have to see her face, he sang his name.
Or rather, tried to. His throat closed up after that first terrible, traitorous chord—Knight/Poet/First Water!—and he could go no further. What point of telling her the rest of him, the victories he had won and the treasures he had claimed? None of it mattered.
All that mattered was that he had betrayed her. He had not searched hard enough, long enough. He had bound himself to another’s service too soon, too hastily.
They could never mate.
He did not want to look at her. Did not want to see the shining joy snuffed out from her striking, noble face, bleak betrayal clouding those summer-sky eyes. Almost, he turned to flee, to disappear back into the sunless depths of the lake without a backward glance and save them both further pain.
But only an honorless coward fled from a battlefield. And now, more than ever, he had nothing left but honor.
Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to open his eyes.
It was far worse than he could ever have imagined. The raw horror in her expression cleaved him to the very heart. She backed away, trembling all over, her eyes wide and…
…Terrified?
John instinctively swung his head round, momentarily convinced that some dreadful monster of the deep must have unexpectedly arisen behind him. But there was nothing there. Nothing to provoke such fear.
Nothing except himself.
Surely not.
That was a thought even more ludicrous than a colossal squid suddenly breaching from the calm lake. Why should his mate fear him?
“I don’t understand,” he sang to her, harmonies of bewilderment and growing concern swirling around the simple melody.
She clapped her hands over her ears, recoiling as if from a tor
rent of meaningless noise. There was absolutely no sign of comprehension in her face.
Her full lips moved, whispering human words. A single, senseless phrase:
“Loch Ness Monster.”
He stared at her incredulously. “Monster?” he repeated in disbelief, in his own language.
He was talking to her back. She was running, flat out, straight away from him, as if all the sharks of the sea were on her scent.
“Wait!” The air shook with the force of his roar. “What is wrong? Come back!”
She screamed in response, speeding up. He tried to follow, but his huge bulk was unwieldy out of water. Every shining, plated scale was like an iron weight; his clawed feet sank heavily into the mud.
Shift, idiot! his inner human howled at him.
For once, the feeble creature actually spoke sense. John shrank back into human form, scrambling up the sloping shore. In his haste, he momentarily forgot how to run on two legs, and promptly tripped over a rock. He fell, catching himself with an outflung hand.
His palm landed on something small and smooth. Something familiar.
“Wait!” he called out, picking up the pendant. His human voice was so weak in comparison to his true one. “Come back! You dropped your-“
He stopped, dead, staring at the pearl in his hand.
“Treasure,” he finished in a whisper.
She dropped her treasure.
She dropped her treasure.
No dragon, under the sea or above it, ever abandoned treasure. No matter what the circumstances. It was as unthinkable as abandoning a limb, or a child. John had seen sea dragons die rather than lose a treasure.
Yet she had dropped this one. The one that she had, not long ago, been quite willing to fight five angry men to defend…
John’s mind spun as if caught up in a whirlpool, facts fitting together to form the inescapable conclusion.
She hadn’t shifted to fight off her attackers. She hadn’t given any sign of understanding sea dragon speech. She’d fled in terror at the sight of him.
His mate wasn’t a sea dragon. More than that, she wasn’t even a shifter.