For a moment she looked as though she would cry. But then she took a deep breath and faced him with a hint of a smile. “I suppose I haven’t found my prince yet.”
After a knock, Bart entered with a tray of food: pork stew, bowls of rice, sweet corn, buttered yams, a platter of salt fish, fried plantains, and coconut milk. Perdita’s eyes lit up, as they normally did at the sight of food, and she rushed toward the desk where Bart laid the tray, thanking the man over and over.
Savion had never thought the crusty old sailor capable of blushing, but Savion could swear the red hue on Bart’s face was not due to the heat.
After Bart left and they both settled down to eat, Savion continued the conversation. “What happened to your parents?”
“What do you mean?” She brought a spoonful of stew to her lips.
“Surely if they are alive, you’d be living with them, not wandering the Ancient Seas alone and with no support.”
“My family still lives. But I cannot … I … I have business here before I can return home.”
“Business?”
“Indeed. Business that is my business.” She slid a spoonful of buttered yams into her mouth and closed her eyes as if in ecstasy.
Savion smiled. “I’ve never seen anyone enjoy their food so much.”
“When you are deprived of it for so long, you appre—” She bit her lip and looked away.
“Ah, your impoverished upbringing, I take it?”
She nodded and slipped a plantain into her mouth, then glanced over the feast as if deciding what to eat next. Her hand wavered over the platter, hastily avoiding the salt fish.
Savion sipped his coconut milk. “Why such an aversion to fish? You never touch it.”
“Fish is so bland, don’t you think? I much prefer beef or pork. And cake!” Her eyes sparkled. “Cake is surely from Nevaeh!”
Savion couldn’t help but chuckle at her childlike exuberance.
Fascinating, extraordinary woman! Captivating would be a better word, for he found himself completely enthralled with her, wanting to know more, longing to delve into her secrets. Even though he wasn’t sure he could believe much of what she told him.
The next two days only added to his suspicions, for no shepherd’s daughter could know of the things she spoke. As much as he tried not to, he found himself looking forward to their conversations and to her opinions on history, art, and literature. Not surprisingly, he hadn’t found his intellectual equivalent among the crew, and he now realized how much he missed conversing with someone who had an in-depth understanding of important topics: Natas’s rebellion, the Kalok wars, the rise of enlightened thought, governmental theory, as well as new scientific discoveries of air pressure, the human cell, and the magnetic properties of Erden. In addition, she possessed an extraordinary knowledge about wind and tides and the fish and mammals inhabiting the Ancient Seas, as well as geography, native superstitions, and the flora and fauna of nearby islands.
Savion was also amazed at how much they had in common. Their appreciation for the art of Flionna—the fluid lines, vivid colors, and expressions of pain he painted on his portraits. And Bettricheil’s music—the intensity and passion in every note. They spent hours discussing such things and during that time, all her masks slipped off unnoticed, and she was just …
Perdita.
What he found even more astounding was her resolute defense of her own opinions, which were not easily altered—no matter Savion’s arguments to the contrary. Though most of the time they agreed, her unwillingness to be convinced on certain points intrigued him. Only in Nevaeh had he found women possessing such freedom of individuality and thought. For a woman who seemed intent on seducing him most of the time, these moments in which she refused to give in to him on some point of history or political thought were moments he found himself utterly lost in her.
And he both hated it and loved it.
“How do you know so much?” he asked her on his sixth day of recovery after she’d brought him his noonday meal. Outside, dark clouds shielded the sun, and the ship teetered over a heavy swell.
“Do you believe a woman incapable of deep thought?”
He sat in a chair, a bandage wrapped tightly around his chest, his lunch of tea, turtle stew, and banana crisps beside him on a table. “I’ve met many intelligent women, some far wiser than me, but none of them look like you.”
At first her brow wrinkled. Then—and much to Savion’s dismay—her lips curved and the seductress returned. “Beauty and brains cannot exist together?”
