2. Sea and Soil #2
I stood there for a moment, watching him pretend to read. My chest tightened. The cottage was suddenly too small, the walls pressing in on me.
"Where are you going?" Thatcher asked as I headed for the door.
"For a walk," I said. "I need some air."
The evening breeze hit my face as I stepped outside, but it didn't help. I could still feel the weight of Sulien's terror, the way he'd looked at me like I was a loaded weapon about to go off. Maybe I was. Maybe that's all I'd ever be—a danger to everyone I cared about.
I pressed my hands to my eyes, trying to sort through the tangle of feelings. The need to remain vigilant, to keep my powers hidden, to protect our family's secret—it all coiled around my chest like rope pulled too tight.
Sometimes I envied Thatcher's easy freedom, his ability to act without the crushing weight of consequence sitting on his shoulders.
I started walking without thinking about where I was going. I needed... what did I need? Not to be alone with my thoughts, that was certain. Not to go back inside and pretend everything was fine.
I needed to feel normal .
I found Marel at the carpenter's shop. He was there after hours, bent over a piece of wood. Shavings curled around his feet like pale flowers, and the air smelled of cedar. He looked up as I entered, his face lighting with the kind of uncomplicated pleasure that I’d come to know so well.
As selfish as it was, this thing between us, temporary and guarded and filled with lies, brought comfort.
"Thais." My name sounded warm in his voice. He set down his carving knife and looked at me. "You look like you've had a day."
I settled onto a stool beside the workbench, suddenly drained. "Working late then?"
Marel's cheeks colored. "You know I’m not working." He smiled, picking up the piece he'd been carving—a delicate seabird. "Just needed to come here and think."
It was exquisite, every feather detailed, the wings positioned as if the bird were caught mid-flight. "It's beautiful."
"It's nothing," he said, but I could see the pride in his eyes. "Just something to keep my hands busy."
Like me, Marel had grown up here in Saltcrest, working the boats since he was old enough to handle a line. But his true passion had always been this.
"Want to talk about it?" he asked, his hands still for once.
He had always been perceptive—one of the things that both drew me to him and made him dangerous. His sun-bleached blonde hair gleamed in the evening light streaming through the shop windows, and those hazel eyes of his seemed to see straight through whatever mask I was trying to wear.
"I heard you went out with Jorik's crew today," he continued when I didn't answer immediately. "That must have been different from the oyster beds."
"It was good," I said, and I found myself actually smiling. "I may have shown off a little."
Marel laughed, the sound rich and genuine and exactly what I was craving. "I'm sure you did. You never could resist a challenge." He leaned back against his workbench, studying my face. "But something's bothering you. You've got that look you get when you're trying to work out a problem."
Perceptive, I thought again. Too perceptive for his own good.
"Walk with me?" I asked, needing to be somewhere less confined.
He nodded, setting aside his tools without hesitation. "Where to?"
"The cliffs. I need to see the sea."
“A day of fishing didn’t tire you out?” He cocked a sly smile.
“Never.”
We left the village behind, following the winding path that led up the coastal headlands. The sun hung low in the western sky, painting the water gold and purple. We walked in comfortable silence at first, but I could feel Marel watching me.
"Tell me something about yourself," I said suddenly, needing to focus on something other than my own fears.
Marel smiled. "Like what, exactly?"
"I don't know. What did you want to be when you were a child? Before you became a fisherman?"
"A sailor," he said without hesitation. "I wanted to see the world beyond Saltcrest. Explore distant shores, meet strange people."
"What changed your mind?"
His expression grew serious. "My father died. Someone had to take care of my mother, and she needed stability more than I needed adventure. So I kept fishing, learned the trade properly."
"Do you regret it?"
"Sometimes," he admitted. "But then I think about the life I've built here, the people I care about." He glanced at me. "And I think maybe adventure isn't always about going somewhere new. Sometimes it's about finding something worth staying for."
The words made me stall, as they always did. "Marel?—"
"I know something's eating at you," he said quietly. "I can see it in the way you hold yourself sometimes. Like you're bracing for the worst."
