Tears of the Sea

by Marylu Tyndall

  Of course every man who had done that had ended up abandoning her.

  Alas, this man placed no value on sexuality or beauty. She’d not missed the admiration in his eyes when he mentioned her gifts to the poor, when he’d caught her telling the truth. Nay, this man valued honor, truth, and charity.

  But how could she give him things she didn’t possess?

  “You don’t have to be frightened,” he finally said, raising his hand to touch her but then dropping it to his side. “You are safe here.”

  There it was, the longing again in his eyes. So, he did find her appealing. He did long to touch her. “Thank you, Savion.” She rose and threw herself into his arms, releasing a shuddering sob she wished she could give in to, for tears truly did fill her eyes. Especially when his strength surrounding her felt so good, so right, and made her feel so safe. Drawing her close, he embraced her tighter, and rested his chin atop her head.

  “It’s all right, Perdita. You must learn to stay out of trouble.” He chuckled then grew silent as he stroked the hair falling down her back.

  A cyclone rose in her belly—a pleasurable one that radiated through her body. ’Twas the usual desire, but yet so much more—’twas peace and safety and hope like she’d never known before. There, in his arms, she felt as though she’d come home, and the past three hundred years were but a bad dream. She breathed deeply of him and relaxed in his embrace—wanting to remember everything about this moment.

  His body stiffened, and he pushed her away. Flustered and breathing hard, he retreated around the desk, grabbed his sword, and sheathed it.

  “What did I do? Forgive me if I offended you.” She squeezed back tears. “Oh, Savion, why don’t you love me?”

  “Love? I hardly know you, Perdita. Love must grow out of mutual respect and admiration.”

  Perdita couldn’t help but huff. “That sounds more like fealty between servant and master than love. Love between a man and a woman starts with attraction, chemistry.” She searched his eyes for the attraction she’d seen there so often.

  But instead, they were cold and filled with pity. “If you believe that, you know nothing of love.”

  “And what do you know of it? Have you ever loved a woman?”

  She regretted her harsh tone when pain etched across his face. “I have. Much to my regret.” He swallowed. “And I can tell you that what is between you and me is not love, Perdita. Love doesn’t badger. It doesn’t lie. It doesn’t cause the object of its affections pain. It doesn’t get angry, isn’t jealous. It does not seek its own pleasure but the pleasure of the one it loves.”

  Anger, lying, seeking her own pleasure, causing pain—all the things she had done to him and so many others. Suddenly she felt as small and worthless as a ship mouse.

  “Besides,” he added. “You are but a test I must pass. That is all.”

  A sharp pain twisted her insides. Backing away, she averted her eyes from his piercing stare and almost wished he would leave before he wounded her further.

  He did.

  The slam of the door struck her heart with the finality.

  Still tingling from his embrace, Perdita staggered to sit on the bed and fought back tears. She had thought she could no longer feel the pain of rejection, but this man, this Savion, touched her heart in places she didn’t know existed.

  And he thought she was difficult to understand.

  In his absence, a chill swept through the cabin, trying to steal the sensation, the smell of him away. She didn’t want it to leave. She wanted to remember him forever. Even if, in his naivety, he referred to love as if it were some sort of contract or friendship, cold and without passion, when in truth, it was magical and mysterious and made one feel alive and special. He’d probably never even been with a woman. What did he know?

  She drifted in and out of a restless sleep in which Ivan number fifteen made an appearance—McKale Wolf. Hair the color of bronze with muscles equal to the metal’s strength, he was a colonel in King Abbas’s army. Courageous, passionate, mighty—what better choice of a man to risk his life for her? Though he could have his pick of women, he’d been easy enough to charm, and within days she’d had him falling at her feet like a limp noodle. In the weeks that followed, she found herself caring for the man despite his bumbling attempts to woo her. For a warrior, he was kind and thoughtful, albeit a bit vain, and he didn’t hide the fact that he adored her. In truth, he made her feel like a princess, as if she truly had value and worth. She never wanted their time together to end.