He stared at her, longing for the real Perdita, but instead she sashayed his way and leaned to pour his tea, offering him a view of the figure spilling from her bodice.
Disappointed, he took the pot from her. “I can do it. I’m recovered now and in no need of a nursemaid.” He regretted his harsh tone.
Wind whistled outside the window as thunder rumbled in the distance.
Grabbing a few banana crisps, she moved away, not hiding her pain at his dismissal, and plopped them in her mouth. But there was nothing he could do about it. As much as he enjoyed this woman’s company, he didn’t trust her. And trust was everything to him.
The deck canted over a wave, and Perdita took advantage of her imbalance to throw herself in Savion’s lap. She’d been wanting to get this close to him for days as he sat in the same chair, the muscles of his bare chest taunting her to touch them—to touch him and feel his warmth and strength. The more they talked and laughed, the more she wanted to crawl in his arms. And this was the perfect excuse. But no sooner had she pressed her curves against his rock-hard chest, than he pushed her off as if she had Gengees plague. Flustered as she’d never seen him, he grabbed a shirt, tossed it over his head—wincing from his wound—and led her to a chair.
“You’d better sit, Perdita. Seems we are in for a rough ride.”
She slunk, more than sat, in the chair. Frustration ate at her hope. She’d enjoyed her time with Savion immensely, and she knew he felt the same. She’d sensed him softening toward her, seen the looks of longing in his eyes, but whenever she tried to charm him, he put her off.
Petrok poked his head in, a blast of rain-spiced wind barreling in behind him. “A storm, Captain. A pretty bad one. Are you up to taking command?”
Savion nodded, told her to stay put, and left.
A flash of lightning scored the dark sky outside the windows, and with it came a glorious idea—a frighteningly glorious idea. She knew exactly what she had to do.
Chapter 11
Damien Gund slammed the brandy to the back of his throat and tossed the empty glass to a passing wench. Surprisingly she caught it and glowered at him as she made her way to the bar. He focused his attention back on the slimy worm of a man pilfering drink after drink from him with a promise of forthcoming information.
“Do tell us, Mr. Menlend, about the woman you saw?” Damien glanced at his two men flanking the reprobate, both ready to pounce on him and use less than serendipitous means to extract the information should he renege on his promise.
Licking his lips, Menlend’s glazed eyes scanned the drinks Damien had purchased for him lined up across the stained table: Rum, Brandy, Port, Gin, Whisper, and the finest Dray from Cassinaw.
After gulping down the third one, he whistled for a trollop lingering by the stairway. The buxom woman bounced over, plopped in his lap, and promptly held out her hand. Menlend’s eyes met Damien’s.
Fighting back his annoyance, Damien flipped the woman a coin. She expertly caught it—did women have special ability to catch things in taverns?—then began reaching inside the man’s shirt to fondle his chest.
“The woman?” Damien demanded.
“Ah, yes.” Menlend sipped his fourth drink and leaned toward Damien as if he were telling him some grand secret. “Naked as a beached porpoise, says I. Ne’er saw anything like it. Right there on the beach.” He shook his head and whistled. “She be a looker too. Woooyee. I’ll tell ye. Every curve in its place wi
th lots to spare, if ye know what I mean.”
Damien’s friends lifted their brows, but Damien frowned. He could care less what the woman looked like. “You said she came from the water.”
“Aye, right out o’ the sea, she walked, all casual an’ confident … like goin’ fer an evenin’ swim in the raw was as natural as strolling down Main Street.”
The trollop dove her head into the man’s neck and showered him with kisses.
“Then what happened?” Damien raised his voice, jerking the man from his revelry.
“Sailors attacked her, like I said, but then others came t’ her rescue.”
“Who?”
“Dunno. I knows he was a captain o’ one of the ships in the bay. The Scepter, methinks. But they be gone now. Sailed away five days ago.”
“And you are sure they took her on board?”
The man offered the woman one of his drinks and then downed his last one. “As far as I know.”
