Tears of the Sea

by Marylu Tyndall

  He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. “I will agree that our ship’s cook is better than most, but I’ve never heard his coffee and biscuits called fine before.”

  Perdita quickly finished the food in her mouth and smiled. “I was rather hungry. But did you say you were taking me ashore?”

  “Of course.” He turned to leave.

  “Please, I beg you. You cannot return me to town.”

  Her insistent tone caused his eyes to narrow. “I assure you, I can.”

  She forced a shudder and lowered her gaze. “Then you sign my death warrant. There are men after me. To kill me.”

  He shifted boots over the wooden deck. “And why would they want to do that?”

  “Jealousy, Captain. A jealous powerful man whose proposal I refused.” She turned her back to him and sniffed, lifting a hand to her nose. “But I can see you do not believe me.” She allowed the cloak to slide down her bare back.

  “Woman,” he huffed. “I find you naked on a beach. What do you expect me to believe?”

  She released a shuddering sob. “This same man longs to humiliate me, to punish me. He knocked me unconscious, dropped me on the beach, and hired those men to steal my clothing, hoping I’d be beaten, ravished, or worse.” She glanced at him over her shoulder.

  The look of concern in his eyes pricked her guilt. She hated lying, but how else could she convince him to allow her to stay?

  “I will give you enough coin to live for a week and procure a position for you at the milliners. But the Scepter is no place for a woman.”

  The Scepter, eh? Mayhap that was the man’s flaw. He thought himself a king and his ship an implement of his power. She dashed toward him and laid a hand on his arm. “Please, I beg you, at least take me to Kadon. I have friends there who will help me.” The ship rolled over a wavelet. She stumbled, and Savion took her elbow and led her to a chair. Sinking into the soft leather, she allowed the cloak to slip from one leg. “I promise I’ll behave.”

  As expected, his gaze lowered to her shapely calf. He swallowed and turned away, staring out the windows.

  Perdita smiled. Surely, she had him now. No man had ever been able to resist either her body or her helpless female routine. And never when she combined the two.

  Oddly, instead of kneeling before her and begging for liberties, he plucked a sword from his desk and slipped it into his scabbard. “Very well, I will take you as far as Kadon.” He headed for the door. “If you will do two things for me.”

  Here it came, the proposition. Somehow she found herself disappointed. She smiled sweetly, waiting.

  But not a speck of desire rode on his expression. “One, that when your clothes arrive, you get dressed and remain that way; and two, that you stay away from my crew.”

  Then without waiting for her answer, he left, closing the door behind him.

  Perdita sank back into the chair, perplexed. She glanced at her leg thinking mayhap there was mud on it. Nay. Mayhap a wart had grown on her shoulder? Nay. She was as lovely as always. Stay dressed? ’Twas the one thing no man had ever asked of her.

  Wouldn’t it be just her luck to choose a man who preferred men over women? Nay. She’d seen the way he looked at her. Mayhap he was merely unschooled in the art of love-making. Then what luck for him that he now had a great teacher on board. She smiled.

  Mark her words, by the end of the three-day journey to Kadon, Savion would be groveling at her feet, swearing his love, and begging for her favors like a lovesick porpoise.

  Chapter 7

  Two days later, Perdita stood at the main deck railing, admiring the familiar span of foam-capped azure sea and cursing herself for not staying on land. At least she could be enjoying the feel of solid ground beneath her feet instead of the incessant roll of waves she’d endured for decades at a time. At least she could be enjoying tasteful delicacies instead of hard tack and bitter fish stew. Fish for dinner! Ugg. Could she never escape it? The man, this Savion Ryne, as he was called, had done naught but avoid her. Nay, worse than avoid—he acted as though she didn’t exist.

  Even now as she glanced at him standing on the quarterdeck commanding his men, he wouldn’t look her way. Not even a peek! And here she was squeezed into the undersized gown his man had brought her—squeezed so that every inch of her curves were evident to all. At least some of his crew stole glances her way. One man in particular stole more than glances. He plundered every inch of her with his brazen stare. With black hair slicked back and bound in a tie, dark eyebrows flattened above deep sinister eyes, he was quite handsome. Forsooth! At least she hadn’t completely lost her charm.