  The skirmish between Abbas’s 5th Calvary and Natas’s horde of Malum had lasted for hours. Hiding amongst the shrubs on the edge of the battlefield, Perdita waited, watching, admiring McKale’s skill at fighting, but seeking that one moment when she could enter the fray and cause him to risk himself to save her. He’d more than proven both his courage and his love for her. This was the moment! Soon she would be free.

  The battle turned in favor of the Malum, and soon Abbas’s forces issued a retreat. The Malum gave chase. Now! Perdita ran into the center of the field between the two forces and called out McKale’s name. He spun on his horse and gaped at her, at first with shock, then with fear as he eyed the advancing Malum. Seconds passed as Perdita’s heart vaulted in her chest like one of the horses galloping toward her.

  He mouthed the word sorry, then jerked the reins and sped away. Unable to breathe for her severed heart, she started to run, but her legs wouldn’t move. The Malum horde struck her, the hooves of their horses trampling her over and over.

  Thinking her dead, they left her lying face down in the mud. She’d spent days in excruciating pain, gnawed on by bugs and other vermin and breathing in dirt and horse manure until some of her strength returned, and she crawled to shore and slipped into the sea.

  Rejected again. And from a man to whom she had given her all and would have loved forever.

  Something slid down her cheek, tickling. She reached up and felt a pearl. Jarring awake, she sat, heart pounding, and blinked to dry her eyes lest any more tears escape. She must be more careful. She must have no more dreams that would cause her to cry. Swinging her feet over the edge of the bed, she rose, pressed down her gown, and headed out the door. She needed fresh air. She needed to clear her head of her haunting past—of the wounds she would forever carry in her heart.

  With most of the sails furled for the night, only a few sailors roamed about the ship. Standing at the railing, she allowed the wind to ease fingers through her hair, a sensation she missed sorely when she lived in the water. With twelve days left, she was out of ideas to make Savion fall in love with her. If his idea of love was truly all the qualities he mentioned, not only did she possess none of them, they were all things freely given to the one loved. She could not force them or lure them or seduce them from him. She could not even use her beauty and her body to draw them out.

  Who loved so unselfishly anyway? No one she’d ever met.

  Yet … she did see desire in his eyes. Alas, whenever it appeared, he retreated quicker than a startled sea anemone. Mayhap ’twas hopeless. Mayhap she should allow him to leave her in some town where she could at least enjoy good food and the camaraderie of others during her last days on land.

  “Good evening, Miss Mulier.” The sultry voice caused her to jump.

  Verrad slipped beside her and gave her a disingenuous smile.

  “Good evening, Mr. …”

  “Verrad Jud. But please call me Verrad. Can’t sleep?” He cocked his head at her, and the malicious look in his eyes made her skin crawl.

  “Or do mermaids not need to sleep?”

  Chapter 16

  There wasn’t a spot on Perdita’s body that didn’t scream in pain. From the raw skin beneath the ropes that bound her legs and hands, to the roots of her hair that had been yanked repeatedly, to the bruises where she’d been punched and slapped, down to the burns on the bottom of her feet—each torture inflicted by the madman now pacing before her in a small storeroom in the bowels of
the Scepter.

  He rubbed the dark stubble on his chin and glared at her with eyes like a sea serpent. “What does it take to make you cry, mermaid?”

  Perdita struggled against the twine that bound her to the chair and fought back the tears this man so diligently and desperately had tried to extract from her for hours. “I told you I am not a mermaid.”

  “Then shed a tear and prove it!”

  Monstrous shadows, cast by the light of a single lantern, stalked across the bulkhead, witnesses of her judgment. “I don’t know what I have done to make you torture me, Mr. Verrad, but I beg you, please let me go.” She tasted blood on her lips and prayed his strikes to her face had not marred her beauty overmuch.

  He snorted. “If you would only cry—just one tear—I would release you. It is a simple request.” He leaned to study her as one would a strange fish caught in a net. “Yet for some reason you’ve not shed a single tear when most women would have been reduced to a sobbing puddle. Why is that?” He brushed a lock of hair from her face.

  “I told you I don’t cry easily.”

