He set it down and then lowered to crawl under the hammock with her. Plank pulled her into his arms, and she rested her head against his shoulder.
“Ye be recallin’ it all then?” he whispered in her hair.
She stilled. Memory loss hadn’t occurred to her as an option. Maybe she could take the easy way out with this. Her fathers had to be just as mortified as she was. Ebba winced, remembering how she’d scaled Calypso’s body, how she’d torn off his . . . fabric skirt thing. When she thought of Jagger and Caspian in the boat with her, and what she’d said, mortification flooded through her. They saw and heard everything.
The temptation to shrink away, to not talk was nearly overwhelming. And she could choose to bury the truth; she knew all too well how her fathers would go along with whatever she decided. Yet, Ebba didn’t want to do that—not when she’d seen how talking could help. She felt sick inside, her soul burdened. Carrying the trouble by herself was a ploy she’d often used in the past. But this time, Ebba feared what it might do to her to bury the turmoil.
“Calypso was a man,” she whispered.
Plank tightened his hold. “Aye, little nymph. He was. And we’re right sorry for allowin’ that to happen to ye.”
“It ain’t yer fault,” she said, feeling her body relax from Locks’ drink. “Ye can’t always be there to protect me.”
“Perhaps not. But we’ll always try our best. And we’ll never stop wantin’ to protect ye.”
She blinked. “Grubby was on deck. He told me to go.”
“That man ain’t Grubby,” Plank growled. “Not the one we know and love.”
No, he never would’ve let her go out there, even being a smidgen slower than most. But then, knowing a selkie’s nature to be geared around the drinking of tea, Ebba couldn’t quite summon the energy to sustain being mad.
“The stuff be kickin’ in,” she admitted as her eyes grew heavy.
“Then let’s get ye into a hammock so ye can sleep.”
“Nay,” Ebba murmured. “I’d like to stay right here.” It was safe.
“We’ll stay here then. But little nymph?”
“Mmm?”
He squeezed her shoulders. “Ye know what happened ain’t yer fault, don’t ye? Ye know he had magic to use against ye and that ye had no chance of fightin’ back? I remember how it was with the siren.”
“Ye all said ye didn’t recall that.”
Plank didn’t answer immediately. “Aye, we did. Seemed easier at the time. The siren made us feel . . . pained love and want. But that ain’t what love feels like, and we all had normal memories to compare the experience to. But ye don’t. What ye felt with Calypso wasn’t what ye’d feel in real life.”
“What about my response?” Ebba asked, giving up the battle to keep her eyes open.
He paused. “Uh . . . well. If ye find the right person, I’d say your, uh . . . that would be similar-like.”
“Don’t hurt yerself, Plank,” she muttered.
Her father snorted. “We thought this talk would be another twenty years off.”
“Twenty years?” Ebba yawned, snuggling closer. “I’ll be nearly dead by forty.”
“Thanks,” Plank replied drily. “But serious time, little nymph. What Calypso did twisted a pure thing. When touchin’—the kissin’ and the like—be done for the right reasons, they’re beaut’ful. And none o’ my co-parents want ye to grow afraid o’ explorin’ that. In twenty years. Part o’ me wishes ye’d already been kissed just so ye’d understand what I be sayin’. It was a shameful way to exper’ence it for the first time.”
His words made fundamental sense to her. Because what she’d had with Caspian had felt safe and warm and exciting. Not harsh and all-consuming and anguished.
“I’ve kissed someone,” she said sleepily. “Ye don’t need to be worryin’ about that.”
Plank stilled, and she made a noise of complaint as his grip grew painful. He loosened his hold, and Ebba began to drift, safe in her father’s arms.
“Oh?” he replied, an edge to his voice.
She tried to open an eyelid but couldn’t. “Mm,” she replied.
“Anyone I know, little nymph? Ye can be tellin’ me.”
A twinge of alarm buried under hundreds of blankets of thick cloud told her otherwise. And so, instead of clawing back out of the clouds to answer him, Ebba sank blissfully into their folds. Into oblivion.
