In the Grotto Cav
In the Grotto
Cav
Of all the ways to die, this is the one Cav would choose.
Being dragged into sleep requires so little from him, his mind drifting lazily. There’s no fighting it. His body is heavy, submerged in dreams that cling to him like syrup. By the time he reaches the surface, fatigue wraps around his ankles and pulls him under again.
At least the hallucinations are nice. He eats delicious feasts and laughs at silly jokes and feels the wind on his face.
The siren is his favorite reverie. It makes sense she would appear when he’s swallowed half his weight in saltwater; everyone’s heard tales, but sirens don’t really exist. Any pirate who searches for one might as well be digging for fool’s gold.
Still, she feels real. While Cav’s other delusions are soft and nebulous, her hands around his throat were cool and slick, as refreshing as the first drink of an oasis.
He almost forgets she was trying to kill him. Now that would have been the best way to go.
He didn’t get a good look at her, his eyelids to heavy from sunlight glinting off the water, but her voice…he clings to that. It was hypnotic, dissonant, pulling him out like the receding tide.
In his dreams, she is a dark shape beneath the water and always out of reach. If he had any sense, he’d be frightened — but who cares? He’s dying anyway, and her menacing presence makes him feel less alone.
Like now, when she stands over him and casts a shadow across his face.
It’s a relief from the morning light, allowing his mind to return fully to his body.
The water around him has grown deeper, his lower half floating weightlessly.
From above, cool water drips onto his face.
He wants to drink it, but his forked tongue is thick and stiff.
An aching pit gnaws at his stomach, and his shoulder throbs and twinges.
He can hardly move his mouth, his inhales fading, the gaps between breaths growing longer and longer.
“You’re still not dead.” The siren’s voice is rife with disappointment. Despite the pain, Cav’s mouth twitches. He means to smile, but from the disgusted sound she makes, he’s not sure what his body is doing.
“Y…” His voice is as fragile as wet parchment. He can’t even try to clear his throat, lips cracking around the words. “Came…back?”
He has no concept of time. In truth, he’s still not convinced this is reality. Maybe it isn’t. Maybe his withering consciousness has crafted a companion to carry him into death. His smile spreads wider. If she’s the one to accompany him, he’ll go gladly.
Beside him, glass bottles clatter against the sand.
The siren’s closer than before, but Cav can’t pry his salt-crusted eyes open to see her.
Something grips his shirt, and Cav hisses when his shoulder spasms. A shredding sound echoes off the cave walls before a breeze tickles the bare skin of his chest.
When the siren’s hands move to his pants, he coughs a laugh. “What’re…you…”
“Your clothes are in tatters.” There’s another ripping noise before his legs are exposed to the air. “They’re soaked. You’ll be infected before long.”
He doesn’t argue. It’s nice to be free of his sopping clothes, and nicer still to be under her hands again. This time, she tugs on his good arm, hoisting him onto something flat and waxy with a long stem pressed along his spine.
It’s slow work, but eventually, the siren tugs the massive leaf (and Cav atop it) out of the water. The smooth rocks beneath him change to grains of sand and clumps of soil. The scent of the sea is dampened by flora. Fronds brush his body while leafy shadows bob across the backs of his eyelids.
Another huge leaf drapes across his body, preserving whatever modesty he has left.
“‘M not…shy,” he manages. The siren doesn’t reply, but he hears liquid sloshing inside the clinking bottles.
It’s a reminder of how tight and dry his skin is, stretched uncomfortably over his bones like a strip of leather.
Something pours onto his wounded shoulder, making him hiss and clench.
It doesn’t deter the siren. Her motions are sloppy, heaping on gobs of cream that drip down his body.
It’s clear she doesn’t understand exactly what she’s doing, but she finds every scratch on him and coats them with different fluids.
After a few minutes, the burning pain subsides. His injuries feel cleaner, if nothing else, and that allows him to unclench his body.
Is she tending to him? Surely not. More likely she’s preparing him to be eaten, although the ointments smell more medicinal than savory. He tries to listen for her, but all he can make out are the distant ocean sounds. Waves crashing, gulls calling, breeze whistling through the cavern above him.
