by Amy Marie
“Nevermind. It’s not right of me to put you in the position of breaking Caspian’s confidence. My apologies.”
“It’s not that.” He sighed and took a hearty drink of wine, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth when he was done. He lifted his gaze to hers and shrugged, a look of regret on his face. “You see, he confides much in me, but too much drink can make a tongue loose. Too loose. Has he spoken of you? Aye, he has. But to what extent would he have shared such confidences had he not been drunk? So, you see, I feel I can’t disclose much to you other than that he does speak of the friendship you once shared every now and again.”
Their friendship. A friendship she took for granted and cast to the bottom dwellers without a thought as to how her actions would hurt him. Well, ten years older and ten years wiser, she was beginning to understand regret with a clarity she cared not to admit.
“Would you mind walking with me to the docks when we’re done here? There’s some things I need to discuss with Caspian, sooner than this evening.”
A frown pulled at his full lips and a crease formed between his brows. He shook his head. “There’s been an uptick in activity from the royal guards this morning. I’ve been trying to find out why, but haven’t been fortunate. Caspian assured me there were no unusual ships coming to port today. He does not want you leaving his house without him, and I must say I agree. I’m aware he has some special”—Brack wiggled his fingers over his wine glass—“abilities that are far more helpful in protecting you than my fists.”
Recalling the abilities Caspian used last night in the alley, she merely nodded in agreement, taking her fill of wine. He hadn’t admitted to using his magic, and certainly not in such a brutal manner, but she couldn’t deny it. He’d saved her arm, maybe her life, when no one else dared cross that line.
Had news of the strange deaths reached the castle? Was that why there was more activity today?
As the sun rose higher in the sky, and the morning glare dulled into an even light, anxiety crept through her. She needed to keep busy. To do something to keep her mind off Caspian, and the possibility of trouble finding him at the docks.
She finished her wine and dabbed her lips with the napkin Caspian had left under the plate. “Brack, how good are you in the kitchen?”
The man stuttered, dribbling wine down his chin. He made a quick attempt to mop it up with his sleeve.
“Why do you ask?”
Aria shrugged. “Since I can’t go out and the day is still new, perhaps you can help me keep my mind off things until Caspian returns. I have no skills in a kitchen. I’ve never cooked a dish in my life. But Caspian’s been so generous that I want to make him a meal for when he comes home.” She pushed her dish aside and folded her hands together on the table. “And I need your help, if you can.”
“Well, then.” Brack clapped his hands together and rubbed them enthusiastically. “The kitchen is my specialty. You know, I taught Caspian everything he knows about cooking a fine meal. I will have you whipping up delights to rival his in no time!”
Chapter 6
The chest hit the dock with a loud thud that reverberated up through his feet. The waves had kicked up during the day, crashing against the piers and spraying over the rock walls. The scent of electricity and salt warned of an impending storm, the occasional rumble of thunder lighting fires beneath sailors’ asses.
Caspian hooked his thumbs on his leather belt, his patience wearing thin. He sat on needles all day, his attention continually veering from the job at hand to the woman waiting in his home. Aria was dangerous to him in more ways than he could name. The distractions that burdened him were hers alone. The increase in the number of royal guards patrolling the streets of Alamari didn’t sit well with him. When two came knocking on his office door a few hours ago, they left him bristling with anger, concern and curiosity.
What in the name of the gods was going on?
Keeping his impassive mask in place became a chore as one of the filthy mates fumbled with a large key. The man kept looking out at the roaring sea, apprehension clear on his face. His partner fidgeted, discomfort apparent in his darting eyes.
“You are my last ship and this is the last item I need to document. I don’t care to be stuck here when this storm rolls in. Surely you men wish to find yourselves swimming in mead and nuzzling a wanton’s breast, yes?”
The prospect of feminine charms always brought men like these to attention.
The one who handled the key seemed to find his balls and his aim. He popped the latch on the padlock and tugged the bulky thing off the hook.