* * *
“Isn’t it uncomfortable down there?” Caspian bent down to see into the cozy nook she’d created under the hammock.
In the day since her lip fest with Calypso, Locks had piled up blankets to cushion her from the hard, wooden floor. Peg-leg had brought her a fruit platter, and Stubby kept her goblet filled with grog. Grubby hadn’t been down to see her, but from a few shouted words that made their way below deck, she’d guessed that her other fathers were barring him.
Cocooned in a blanket with only her eyes showing, she didn’t look at the prince. Ebba was burningly aware their last conversation had included several mentions of ‘demon.’
“Nay, it’s fine.” Her voice was muffled.
Her cheeks flushed as he maintained his stare. She could feel his intense perusal like a series of small pinches on her arms.
“You don’t need to hide down here, Ebba,” Caspian said.
She sniffed. “I ain’t hidin’.”
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
She peeked through the tiny gap in her cocoon. His gaze was too bright and, after a few seconds, Ebba had to lower her head again.
Caspian shuffled underneath the hammock to sit next to her. “I knew something was wrong when we were coming up to Calypso. It was too quiet. We could feel the ship changing direction and jerking around. But each of us was remembering what you described with the siren, so we didn’t dare come up.”
“Ye don’t recall?” Her fathers had.
“You pushed me down the ladder, didn’t you?”
True.
He continued, “I didn’t want to be a hindrance, so though I knew I should go to you, I didn’t.” His fist curled. “I’m so very sorry.”
“It ain’t yer fault.”
The prince shrugged. “That doesn’t stop me from being angry at myself for letting you down.” He glanced at her.
Caspian reached forward for the edges of the blanket, and she let him pull it open; she was fully clothed beneath. The prince shifted to sit beside her against the post and pulled her into his side before tossing another blanket over them. Ebba tucked in the edges so they were both cocooned within.
“I ain’t ashamed o’ my part in what happened,” she admitted. “I didn’t do nothin’ wrong—he did. But I can’t get the feeling out o’ my skull. His magic made me feel as though I was drownin’ in want. And I guess I’m ashamed ye all saw it. I feel sick about that more than anythin’. Because I can’t keep it a secret now.”
Touch itself, between two willing people, was beautiful. That was what Plank said. Touching for the right reasons was okay. It was Calypso’s reasons that were wrong. Yet he was an immortal heeding the call of his nature, driven to fulfil his purpose like all magical beings.
She was confused about that part.
Caspian kissed her temple, and warmth surged within her at the gesture. “I know what you mean. You have no idea how I wish you never saw me in those first weeks after I lost my arm. I could have met you again when I was stronger. When someone hasn’t seen you at your lowest, it’s easier to pretend nothing is the matter.”
She frowned, nuzzling closer to him. “There’s nowhere I would’ve wanted to be than there helpin’ ye put yerself back together.”
“That’s what I feel. I want to help you. Yet I also know from my own experience that a person only heals because they want to—no matter how much a beautiful pirate might be trying her hardest to force the recovery.”
Ebba grinned.
Her smile faded after a beat. “I was nervous about seein’ ye. I know we talk
ed about yer feelings for me not long ago. I didn’t want ye to blame me for what happened with Calypso. Or be upset.”
Caspian rested his head atop hers. “If I’m honest, I hated what I saw. I hated seeing you kissing another. That look of passion in your eyes, I want that for myself. I was jealous of Calypso. But most of all, I loathed that he was controlling you. No one has a right to do that to another being. I’ve only wished to kill someone once before, but I would’ve killed Calypso without regret.”
“Pockmark be the other?” she asked and felt his answering nod.
She thought of the intense fervor she’d felt for the immortal being and shuddered. “I don’t ever want to feel that way again, Caspian. It was torture. Even as I was crazy for more, I was tearin’ off my skin for the want o’ him. That ain’t sane or healthy. If we ever have sumpin’, I don’t wish it to be like that.”
Ebba turned her face up to look at him, blinking when she found him already watching her.
“Have you thought more about us?” he asked.