  Or—as she had first feared—grown old and saggy in her transformation from fish to human.

  But when she’d glanced in the looking glass in Savion’s cabin, she found herself even more beautiful than ever. ’Twas the only part of the curse she enjoyed. Forwin had not only allowed her to keep her beauty, but ensured she would be the most gorgeous woman on Erden. “To help you find your ‘true love’,” he had mocked with his usual twisted grin.

  It had definitely been an advantage in drawing any male attention she sought.

  Until now.

  Perdita had waited for nearly two days in Savion’s cabin for him to dine with her or check on her well-being or share tea with her at night. Instead, he had sent his man Bart, a bullish-shaped, crusty old sailor who tended to her needs and refused to answer her questions.

  How was she supposed to win Savion’s love when he wouldn’t even give her a moment of his time?

  So, against his express wishes, she’d finally come on deck and sashayed to the railing, feigning stumbles on the heaving ship, which caused several of the crew to rush to her aid with red faces and gaping mouths. But not Savion.

  A gust blasted over her, rumbling through the sails and flapping the flag hung from the mainmast. She glanced upward at the ensign: a fierce lion with a king’s scepter in his hand. Meant to scare off pirates and other nefarious sorts, she supposed, though it only proved the arrogance of the man who owned it.

  Closing her eyes, she allowed the breeze to swirl through her hair, relishing in the feel of her dry curls. Beneath the waves, they weighed her down like seaweed. On land they felt like silk against her skin.

  Zost! This wasn’t going well. She’d already wasted three days with this prudish saint. Another day and he’d leave her at Kadon, where she’d have to start all over with another man.

  The ship leapt over a wave and she gripped the railing, feeling hope drain from her and slide into the sea.

  “Good day to you, miss.” A tall, lanky man with sun-streaked shaggy hair and barely a bristle on his chin smiled her way.

  “Good day.”

  “Hona, the Scepter’s quartermaster.” He held out his hand.

  Perdita gripped it. “Perdita Mulier. A pleasure.”

  “I figured you might be lonely.”

  “Why, because your captain is avoiding me?” she replied sarcastically.

  “Avoiding? No. He’s just busy. Has a lot on his mind.”

  “Mayhap he believes me to be beneath him. He did find me stripped bare on the beach, after all.”

  “Mayhap?” Hona looked confused.

  Another sailor slid on her other side, this one with dark curly hair and a gruff face. “The captain don’t judge people like that. I’m Petrok, first mate.”

  “Perdita.” She smiled then glanced over her shoulder at Savion. “I see no other reason for his dismissal.”

  Hona leaned back against the railing. “He’s not had the best of luck with women, you see.”

  “At least that’s what we guess,” Petrok added. The wind tossed his hair about like palm fronds in a storm. “He won’t talk much about it,” Petrok continued. “But never fear, miss. He’ll treat you kindly and deliver you safe to Kadon. You can count on that.”

  She didn’t want to count on that. That he was a gentleman, she had no doubt. But with only a month’s time, a gentleman is not what she
needed. Her glance shifted between the two men, sizing them up as possibilities. The light-haired one was far too young and innocent. The other—though she saw the way he admired her curves—seemed too intense, too distracted to be lured by a female. Over her shoulder the dark, handsome man continued to blatantly stare her way. Nay, not him either. She knew that look. It bespoke of a selfishness that would never sacrifice for another.

  “Petrok!” Savion’s voice thundered across the deck, causing the man to stiffen and look up at his captain.

  “Twenty degrees south by southwest! We must away to Skivia!” Savion shouted.

  “What of delivering the lady to Kadon?”

  The captain lowered the spyglass, his eyes finally landing on Perdita. “She’ll have to wait.”

  Petrok began spouting orders to the crew. Men leapt into the ratlines and climbed up shrouds to adjust sail as the helmsman turned the tiller.