His heartbeat picks up for the first time in days. What if she left? He fights to open his eyes, but his crusted eyelashes tug against each other. “What’s — your name?” he rasps.
There’s no reply.
His voice isn’t strong enough. He tries again. “I’m — Cav. Short for — Cavalier.”
After a long moment, there’s a scoff. It’s further away now, followed by a disparaging remark about pirates. Cav’s laughter nearly strangles him. He can do little more than gasp, drowning in whatever seawater is left inside him.
Unhurried footsteps approach him before a bitter liquid drizzles into his mouth. He gags, but the siren grips his chin and forces him to swallow. He splutters against her slick fingers.
Maybe she’ll suffocate him. Maybe he would like that.
But then she pulls her hand away, and when he gasps for air, he’s surprised at how deeply he can breathe. “Thank you.”
She grumbles. “Thank whomever gave you that dreadful name.”
“I did.”
“Why in the Depths would you choose that?”
His mouth quirks. In truth, he chose a name that could toe both sides of the gendered line.
He wanted something true that could also find the path of least resistance.
Living as a man makes it easier to secure spots on working ships, to find adventure on the open seas, to keep people’s hands from wandering.
Over the years, Cav has grown accustomed to it, but it’s never been the whole story.
He loves this part of himself, but there’s another half that’s been left to wither, as stifled as his ribs when he binds his chest.
Despite the lingering pain, he stretches like a cat and arches his breasts against the leaf with a long, deep breath. “I like to keep people guessing.” There’s no telling if Lyx is looking his way. Gods, he must be delusional from dehydration. Why is he trying to entice her, anyway?
Right: her name.
“What’s yours?” He craves to hear her voice again. He knows she’s still there, rustling through the bottles, but she doesn’t say anything. The silence goes on for so long that he doesn’t think she’ll answer, but then a wave recedes, and he swears he hears one syllable.
He tilts his ear toward her. “What was that?”
She doesn’t speak again. He scrambles to decipher the sound.
“Lyx,” he repeats. Her name is fresh water over his tongue, like it could heal the dry cracks of his lips. “Is that short for something?”
She sighs.
His smile grows. “Tell me.”
Her fingernails tick against a bottle. “Only the ocean can pronounce it.”
“Tell me anyway.”
There’s a long stretch of silence again, and then the sharp tip of her finger presses to his bare chest. “I’ve kept you alive, pirate, and still, you ask for more.”
There’s venom in her tone, but beneath that, Cav swears there’s a hint of amusement. He wonders if it shows up in her eyes, but there’s no telling when his own are sealed shut. “Then let me repay you,” he tries. “Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you.”
Lyx’s laugh is a delicious sound in the back of her throat. “Look at the state of you. There’s nothing you could give me, Cavalier.” Her cool breath gusts across his face when she leans closer. “There’s even less that you could stop me from taking.”
It’s clearly a threat, yet his body’s reaction is the faint stirring of the ember in his chest. His tongue slips over his lips and brushes against something even softer.
She inhales sharply. He can feel it across his face.
His stomach clenches. She must be close.
He lifts his hand to pry the crust from his eyes, but she snatches his wrist and pins it to the ground.
They stay like that, breaths heaving and hearts racing.
He still can’t see her. Danger prickles beneath his scales, but Cav wants to push it further.
Wants to feel her entire body against him.
Wants to drag his tongue against her lips again.
“Are you sure there’s…nothing I could give you? ”
Her nails dig into his skin. He imagines her glaring down at him, teeth grit with frustration. “Don’t mistake me, pirate. Your death is still coming, and it’s mine to deliver.”
He hates that she releases him. His fingers flex at the loss, but she’s already splashing through the shallows. He calls after her, like that might incite her to stay. To punish his insolence. “Is that why you healed me?”
She pauses, but then, she continues away. All he gets is her voice tossed over her shoulder. “It’s not as fun to kill you when you’re halfway dead already.”