I stopped walking, turning to face him. "How do you?—"
"Because I've felt that way too. After my father died, I spent months waiting for the next disaster. Wondering when the other shoe would drop." He reached out, taking my hand in his. "What has you so worried, Thais? What are you afraid of?"
I tried to divert the conversation.
“Sometimes I dream of leaving this place.”
Marel simply looked at me.
"But my family is complicated. They need me here, and truthfully, I need them. A part of me wants to leave this place and never look back, but I feel so weighed down. I don't know if I truly have a choice," I murmured.
"There are always choices," he said firmly. "Maybe not easy ones, maybe not good ones, but there's always a choice."
We'd reached the cliff overlook—that secluded pocket of grass and wildflowers where I'd spent so many hours alone. Standing stones rose around us, and the endless sea stretched out below, reflecting the fire of the sunset.
"You're right," I said, settling onto the sun-warmed grass. "There's always a choice. But sometimes all the options are terrible."
Marel sat beside me. "Then you choose the least terrible one. And you find ways to live with the consequences."
I looked at him, really looked, taking in the strong line of his jaw. He was beautiful in a quiet, understated way, solid and real and honest. And mine, if I dared.
"What if I told you that being with me was a terrible idea?" I asked, but immediately regretted it. Too much truth.
He was quiet for a moment, considering. "I'd say that sounds like you're trying to scare me away. And I'd wonder why."
"I'm not trying to scare you away," I said, forcing a laugh. "I'm just saying... I don't know. Maybe I’ve seen too many of those traveling theater shows. All those dramatic stories about cursed lovers and tragic endings."
Marel smiled, some of the tension leaving his face. "You're worried about tragedy? Thais, we live in a fishing village. Half the men here don't come back from the deep waters. Life is already dangerous."
"I suppose that’s true."
He reached for my hand. "Look, I know you're worried about something. But whatever it is, you don't have to face it alone."
I reached for him, pulling him closer, and he came willingly, his arms wrapping around me as I buried my face against his neck.
When he kissed me, it was with an urgency I’d never seen from him.
I gave myself over to the sensation, letting myself forget for a moment about my secrets.
There was just this. Marel's mouth on mine, his hands in my hair, the simple connection I'd been craving.
"Are you sure you’re okay with this tonight?" he whispered against my lips, his hazel eyes searching mine in the fading light. “I don’t want to cross a boundary, especially if you’re in a bad state of mind.”
"I need this," I said, and it was the most honest thing I'd said all day.
His hands were gentle as they traced the line of my jaw, down my throat to the hollow where my pulse hammered against my skin. "You're shaking," he observed softly.
"I'm fine," I lied, but we both knew it wasn't true. I was coming apart at the seams, had been since the moment I'd left the cottage .
"No, you're not," Marel said, his thumb brushing across my lower lip. "And that's okay. You don't have to be fine with me."
I pulled him down, kissing him with a desperate hunger, pouring all my fear and need into the contact. He responded with equal fervor, his hands tangling in my hair as he deepened the kiss.
We helped each other out of our clothes, movements eager but familiar. We'd done this before, countless times over the last few years, but tonight felt different. We were teetering on a precipice. A truth I could never reveal, but one he sensed nonetheless.
Marel's hands knew my body well by now, knew exactly where to touch to make me gasp and arch beneath him. But there was a new tenderness in the way he explored, as if he were trying to remember every inch of me.
"How are you so beautiful?" he murmured against my shoulder, and I could hear the wonder in his voice.
I wanted to tell him it wasn't natural, that there was something wrong with me that I couldn't explain. But the words caught in my throat as his mouth found the sensitive spot at the base of my neck.
He paused, reaching for his discarded clothes. "Just a moment," he said, retrieving a small wrapped packet from his pocket. There was an efficiency in his movements as he prepared himself.
The grass was soft, cushioning us as we came together. Above us, the first stars were beginning to emerge in the darkening sky, scattered like diamonds across velvet. I tried to focus on them, tried to keep some part of my mind anchored to something beyond the sensations flooding me.