  “Humph. Apparently.” He brought himself up and drew his long knife. “Could you not make an exception for Verrad? Hmm? Most women—if you even are one—are experts at conjuring up tears on a moment’s notice.”

  “I am not most women.” Light flashed at her from the blade, and she trembled at how far he would go to prove his theory.

  “Precisely.” He grinned. “Which is what has brought us here.”

  The ship creaked and groaned as her insides were doing, and Perdita searched her memories of when she had slipped up, for the mistake that had roused his suspicions.

  “What makes you think I’m a mermaid?”

  Verrad shoved his disheveled hair back, his eyes dark and sinister. “Damien Gund believes you to be so. That’s good enough for me. Ah, yes. I see it in your eyes. I also saw it in your eyes when he sauntered into the clearing. The terror, the knowing. He’s been searching for the mermaid who murdered his father. And he won’t give up until he finds her.” He slapped the blade against his palm. “By his actions yesterday, I’d say he believes you are she.”

  “He’s as mad as you are.”

  The ship tilted. Balancing on the heaving deck, Verrad came alongside her and leveled the knife at her neck. The tip pierced her skin. Her breath came fast. Stepping back, he raised his hand and slapped her across the face. Pain seared her cheek and down her neck. She thought of happy moments, flowers and butterflies, the feel of land beneath her feet, and delicious food—anything to stop the tears from flowing. For if they did, this man would either sell her to Damien or keep her for himself.

  Placing hands on his knees, he leaned over to peer in her eyes. “Still no tears? Hmm. Pain doesn’t work. But what will?” He wiped the blood on his knife on his sleeve. “Ah, perhaps a different kind of pain.” Pulling up a crate he sat down. “You seem interested in my captain for some reason . . . perhaps in gaining his love? If I recall what Damien Gund told me, that was your tactic with his father as well. Love. Something which eludes you, I’m guessing?” His smile turned victorious, biting.

  Perdita stared at her lap, ignoring the pang in her heart.

  “Aha. So that’s it. You’ve been rejected. Had your heart broken, have you?” He leaned over, elbows on his knees, and studied her. “Has nobody ever loved poor Perdita? Poor unloved, unwanted Perdita. You may be beautiful on the outside, but you are an empty shell on the inside, aren’t you? Unable to attract the affections of anyone longer than it takes for them to bed you and toss you aside like the refuse you are.”

  Perdita’s eyes filled with uncontrollable tears.

  ♥♥♥

  Petrok snored. Louder than the groan of the ship and the thunder of sails. So loud it rattled Savion’s brain. Yet that was not what kept him awake. It was the woman gracing his cabin, his bed, forcing him to share sleeping quarters with his first mate. It was the woman who had his insides all twisted in confusion, who had nothing to recommend her except her beauty. And yet, the one who had a grip on his heart like no other. It was the woman he regretted informing she was just a test he had to pass, a means to an end. The pain in her eyes haunted him. How could he have been so cruel? Everyone had value in the Kingdom of Erden. In his longing to go home, had he forgotten all that his father had taught him?

  The eerie whistle of wind through the rigging above sent a chord of unease through him. Something was amiss. A disturbing sensation—aside from his guilt—that forbade sleep. And unlike most of his premonitions, this one came from nearby, not hailing from some distant shore. Tossing off his coverlet, he sat and rubbed his eyes, seeking guidance from within. Yet all he sensed was a strong desire to throw a pillow atop Petrok’s snoring face.

  Instead, he stood, threw a shirt over his head, and started out the door, following the leading of the medallion and the agitation in his gut. After ensuring all was well on the main deck, he started down the ladder to the gun deck, where most of the men were asleep in their shifting hammocks, snoring even louder than Petrok. He descended another ladder into the hold.

  A woman’s groan lifted the hairs on his arms. Male laughter sent him storming toward a set of storage cabins at the stern. Lantern light slithered through the bottom of a closed door, and he barreled into it with his shoulder. It flung open to a sight that froze Savion in his tracks: Perdita, lip and cheek red and swollen, hair dangling in her face, tied to a chair with Verrad standing over her like the henchman of an evil king.