He exchanged a satisfied, toothless grin with his partner, and the two men lifted the lid.
“Found it floating on the surface. Looks like sharks had at it.”
Caspian somehow managed to keep his shudder hidden beneath a faint sheen of magic. The sway of his feet, though, he wasn’t sure about. The docks, the ships, and the two silly smiling men in front of him faded from his awareness as his gaze focused on the mutilated corpse stuffed in the chest.
“…much is the king offering for these? ‘Cause that tail is pretty.”
He barely processed the man’s inquiry as he crouched down on his haunches. Infusing his muscles with another bout of strengthening magic, he kept himself from falling on his ass and looking the fool in front of these two imbeciles.
For long breaths, he stared in disbelief. The familiar iridescent patches of scales along gray-white arms. The ridges along the back. The tail. The multihued coloring, dulled in death, tapered to a once majestic feathery tail, stuffed haphazardly into the chest. There was no doubting a shark had attacked, and judging by the different sizes of the bites and chunks missing, he ventured to guess at least three sharks.
He reached forward, intending to move the tangled mess of lavender hair aside, but hesitated.
He knew who this was. He didn’t need confirmation.
The scales and tail alone were markers of a single family.
Pressing his lips together, he lowered his head and pinched the bridge of his nose.
Fuck.
“Um, sir?”
Caspian growled under his breath. He couldn’t let Jethro get his hands on this chest. On the body inside.
“Close the lid,” Caspian demanded. The men followed his orders immediately, eyes wide. He pressed up off his haunches, swallowing back the bile that rose in his throat. His gaze shifted to the darkening sky and the white caps the storm had pushed to shore. This was no coincidence. This storm drank from the power of the gods, the grief of a mother.
This storm promised revenge. Destruction.
Caspian was all the more happy to let it happen.
He flicked his hand in a motion for the men to follow him. “Bring it to my office. I will pay you the reward. Then, off you go and be sure to keep quiet about it. Men know the price for a mermaid, and they’ll just as soon slit your throat for your coin than cheer you for a successful find.”
“But doesn’t the king—”
“The king will receive the chest,” he snapped. The icy tone shut the men up. They fell into silence, their muffled grunts and heavy breaths the only assurance they continued to follow his lead. Inside the warehouse, he motioned to the floor. “Leave it there. Come with me.”
He led the men up the stairs to his second-story office. Their excitement prickled along his back, dense yet silent. He never glanced over his shoulder, never spared the two men a moment, his mind a whirlwind of fury, worry, and a slight edge of panic.
When he reached his desk, he made it seem like he was unlocking a bottom drawer while he manifested a pouch of coins. He lifted the velveteen bag, intoning a spell of secrecy, and dropped it on the desk, allowing the men to hear the jingle of coins and the weight with which it met the blotter. Their expressions spoke of their elation.
“The full reward for your find is there. I will be sure to notify the guards so they can retrieve the chest and deliver it to King Jethro. Your job here is compl
ete.”
The toothless man lunged forward, snatched the pouch, and opened it to see the contents. His partner looked on and laughed.
“Look, Badger. We’ve got ourselves a good night,” the toothless man rejoiced. He held up the pouch to Caspian and bowed his head. “Nice doin’ business with yeh.”
Caspian forced a tight grin and waited for the men to leave the warehouse before he hurried down the stairs. Locking up the doors, he set a ward to ensure no one could enter and used his magic to move the chest to his office.
He closed the office door. Locked it up tight.
And set the chest in a small alcove at the back of the room.
He didn’t need confirmation of who suffered such a horrendous end, but he needed to see if there was any message attached to the body. Bracing himself against the traumatic sight, he opened the chest and, ignoring the familiarity, unfolded the mermaid’s corpse.
There, in typical Dima fashion, a cruel message. A small, delicate piece of coral tied around the mermaid’s neck with a strand of seaweed. The hum of power radiated off the piece, taunting him to unravel the spell and reveal the message.