Damien nodded at his friends, and they jerked the man and woman from the chair and shoved them on their way.
One of Damien’s men took the vacated seat. “It’s her.”
“Aye, has to be. It’s been ten years.” Ten years in which Damien had done nothing but search the Ancient Seas. Ten long miserable years waiting to avenge his father’s death. And ten years before that. During that time, he’d paid handsomely for eyes and ears in every major port. The mermaid would choose a place heavily populated with vulnerable men, and when she surfaced, Damien would hear about it. Just as he did three nights ago. It had taken him another two nights to arrive at Hoffnung. Apparently it was worth the trip.
This was the best lead he’d had in years. He fingered the rare Caestrian lace on his sleeves.
One of his colleagues ordered a drink and rubbed his hands together. “I can almost hear the chink of coins!”
The other man’s eyes flashed. “Is it true her tears turn to pearls?”
Damien nodded. “We’ll make a fortune off her. She’ll also fetch a pretty price from people wanting to see a real mermaid. And another thing.” He leaned toward them. “They say she has healing powers too.”
His men were near salivating.
“What d’ye need more money for?” one of them asked, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “You already own two islands filled with sugar and coffee plantations an’ enough slaves to mine for yer silver. Plus you have the ear of Natas.”
Damien smiled. He’d worked hard to ally himself with the most powerful man in Erden. He twisted the over-sized ruby on his finger, drawing the attention of one of the trollops, along with several men. He could feel the envy of these commoners, could feel their admiration. “One can never have enough riches. Or power,” he finally said. And he intended to get more of both.
“D’ye know who commands this Scepter?” his man asked with a sinister grin.
“Yes, and we shouldn’t have any trouble finding him. And the mermaid with him.”
When Damien captured her, she’d pay for his father’s death by a life of imprisonment, making Damien the wealthiest and most powerful man in Erden. Even more powerful than Natas.
♥♥♥
Ignoring Savion’s command to stay below, Perdita made her way through the companionway, wincing and groaning as the bucking ship slammed her into the bulkhead on one side of the narrow hallway and then into the other. Once she made it above deck, she fared no better. A fist of wind nearly scooped her up and tossed her overboard. Thankfully, she managed to brace herself against the mainmast. Rain stabbed her like liquid arrows. The ship vaulted, lifting her from the deck and slamming her down as if she were but a doll and the ship naught but a toy. Thunder roared in laughter.
Savion’s voice passed over her in broken clips of commands and encouragements. She found him above on the quarterdeck assisting his helmsman with the wheel and shouting orders to those within earshot. Sodden hair whipped around his face, and his shirt lashed his chest and arms. Yet, despite it all, an odd peace surrounded him. A confidence. What a remarkable man. His eyes met hers, and she could sense his displeasure at seeing her above.
The ship canted. Losing her grip, she toppled over the deck and finally grabbed onto a latch grating. Terrified shouts assailed her from above where men clung to yards and lines, adjusting sail.
The ship righted and Petrok, hair plastered to his bearded face, charged toward her and shouted over the storm. “Captain says to go below. It’s not safe!”
“Are we going to die?” She pretended to be alarmed.
Hona appeared beside her. Taking her arm, he helped her to stand. “No, miss. We’ve survived far worse than this.” He led her down companionway and halfway to the cabin, then released her and turned to leave.
“Can the captain swim?” Her shout spun him to face her.
Rain plastered blond hair to his head, the ends dripping onto his shirt. “Aye, miss, not to worry. He’s the best swimmer of all of us. But never fear, there’ll be no need for that.”
The sweet lad gave her a sincere smile, and she suddenly regretted what she must do. But there was naught to be done for it. Creeping back to the ladder, she glanced above at the raging torrent. Water gushed down on her, slapping her face. She probably deserved it.
She hesitated there, clinging to the ladder as the ship tossed her back and forth, debating what she was about to do. Savion’s commanding voice sounded from above, sparking something within her she dared not admit. She’d come to know him these past days: wise, understanding, brave—not to mention the kindest, most unselfish man she’d ever known. The chances of him risking his life for her were beyond good. But what if he died? How could she bear it?