  Hona started to leave, but Perdita stayed him with a touch. “We aren’t going to Kadon?” Her voice came out more excited than she anticipated, but the young lad didn’t seem to notice.

  “Savion must’a had one of his senses.”

  Sails thundered overhead as they caught the wind. “Whatever do you mean?”

  Hona shrugged. “He senses when someone needs his help, when there is trouble.”

  Perdita scanned the horizon. Nary a cloud nor sail in sight. “How does he know?”

  “He just does. How d’ye think we found you?” He winked and darted away.

  ♥♥♥

  Savion barreled into his cabin and made his way to the cabinet where he stored his weapons. He could feel the woman’s eyes following his every move. Beautiful sea-green eyes. Eyes he had avoided rather successfully for two days. Along with her alluring figure. Savion no longer had trouble avoiding beautiful women, thanks to that seductress, Lorelei. Her deception and betrayal cured any desire to appease his eyes and reinforced his determination to obey his good sense. Though he desperately wanted a bride and longed for the companionship and love of a woman, he sought a pure heart above all else—a kind, unselfish, honorable heart. A woman who would never trick him, lie to him, or deceive him.

  A woman who would love him as truly as he would love her.

  Opening his cabinet, he turned his back to Perdita while he chose his weapons—a short sword, two pistols, three grenades, and a knife—and stuffed them in his baldric. Still, this woman, this Perdita Mulier, was different somehow. Despite her stunning appearance, Savion found himself drawn to her, thinking of her as he commanded his ship, dreaming of her at night. What was wrong with him? Though Bart reported that she’d treated him kindly, and Petrok and Hona seemed to enjoy her company today, Savion hardly knew her. What he did know should make him run as far away from her as possible. Besides, she’d done nothing but try to seduce him. Even now, he could hear her breathing, feel her watching his every move, and wanted more than anything to turn around and spend hours getting to know her.

  “Pray, what is happening, Savion? Why the need for so many weapons?” Her voice softened him.

  “There is a disturbance in Skivia.” He spun to face her, swallowing at the sight of her sitting in a chair, her legs drawn up beside her, her skirts draped over her knees like a lavender waterfall, her black hair tumbling over a bodice that was far too tight. Not her fault, of course, yet it did nothing to aid his efforts to ignore her.

  “A disturbance?” She blinked, looking more like an innocent maiden than the vixen he’d met two nights ago.

  “A sickness that weakens the town, and Natas’s warriors are on the way.”

  She rose, her skirts falling in a swish of silk. “How do you know such things?”

  She smelled of the sea, not a briny scent but more of a sweet saltiness. “I’m sorry for the delay. I’ll take you to Kadon after I deal with this problem. In the meantime, I order you to stay on board, where you’ll be safe.”

  ♥♥♥

  Perdita considered telling him he had no right ordering her about, but then remembered most men liked to control women. It made them feel manly, she supposed. Mayhap she should pretend to faint, so he would be forced to carry her to the bed as he had that first night. But how many times could she use that ploy? Finally, she simply put on her sweetest smile and bid him be safe. This seemed to have the desired effect, as he stared at her with more interest than he’d shown of yet. Then his eyes narrowed, and he let out a huff before storming out the door.

  Zost! She took up a pace and bit her nails. Stay on board, indeed. She had no intention of remaining on this ship if the object of her quest was elsewhere. She would go ashore to this village of Skivia and see what mischief was afoot. If anything, she’d enjoy walking on land again, mayhap get some decent food. And if the place suited her and had other prospective lovers, she might stay and give up her pursuit of this cocksure snod.

  An hour later, footsteps pounded above her as commands were issued to lower sail. The ship halted, and the mighty anchor splashed into the harbor. Boats were lowered, then filled with men, and Perdita watched from the stern windows as they rowed ashore. The moon slid behind dark clouds, and after ten yards she lost them in the shadows of night. In the distance, the flicker of lanterns revealed the town’s location, along with a flaming blaze too large to be a normal fire. Musket shot drummed the sky, followed by screams.