He cut through the seaweed, pocketed the coral and gently settled the mauled body back into the chest. He didn’t bother closing the lid, unwilling to contort the body as the sailors had. Instead, he wove a thick illusion spell over the alcove, hiding the chest behind the vision of a wall and hastened to leave.
By the time he reached the open field between the village and his cliffside home, the wind hit in gusts and whistled with ominous promise. The waves had grown, filling the air with mist. Lanterns blew out along the battlements of the looming castle, to be replaced by electric lanterns imperious to the bluster. Shouts from guards echoed down the hillside, carried on the wind.
Figures moved about in his house, the glow of interior lights casting silhouettes against his curtains. The faint scent of spices mixed with the salty air, but his stomach revolted at the thought of food. A pat on his hip pocket reminded him of the devastation he would be forced to deliver. As soon as he unraveled the message.
Keeping his head down, he slipped into the house and went straight into the bedroom, ignoring Brack’s cheerful greeting. He went to the trap door and descended into the tunnel beneath his home, casting a sealing spell around the door to ensure is privacy. He barely noticed the crash of the waves that echoed violently through the stony passage. Water crested the lip of the tunnel and seawater trickled inland, his boots splashing through shallow rivulets. Removing the coral from his pocket as he reached the end of the passage, he conjured up a rope of seawater. Wrapping the liquid about his arm like a snake until he had enough to form a sphere in the palm of his hand, Caspian dropped the coral into the orb.
Ribbons of smoky essence flowed from the enchanted coral, twining around the watery sphere. The coral disintegrated, the acid of Dima’s spell eating away at the precious object.
The ribbons unfurled, revealing a message in metallic gold script.
Four days, princess. The Forgotten Prince is mine.
A ravenous hiss erupted from the sphere. The ribbons exploded within the reinforced watery walls, oozing red streaks into the crystalline blue.
Caspian countered the terror spell embedded in the message and released the sphere, bloody water pouring through his fingers to splash over his boots. The tick of what was left of the coral bounced over the floor. He didn’t bother with it. He couldn’t be bothered with it.
Right now, he needed to return to his house.
He needed to figure out how to hurt Aria the least with his grim news.
“Sir?”
Brack was waiting for him in the bedroom when he returned to the house. Caspian glanced at the closed door behind his man. The nervous furrow of his brow and the unconscious tug at the corner of his shirt gave away the man’s uncertainty.
Slowly, Caspian closed the trap door and toed the area rug over it, his focus never leaving his right-hand man. “What is it, Brack?”
“Your entrance. Miss Aria was speaking to you and, well, it was as if you didn’t hear her,” Brack said quietly. “Everything fares well tonight?”
Caspian nodded. “Meddlesome sailors. All is well. You can assure my guest she is at no fault for my poor behavior.” He shrugged off his jacket and draped it over a single chair in the room, then started unbuttoning his shirt, pausing to cast Brack a stern look. “I’ll be right out.”
Once the man left, Caspian tugged his shirt over his head, grimacing at the faint scent of death that lingered on the threads. He shed his trousers and changed into a casual pair of deerskin pants and a string-neck tunic. It would be a battle to keep the events from the dock out of his expression completely. A strange, distant grief touched his soul. There would be no easy way to deliver the news.
Aria and Brack stood by the dining table, set with a meal fit for a king. Soup in a ceramic pot, roasted vegetables and potatoes, a seasoned hump of meat. Three places were set, and three glasses of wine filled.
Aria rounded the table and greeted him with a shy smile, her fingers tangled at her waist. Such a beautiful sight, with her red hair tied back in a long tail, strands brushing her creamy skin and brightening her green eyes. The light hue that colored her cheeks matched the pink of her lips. He’d be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t tempted to taste those lips, even if only for one time. Magnetic, beneath the water as she was above.
He wondered how she saw him.