"Let me," he said softly. "Let me take care of you."
In our previous encounters, I had always been the one in control–the one who set the pace. But tonight I found myself surrendering to his gentle insistence.
His hands were everywhere, worshipping every inch of exposed skin. When his mouth followed the path his hands had traced, I couldn't suppress the soft sounds that escaped my lips, my back arching involuntarily .
"Marel," I whispered.
"I know," he said against my skin. "I know, love. I've got you."
The endearment seeped into me. Love. No one had ever called me that before—not with such tenderness, such certainty. And never during a moment like this, with our bodies tangled together.
For a moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like to be the kind of woman someone could love without reservation. One who didn't carry secrets—who could give her heart freely instead of sharpening it like a weapon.
The fantasy lasted exactly three heartbeats before reality crashed back in. He didn't know what I was. Didn't know that loving me was the most dangerous thing he could possibly do. And I was too selfish—too desperate for the comfort of connection to let him go.
The guilt felt like drowning. Marel deserved someone who loved him completely, not someone who used him as an anchor to feel normal. The hardest truth was that even if I weren't half-divine, even if I could tell him everything—I wasn't certain I would ever feel for him what he clearly felt for me.
The moment we joined, the power that I kept so carefully contained began to stir. I tried to ignore it, tried to focus solely on Marel.
He moved slowly at first, his eyes never leaving mine. But as I responded to his touch, as my body welcomed him deeper, the gentleness gave way to urgency. Desperation. Longing.
"God, Thais," he gasped, his forehead pressed against mine. "You feel..."
I couldn't form words to answer, could only hold him closer. My gaze was drawn upward to those brilliant points of light, and I watched in growing alarm as they began to pulse.
The intensity was building, ripping through my chest. My fingernails dug into Marel's shoulders. Above us, more beads of light began to join the first, their essence growing brighter with each passing moment.
"Look at me," Marel whispered, sensing my distraction. "Stay with me, Thais."
I tried to focus on his face, on the way his blonde hair fell across his forehead, on the desire written clearly in his eyes. But the power inside me was growing stronger and I could feel it beginning to leak out despite my efforts. It was going to consume me.
As the pleasure crested, washing over me in waves that left me gasping and shaking beneath him, I lost all control. The stars above us flared to brilliant life.
Horror flooded me even as my body continued to pulse with aftershocks. The constellations were rearranging themselves, forming spirals and flowing curves that matched the rhythm we'd just shared.
I tried desperately to pull the energy back, to force the stars back into their normal patterns, but it was like trying to stop a river with my bare hands. The more I fought it, the brighter they became, until the entire sky throbbed. Gods, anyone in the village could see this.
Fuck.
I froze.
"Thais?" Marel stilled above me, voice breathless. "What's wrong? Did I hurt you?"
"Nothing," I lied, my voice shaking. "Nothing's wrong."
Marel searched my face, clearly unconvinced by my reassurance. His hand came up to cup my cheek, thumb brushing away tears I hadn't realized were falling.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
"Don't be," he said firmly. "Stay with me."
"I can’t." I turned my face away.
But I could feel his eyes locked on my face, searching, guessing.
Guilt churned through me, and I reached out, pulling him close, suppressing the sob that wanted to form in my throat.
Because I wasn’t holding him out of desire, only to stop him from seeing what was happening above us.
Gradually, the glow began to fade from the heavens, and when I finally dared to glance upward, the stars were slowly returning to normal.
If he noticed them, he didn’t say it.
"I should go," I murmured.
"I wish I knew what to say. I want to help, Thais. To be here for you in whatever way you need, but I’m flailing," he said, his arms tightening around me. "You know you can tell me anything."
Gods, I couldn't do this at Marel's expense anymore. I couldn't be selfish.
“Thank you for tonight.” I said as I finally pushed away and dressed to leave.
And I walked off, not waiting for his questions or sweet sentiments that would only make the guilt in my chest burn brighter. I let the tears fall, safe and alone and full of regret.