The ship bucked and shoved her backward. Her behind hit the hard wood at the bottom of the ladder. Pain shot up her spine as water sloshed over the deck and seeped through her already-wet gown. Gripping the bottom rung, she dragged herself up and fought her way to the main deck.
She could do this. She had to do this. They’d be in Kadon tomorrow, and Savion would deposit her on shore as promised. Even if he had grown fond of her—which she wasn’t altogether sure of—he was too honorable a man to keep her on the ship. She would never see him again.
Lunging onto the slippery deck, she covered her face with her arms against the wind, and headed toward the railing. Rain stung. Wind shoved. And more than once she nearly slipped. But she finally made it, gripped the saturated wood, and glanced at the seething, dark water flinging the ship up and down like a teeter-totter.
She could do this. Gulping down her fear, she glanced over her shoulder at Savion still on the quarterdeck. Good. He saw her. His jaw stiffened, and he started across the deck. A flash of light appeared beside him. The outline of a man. There one second, and then gone.
She faced forward again. She was seeing things. If her plan failed … if it failed, she’d drift at sea for twenty more days at the mercy of tide and water. She didn’t relish the pain. Or the loneliness and despair.
How could she be sure Savion would rescue her? Or that he wouldn’t simply send one of his crew? Nay, he was not the type of man to allow a woman to drown or send others to risk their lives in his place.
One more glance told her Savion was nearly upon her. So she did what she must. She climbed atop the bulwarks and jumped into the raging sea.
♥♥♥
Savion’s chest constricted. He swiped water from his eyes, hoping he was seeing things. But no. Perdita had been standing there. And now she was gone. He dashed to the railing and nearly slipped overboard himself. Rain pelted him as he tried to focus on the churning water. There. He spotted her, arms flailing, head bobbing.
“A rope!” he shouted to Petrok, who appeared beside him, his expression equally shocked.
“But Captain—”
“A rope! Tie it to the mast!”
Petrok did as he was told and handed the end to Savion. He looped it around his waist, secured it, and made for the railing.
“Captain!” Petrok s
houted above the storm. “She’s gone! It’s too late!”
But Savion couldn’t think of that now. All he knew was that if he didn’t at least try, Perdita would drown. He scanned the sea one last time, seeking the peace within. The ship lurched. He tightened his grip on the railing and hunched against a wave crashing over them. Movement caught his eye, and he turned to see the bright outline of a man standing on the foredeck, wearing the full armor of Nevaeh, unhindered by either the leap of the ship or crash of waves. A blast of wind and he was gone.
Reassured, Savion leapt on the railing and dove into the water.
The force of the storm slapped him like an old enemy—an enemy that was soon muted as water caved in on Savion and shoved him deeper and deeper. The peace beneath the storm was a false peace—a peace that would lead to death. True peace came from within. That peace rose within him now, warmed the medallion on his chest, and forced him to surface. Thunder met him with a growl, but lightning revealed someone in the distance rising on the crest of a wave. A scream sped past his ears, and he started in that direction, fighting off every punch of water and thrust of wind—his one thought to save Perdita. Foolish, stubborn woman!
One glance at his ship told him Petrok was raising storm sails in an effort to gain some maneuverability while most of his crew lined the railing staring at the scene in horror. A wave flung Savion into the air, then abandoned him. He dropped several feet back into the water. The sea struck him like a brick. Pain scraped his back and pierced the wound in his side.
But he’d seen the Guardian, and the peace remained. Still, waves beat him down, water flooded his nose and lungs. He pressed on, unsure of where the woman was but sensing the direction … following the inward guidance he’d grown to trust.
Lightning scored the sky. The rope grew taut and yanked him back. A massive swell rose above him, and he dove into its base. He punched through the surface, coughing and spitting out water. And there she was, right before him! He grabbed her and turned to signal his crew.
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