“I won’t take credit for the masterpieces on the table. I think I got in Brack’s way more than I helped, but I tried my best to give you something for your generous hospitality. I know…” Her smile faded and the soulful look she pinned on him niggled at his heart. “I know I’m not deserving of your kindness, but I appreciate it. And I…I miss our friendship. I do.”
Caspian watched her, judging her words against the glow of unabashed truth and vulnerability in her eyes. If there was a single way to tell she lied, it had always been through her eyes.
Right now, there wasn’t a speck of dishonesty there, but a whole lot of regret. And the faint sweep of exhaustion.
“Being close to you, regardless of the years that stretched in absence, has filled me with such warmth and has brought back so many memories…” Her fingers knotted until white. “I miss it. Knowing I can trust someone.”
Gods help him, she threatened to shatter his resolve. His lips curled and he nodded in acceptance. How could he not?
“Let’s take it slow. See where things go. You came here with a goal, remember? And a timeframe. That doesn’t elude me, but I once knew you utterly well, even at your worst, and I know you speak the truth,” he said softly, his words for her ears only. Her smile grew and her thick lashes lowered. She began to lean toward him, a familiar action from long ago when she’d drop her forehead to his chest. However, she caught herself and seemed to shake free of sweet nostalgia. He straightened his shoulders and spread his arm invitingly toward the table. “Let’s not put all of your hard work to waste, letting such a fabulous meal go cold.”
He had to force each bite down his throat. Yes, it tasted great, but as the evening wore on and the cheerful banter circled the table—he put on his best smile and entertaining jibes—he couldn’t get the vision of death out of his head for long.
Each time he looked at Aria—which seemed to be more often than not—guilt taunted his conscience. The longer he waited to tell her, the worse it would be, for them both.
“We didn’t make a sweet to finish the meal, but”—Brack rubbed his round belly and sighed with satisfaction—“I’m not sure there’d be room.”
Aria stood up and began to gather the empty plates. Caspian waited until she reached the kitchen to lean close to Brack.
“I need to speak with her about a situation that arose tonight. I wouldn’t ask you if you would mind taking your leave otherwise. Not after you did me such a huge deed, spending the day watching over her.”
Brack waved a hand
and smiled brightly. “No deed at all, sir. She’s quite a stunning woman.” He stood up and poked two fingers at his chest, over his heart. “Here.”
Caspian shared a small grin. “No argument from me.”
Aria returned, wiping her hands on a dishrag. Her brows arched and surprise crossed her expression. “You’re leaving? So soon?”
Brack laughed and nodded, grabbing his tweed hat off a small table by the front door and tugging it onto his head. “Aye, miss. The hour’s late and I haven’t been home to tend to the livestock. Perhaps I’ll see you tomorrow?” He cut a questioning look at Caspian.
“I’ll check the books.” Caspian slid back his chair and climbed to his feet. “Thank you for a wonderful dinner, Brack. And your time today. It’s much appreciated.”
After a few shared words between Brack and Aria, minutes Caspian used to pour two snifters of brandy, Brack left. Dread seeped into the air, a lick of chill that teased the nape of his neck.
Aria lowered the rag to the dining table and met Caspian in the center of the room. She eyed the drink he held out to her. “Is everything okay, Casp?”
“No.” He pressed the snifter into her hand. “Here. You might need it.”
If walls could shift and close in on him, they did that now. He felt the effects of tension prickle through his body and tighten in his chest. Aria took the snifter, her arm stiff as her fingers wrapped around the glass.
“There are a few things we need to discuss. Tonight.” He settled his gaze on her. “Openly and honestly.”
A sickly glow fell over her skin. She sipped the brandy, scrunched her face, and took a deeper drink.
That makes two of us.
“I’ve nothing to hide, Casp. I’ve been forward with you from the start.”
“You have, yes.” He pulled deeply at his own brandy, letting the burn reach his belly before continuing. “I, on the other hand, have not.”