She hadn’t thought of anything but the feel of Calypso in the last two days and sincerely hoped the lingering lust would disappear in time.
Ebba sighed, listening to the calls of her fathers on the main deck. “I guess. I ain’t sure where to begin. Is there an order to follow?”
“I don’t think so,” he said. “The ship . . . changes things.”
Snickering, Ebba called him out. “Ye mean bein’ on a ship with my six fathers changes things.”
His amber eyes glinted. “Well, yes. Usually, I would court you. We would go on chaperoned strolls around the castle; I’d ask you to be my partner to a ball or two; our families might dine together. And when we could, we might steal moments in each other’s arms in some hidden corner of a hall.”
Heat crept along the tops of her cheeks.
“That is the order I know.”
She smiled at the picture he’d painted her. “That’s a nice order. But all o’ yer things involved castles.” Pirates didn’t belong in castles. Maybe only on occasion.
“What do you think about me asking your fathers if I can court you?”
Ebba’s stomach swooped. “I be thinkin’ that the Dynami Sea is very black and very deep. And it’s a long way to swim back to Zol.”
His lips curved. “Yes, perhaps.”
“So what? Ye do that stuff—the strollin’ and whatnot, and then what? I’m missin’ the part where the feelings happen.”
Caspian winced.
Replaying her words, Ebba also winced. “Aye, sorry. That sounded bad. I mean, I feel safe with ye. I like to spend time with ye, and—”
The prince arched a brow, and she trailed off.
He traced her face, first her eyes and then her lips. “You’ve never led me to believe you feel otherwise, so please do not pain yourself. The idea of courtship is that you get to know the other person and that, if the stars align, you develop a regard for the other.”
But Caspian already held a regard for her, and they hadn’t done any of that stuff.
“I see,” Ebba lied.
“You have no idea how I felt the first time you asked me to kiss you.” He chuckled under his breath. “For a moment, I forgot about my arm, about my father’s death, about all the problems in my life, thinking you might feel something for me.”
Ebba chewed on her lip, still staring up at him. That was everything she wanted him to forget. She didn’t want Caspian to feel pain; she wanted him to see what she saw—someone capable of changing the world.
“Ye see things through yer amber eyes I could only be dreamin’ o’,” she confessed to him.
Slowly, she inched her fingertips to his face and drew light circles around the burning orbs. Caspian closed his eyes, sighing at her touch.
Being in his embrace felt nothing like Calypso’s. It was the exact opposite. There were no expectations, no overwhelming desire that obliterated every thought in her head. She could talk to Caspian and knew he would always listen to her, always balance her impulsiveness—just as she might balance his need to think every little thing through.
“Caspian,” she said. “Will ye kiss me again?”
He studied her. Always thinking. “Might I ask why?”
“Ye always tend to,” she teased. “What am I to think if ye always do?”
The smile slid from her lips at the torn expression on his face.
He searched her face. “You were just taken advantage of. I don’t know how okay you are inside. In fact, I highly suspect you’re more hurt than you’re showing. I don’t want to take liberties when you’re vulnerable.”
“By sayin’ that, ye’ve ensured I know ye ain’t,” Ebba countered.
Her insides felt slippery with grime. But for once, Ebba wasn’t shoving the problem down and wishing it would disappear. And yet, Ebba had to admit that she wanted him to kiss her in order to scrub Calypso’s presence away. To replace a bad memory with a good one or, as Plank had said to her, to remind herself that what the immortal had done twisted something beautiful into ugliness.
“I want to.” She stopped, blinking a few times. Blasted eyes were like flooding scuppers. “I would like to remember what an actual kiss feels like. All I can feel is what Calypso did.”
Caspian’s brows slammed together. He ground his teeth so hard that Ebba could hear them complaining. “How I wish I’d hurt him.”
She watched the prince, wondering if he’d ever shown so much anger. Ebba felt enough anger and hurt herself right now that she didn’t want to see any more. “So? Are ye goin’ to leave me hangin’ or what?”
