Chapter Twelve #2
Dax launched into story-mode. “It was a year and a half ago. She sailed into the tunnel beneath the conservatory with a sea serpent—I actually wasn’t supposed to be there, but I needed a break and it was the one place I knew the head composer wouldn’t look…”
Marin remembered that day. She’d been delivering a specially cured hide to be used to make drums—the students had to make their own instrument in one of their classes; she hadn’t asked for details.
Obtaining it had required trading conch shells inlaid with jewels, which were only available from one artisan—suffice it to say, it was a whole chain of trade such-and-such for such-and-such to trade for such-and-such—so no one had claimed the job until she came along.
She’d been desperate to set up some regular customers, and she’d leaped at the opportunity to work with the conservatory, despite their picky and sometimes inexplicable requests.
“You were hiding from the other musicians.”
“Absolutely was,” Dax agreed cheerfully.
“Also, sulking. I’d just composed a new piece, and my mentor hated it.
Flat-out hated it. Told me it was derivative and I could do better, which was true, but not pleasant to hear.
I was on the dock licking my wounds, metaphorically speaking, when Marin sailed in. ”
Marin remembered meeting him, but what had they talked about?
He’d admired her boat and Perri, and he’d laughed.
She knew she’d made him laugh, but she couldn’t remember what she’d said.
She must have told him about Perri, probably the story of how they’d met.
Or was that the second time she visited the conservatory?
Dax remembered. “She told me about how Perri feeds winged cats. I didn’t realize then she was talking about these cats in this harbor, her home.”
Oh, yes. She’d been homesick. Back then, she’d thought she couldn’t return to Flicker.
She’d worried it would endanger her parents further.
But they’d cut ties with Iovar, and all he could do was spread rumors that no one would believe.
Actually, it was talking to Dax that first time that had convinced her to try coming home.
She’d sailed past the island a few times, not coming to shore, before she’d finally given in and visited.
After that, she still kept her visits brief and rare, though, and never during a holiday, but it was far better than never returning. That had nearly broken her.
She’d forgotten he was the reason she’d come home again.
“You see into what someone loves, and you see them,” Pa said. “No wonder you fell in love with her if she let you glimpse her true heart the first time you met.”
That was not at all what happened. Yes, she had let him see a piece of her that she usually hid, but there had been no seeing or falling or whatever adorable romantic garbage her father was envisioning.
“Okay, wait, before this goes further, Dax isn’t in love with me.
Dax, you don’t have to pretend in front of my parents.
I’m not lying to them. Pa, Ma, we’re going to tell everyone else that Dax is the love of my life.
Just to avoid all the pity and whatever. ”
Ma shook her head. “No one pities you.”
This was an old argument. Marin resisted rolling her eyes. “Everyone pities me.” That was obvious and had been obvious many, many times, but her parents refused to see it.
“Two years ago, yes.” Ma waved her hand as if shooing away the bad memories. “But you aren’t the center of gossip anymore. People have moved on.”
Sure, when she was out of sight, but when she returned to public view? “It’s the key thing everyone knows about me. You can bet it will be dredged up the second I show my face in public. So, Dax has agreed to come with me, as a gossip shield.”
Pa looked from her to Dax and back again. Why does he look so delighted? she wondered. He clapped his hands together. “You’re her pretend boyfriend? Like the ballads!”
Dax beamed. “Exactly. I told her about the ballads.”
“Then that’s excellent,” Pa said. He had a foxlike grin, the one that made her think they should lock up the henhouse. “The fake lovers always realize it’s true love before the end of the final verse. Except for that one that ends in grisly death.”
“You know the trope?”
“Ah, I didn’t know there was a word for it. ‘Trope.’”
“It’s from the word troubadour, which is an old-fashioned word for traveling musician,” Dax said. “Troubadours used to sail the Crescent Islands before they were known as the Crescent Islands, bringing ballads from one culture to another, spreading history and legend.”
Ignoring Marin entirely, Pa hooked his arm around Dax’s and led him up to the house. “Let me tell you all about why you should fall in love with my daughter.”
“Oh, that’s not the problem,” Dax said to him. “She’s the one who needs to fall in love with me. I’m trying to woo her carefully, though, so she doesn’t suspect and kick me off her boat.”
“Ah! Then let’s plot, shall we?”
Ree hurried after them. “I want to help!”
“Excellent,” Pa said.
“Marin’s super smart,” Ree said, “but she’s not very good at romance. She’s already missed at least six romantic moments, and I’m not even counting the sunsets, which are obvious opportunities. Even I know that, and I’m a plant.” He jiggled his leaves for emphasis.
Marin stared after them, her mouth hanging open.
Exactly when had she lost control of that conversation?
Probably right from the beginning. She shook her head.
Maybe they should have had a more detailed discussion about what exactly she expected out of him as her fake lover.
She did not want him to deceive her parents.
On the other hand, if it kept Pa amused during her visit, that was fine.
They could always fake break up later if necessary.
Glancing at her mother, she saw Ma was smirking at her. “What?”
Ma patted her arm. “I like him already.”
“I’m not…” Marin took a deep breath. “I just want to get through the End-of-Harvest Festival with as little drama as possible. Make you two happy. Eat some pie. Have a nice visit.”
“Your father just wants you to be happy.”
“I am,” Marin said. “I don’t need to be paired up with someone to be happy.”
“Of course you don’t, dear,” Ma said. “It’s just that it’s what’s made your father happy so he assumes it’s what everyone needs.
I’m glad, though, that you’ve allowed yourself companionship, however you’d like to label it.
Dax seems like a very nice young man, and Ree is a charming … um, is it rude to ask what he is?”
“He’s a wax myrtle,” Marin said, happy for the change in subject. “I picked him up on the island of Belde. His lifelong dream was to be a sailor, and it’s not like he had many other options. He’s actually a really good deckhand, despite not having hands.”