  “What is the meaning of this? What have you done?” Savion threw him aside, then knelt to untie her bonds, the raw skin beneath the ropes incensing his anger.

  Verrad leapt back toward her. “Look at her eyes, Captain. Watch her eyes! She’s about to cry!”

  Savion freed her arms and feet and glanced at her face. Tear-filled eyes gazed at him with both sorrow and relief. Blood seeped from a gash on her arm. Fuming, he rose, knocked the bloody knife out of Verrad’s grip, then grabbed the man by the lapels of his waistcoat, and shoved him against the bulkhead. “Of course she’s about to cry. You’re torturing her!” he seethed, longing to pummel Verrad as the man had done to Perdita. Instead, he released him and backed away. “By the stars of Lemox, what possessed you to strike a woman?”

  Petrok stormed through the door, but with one look from Savion, held his ground.

  The hatred in Verrad’s eyes set Savion aback. The purser ran the back of his hand over his mouth, then pointed at Perdita. “She’s a mermaid.”

  Petrok laughed.

  Savion blinked at the ridiculous notion. He took a step toward Verrad and sniffed. “Are you drunk, man? Or perhaps all the liquor you consume has finally eaten away your brain.”

  “It’s true. She is here to lure you to your death beneath the seas.”

  “Don’t be absurd! Mermaids are only fables, Verrad. Myths fabricated from sailors exposed to too much sun and rum.”

  “Her tears turn to pearls,” Verrad insisted.

  Petrok gave a snort of disgust. “We always wondered about your sanity, Verrad.”

  “You tortured her to make her cry!” Savion’s disbelief rose with his fury.

  “To prove to you who … what she is! But the wench refuses to cry.” Verrad raised his voice. “Have you ever seen her cry? Just once?”

  A worm of doubt inched its way through Savion’s mind. “Rubbish! She was in the sea and no tail appeared.”

  “I know. I don’t understand that.” Verrad shook his head and frowned.

  “I’ll hear no more of it! Petrok, lock Verrad in his quarters until I decide what to do with him.” Then, drawing an arm around her, Savion helped Perdita to her feet. She winced, and he sat her back down to examine her feet. “You burned her feet?” He rose, hands fisted, and glared at Verrad.

  But the purser made no response.

  “Get him out of here!” Savion shouted as he swept Perdita in his arms.

  Petrok yanked the man out the door just as a mu
ffled boom thundered through the hull, shaking the timbers and raining down dust. Footsteps thudded above deck. The ladder creaked as someone descended in a hurry, but Savion knew they’d been fired upon before he heard the man’s anxious report.

  Charging up the ladder, Perdita in his arms, he exchanged a worried glance with Petrok and bellowed, “Battle Stations!”

  Chapter 17

  After carrying Perdita safely to his cabin and calling Haddeus to tend to her wounds, Savion marched across the main deck and focused his attention on the ship that loomed large against dawn’s glow on the horizon. As if her black sails weren’t enough proof, focusing his telescope on the flag bearing a dragon’s skull with red glowing eyes and pierced by six swords convinced him it was a Malum ship.

  “Malum,” Petrok confirmed from beside him.

  “Yes, but why attack us?” Savion lowered his scope. “They’ve always set traps or attacked by sabotage, never head-on.”

  “Indeed. Most curious.” Petrok rubbed his hands together. “But we can take them, can’t we, Captain?”

  Savion gave a confident huff. “Of course.”

  Nuto approached. “Orders, Captain?”

  “Prime and load the guns, Nuto, and run them out. Fire upon my order.”

  With a nod, the man ran off.

  Turning, Savion leapt onto the quarterdeck ladder, grabbed a line to steady himself, then turned and drew his crew’s attention. “These Malum intend to take our ship, gentlemen. Most likely to kill us since we have nothing of value on board. But we will not let them, will we?”

  “No!” Fists went into the air.

  “For King Abbas!” Savion shouted.

  “King Abbas!”

  “Then, let’s to it, men! Clew up the mainsail! Let’s give our new friends a proper greeting, shall we? Twenty degrees to starboard, Hona!”