A smile trembled on his lips as amusement replaced his rage. “You know I’d never do that. But are you sure?”
Ebba rolled her eyes. “Aye.”
“Aye,” he mimicked.
Already wrapped in each other’s arms, Caspian lowered his head. His warm breath hit her a moment before his cool lips touched her bruised mouth. The smooth chill of them was a balm, and Ebba melded to his body. She kissed him in return, enjoying the gentle feel of their mouths moving. He increased the pressure, following as her head tilted slightly back.
He slid his hand upward to cup the base of her skull.
A pleasant tenderness filled Ebba, and she smiled, feeling Caspian’s answering curve of the lips just before they broke apart for air.
Ebba ducked her head and rested against his chest.
She smiled there, a thrill shooting through her as the buzz of silence grew.
“. . . I’ll never get sick of that,” he declared at last.
Ebba closed her eyes. “Thank ye. It was a beaut’ful kiss.”
They remained tangled around each other.
Still.
Quiet times aboard a ship were rare, and she was glad for the minutes with the prince to sooth her battered spirits. Actually . . . not a string of three minutes usually went by before someone charged down to grab tools or grog or to cook or clean. But that Plank would let Caspian down here and give them privacy—even if she hadn’t told him who she’d kissed—told her he’d guessed the truth.
Or hoped.
“I wish I had two arms to hold you with.”
Ebba pulled back. He avoided her gaze. “Ye said ye can still feel yer other arm.”
“I can.”
“And where is it now?” She arched a brow.
He darted a look at her, and she almost laughed at his guilty expression as he confessed, “Around your waist. Sorry.”
She shook her head and nuzzled in again. “Then ye are holdin’ me, codfish. Just don’t be puttin’ it any lower.”
Caspian’s body shook underneath her head as he gently laughed. “I could go a lifetime not feeling sorry for myself in your presence.”
And that’s exactly what she wanted for Caspian. Ebba never wanted him to feel less.
Eight
Aside from Grubby, only one person onboard hadn’t been to see her. Ebba dreaded meeting Jagger for the first time since Calypso.
He never ventured below deck if at all possible. That wasn’t what worried her. It was that Ebba didn’t know what he’d say. Anxiety filled her because the pirate never pretended. He was nice sometimes, and he wasn’t mean as such. Not really. Not now.
Jagger possessed a natural propensity to call a stone a stone, and the unpredictability of his honesty unsettled her.
Ebba creaked open the bilge door and peeked out. Stubby was alone at the helm. Safety. Pushing open the door, she slid out and shut it behind her, skimming on light feet to her father at the wheel.
“Ahoy.”
“Ahoy,” Stubby replied, tucking her into his side. “How are yer legs, lass?”
Bending over, she pulled up her slops to show him the scabs that had formed. They’d leave scars, but Ebba wasn’t fussed over things like that. “They don’t hurt too bad except if the scabs stretch overmuch. Where are we now?”
“We’re just goin’ in circles until ye had time to recover. Seems about all we were doin’ before anyhow.”
Ebba remained at the wheel with Stubby as she scanned the deck. She knew Locks, Barrels and Peg-leg were below deck. Plank was showing Caspian how to trim the sheets on the port side. Grubby was nowhere to be seen.
She asked, “Where’s Grubs?”
“Over the side, lass. He tends to be out there more than on deck.”
“Did ye all tear shreds off him?” she asked. Grubby was changed now, but in no way did that mean Ebba wanted him to leave.
Stubby’s hard expression told her the answer to that was yes. “We made it clear-like that he should think twice about his selkie traditions when it came to ye in the future. He’s been scarcer since.”
When he got back, she’d talk to him and clear the air. The ship was too small to let things fester, and the thought of him leaving sent a tendril of panic through her.
“How’re we goin’ to catch the next part if it keeps movin’?” she mused.
“We’ve been thinkin’ o’ stringin’ nets out, but in these seas, we be worried about what immortals we might catch. Still, it’s the best idea we’ve had. Other than that, maybe if we keep chasin’, whatever is carryin’ the part will tire.”
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