  A disturbance, indeed. More like a war. Making her way up the companionway and onto the main deck, Perdita had no trouble sneaking by the two sailors on watch. Both were drinking from a jug. One strummed a tune on a mandolin while the other whittled a piece of wood. She slipped over the side, happy to see a small dingy left behind. She could swim of course. Unlike the myths, she did not turn back into a mermaid during the ephemeral redemption. Instead, after a few minutes in the water, the pain would become excruciating, and she would lose all muscle control and be subject to wind and wave. Not a pleasant prospect and one that made the ache spanning her shoulders and perspiration beading on her skin worth the effort of rowing.

  After hiding the dingy beneath some fronds and seaweed, Perdita gathered her skirts and headed toward the sound of mayhem. First order of business: see what Savion and his men were about. After that, she’d search for any male prospects worthy enough to compel her to stay. Though shadows cloaked the island, she could tell it was large and lush, and the city she now approached was no small fishing port. If Savion Ryne did not find her appealing, she could find dozens who would.

  But there was fighting in the streets. And sickness. The acrid scent of gunpowder and fear floated atop the putrid odor of disease. Keeping to the shadows, Perdita crept down the narrow byways on the outskirts of town. Candles flickered in the windows of wooden homes from which coughing and moaning arose. Citizens fled in wagons filled with their children and belongings. Up ahead, two men crossed swords. One was Malum. She could tell by the insignia of Natas on the dark uniform. The other man wore the clothes of a farmer. He was no match for the warrior, and within seconds the Malum thrust his sword into the man’s gut. The farmer’s eyes popped, his jaw opened, and he slumped over with a painful moan.

  A woman wailed in horror. Two more Malum entered the street beckoning to their friend, and without so much as a belch, the Malum pulled his blade from the man and rushed behind them. In a mad dash of brown calico, a woman emerged from the shadows and fell to her knees beside the farmer. Her sobs bled into the night.

  Perdita’s throat closed with emotion. Death no longer shocked or even repulsed her, for she’d seen enough of it to last a millennium. She’d even envied the fragility of humans. What she couldn’t stand was the sorrow that overwhelmed those left behind.

  Sorrow of loss was something she understood all too well.

  As Perdita continued on her way, the woman looked up, agony twisting her features and tears pouring down her cheeks. “Please save us. Please, miss, save us.”

  “I cannot save you,” Perdita answered, her heart sinking. “I cannot even save myself.�
�� Yet as she stared at the wounded man, she saw his chest rise and fall. Kneeling, she placed two fingers on his throat. The throb of a weak pulse drummed on her fingers. There was still time.

  A child no more than four crept out from a nearby building and dashed toward the wounded man crying, “Papa! Papa!”, but her mother scooped her up and held the little girl who thrashed and wailed in her arms.

  Perdita glanced down the dark street. She dreaded the excruciating pain and the vulnerability that helping the farmer would cause her—especially amidst a war. Plus, ’twas possible Savion and his ship would leave without her while she was indisposed. But one look again at the distraught woman and her child made the choice an easy one.

  She placed both hands on the man’s wound. Warm blood gurgled between her fingers. He moaned, and the woman lunged forward in an attempt to push Perdita aside.

  “I’m helping him,” she said sternly then nodded in reassurance. “Trust me.” Then closing her eyes, she pressed harder, bracing herself for the pain. It came slowly at first, in waves, a gentle lapping that grew stronger and stronger like a tempest upon the sea.

  “Your hands. They glow!” the woman shouted, and Perdita pried her eyes open to see scales appear on her hands—bright luminous scales. Warmth spilled from the gills at her side. And still the pain increased. It consumed her, ripping at her flesh, piercing her organs, and tearing her limbs apart. She did everything to keep from crying out, clenching every muscle and nerve until she felt she would explode.

  The woman gasped, the child cried, the man groaned—stronger now.

  Torment, agony racked through Perdita like a thousand flaming spikes. Yet she could not pull her hands back. Not until she felt the life return to the man and the wound close.

  Flesh grew beneath her fingers; blood halted in its trek. More spilled from her side. The pain mounted, reaching its crescendo of torture.

  Perdita let out an ear-piercing wail.