Chapter 18 Under The Light
Meliads are the oldest and rarest nymphs in Aurorae and brutal defenders of the Isle.
Slavers should be mindful of them when procuring new stock.
These creatures are unbelievably fierce and immune to the binding effects of iron.
Thankfully, they are bound by magick to their Ash grove and cannot protect the whole of Aurorae.
–Excerpt from 'A Slavers Guide to Aurorae', by Crismund Burke
Morning sunlight spills through the open window and I wake relieved to feel the ground’s not moving beneath me.
I didn’t realize until now how much I missed solid land.
How much I dread the idea of getting back on the Nightingale for Ireus knows how long.
I’m as relaxed as a sunbathing feline, stretching in the soft bed of Mòr’s guest room when our conversation from the night before hits me.
I sit up so fast that I expect a sharp pain to shoot through the stitches in my back.
Surprisingly, none comes. In fact there’s no angry little pulse there at all, a sensation that had been my constant companion yesterday.
I rise carefully and step toward the mirror that hangs over the handcrafted dresser.
Comforted by Mòr’s proclamation of just what her boundary does to a man with rape on his mind, I slept in nothing but my button down and underthings.
Shifting the sleeve down, I turn to have a look at my shoulder and feel all of the blood rush to my feet when nothing but a raised, pearlescent scar shines back.
How? I don’t remember Rhyland healing my shoulder yesterday or last night.
In fact, he said very little when Mòr and I came through the door after our…
conversation. Quickly, I jerk the sleeve back into place and search for my trousers, slipping them on.
My boots follow, laced up tight, and I spring for the door, heading into the quiet hallway.
Through the kitchen, there’s a sharp aroma in the air, something rich and bitter that I’ve only smelled once or twice before.
I follow it and find myself in the dining hall from last night.
The men are on the other side of the table stretched out on the floor amongst the plush cushions and frayed rugs—all of them accounted for but Rhyland—and Sora quietly busies herself with the table, setting plates and cups down.
“Sleep well?” Her tone is clipped. Almost cold. And it dawns on me then that she was the nymph in the Muddy Crow that day I met with who I thought to be Mama Morgana. No wonder she bore no chains. Just another curious addition to the many questions I already have.
“I don’t remember it so I must have. Would you like help?”
She shakes her head. “I was told to tell you to meet Talon and Mòr outside the moment you woke.”
Shit, the mental curse hisses through my brain. Mòr has already gone back on our deal so quickly? I wouldn’t be surprised to find Rhyland Crow waiting, dagger in hand.
It seems Sora doesn’t feel kind enough to elaborate, and I’m still debating jumping through the window to make a beeline for—well, who knows—when I reach the front door.
Rhyland and Mòr are sitting in the sand, a stone’s throw away.
For a strange moment they look too normal, like any mortal brother and sister reclining in a warm breeze, their skin glazed with sunlight.
But I see the second Rhyland senses me. That rigid posture, the way a wall seems to build up around him.
Guarded. His jaw clenches and he looks anything but human. Too cold. Too handsome.
A god.
Mòr waves and presses up to her feet, strolling over. I swallow. The smooth muscle of my throat tightens around a feeling I refuse to bend to.
“Relax,” she murmurs under her breath. But then she studies me extra closely and I see something strange in her eyes.
Something like sympathy. “He needs to talk to you. And before you get upset, know that I didn’t tell him anything, but after we spoke last night a vision came to me.
Something important. Something that has to be done. ”
A frown tugs at my very core. “What are you talking about?”
“Talon will explain. I should go prepare, and wake his lazy crew.” I’m tempted to reach for her shoulder. To cling to her. Maybe shake an explanation out of her. But I force my hands still, down to my sides. Mòr walks off without another word and I decide that I liked her better as an old crone.
Rhyland’s staring off at nothing, but he rises when I find the nerve to approach.
“Is something wrong?” I ask quietly.
Everything about him seems tense. Almost angry, and I’m certain Mòr is the biggest liar I’ve ever met.
She must’ve told him. He must know I’ve lied this whole time.
The strange thing is, I never imagined he would be this upset if he found out.
He called me out on my half truths from the very start.
It's the reason I'm here with him, because he doesn't believe I don't know where it is.
“Pirate?” The word twists anxiously out of me when he doesn’t respond. Doesn’t look at me. And I’m tempted to reach for him before he finally speaks.
“We’re to be wed.”
“Wed?” My fingers curl into my chest, burned, and I nearly choke on the word. It’s the last one I was expecting. “What in Skoyr’s realm are you talking about?”
Wind rustles off of the far coast, weaving itself through his dark hair and sending the mess that is mine dancing in all directions. “Mòr has declared it. She said it must be done. I won’t pretend to understand her visions, but I follow them because in the end she’s always right.”
I know it’s dangerous to throw his perceived failure in his face, but do it anyway. “Always right? You sailed to a whole continent on her word and came back empty handed.”
His gaze could burn through stone when he turns it on me, looking me up and down.
“Not empty handed.” He paces then, and runs a hand through his hair.
“It will be a marriage of convenience. I ask nothing of you other than to listen to me on my damned ship and not get yourself killed before we get back to Ethirya. Once we’re there, we’ll annul the marriage; I’ll pay penance to Mehr on both of our behalves personally.
We can go our separate ways. Be done with all of this. ”
Mehr, goddess of marriage. Her golden temple is one of the last ones still intact in Helgate, other than Ireus’ and Trines’ of course.
It stands more as an idea or token than deity.
I almost laugh. The urge to bubbles up inside of me so strong it takes everything to hold it back.
Marry him? Just to separate in a matter of weeks?
I could throttle Mòr. Still might, actually.
“No. I won’t. I won't marry you. I won’t bind myself to a ruthless, murdering pirate, even for a short while.”
He turns to face me so fast I almost stumble back, but instead manage to hold my ground, fists clenching.
“And you think I want to marry you? You, who’s done nothing but vex me from the moment we met?
” His voice is made of claws and biting teeth.
Endless cold. “You forget yourself, Nymph. You don’t have a choice in this.
Neither of us do. So, you’ll do as you're told or the consequences will be dire.”
That urge to laugh again. Nervous laughter? Panic? I can’t say. But I know there has to be more to this. Something they aren’t telling me. “According to whom? You? Or the goddess you call sister?”
His stare hardens to granite, an expression so cold and icy I shiver at the sight, wishing to be anywhere but in its gaze. “Both. Remember that you and your friend on board are still at my mercy. If you want to ensure a safe return to Ethirya for both of you, you will not fight me on this.”
His words continue to ring in my ears even after he’s walked away, long disappeared into the cottage.
The heart in my chest contracts, squeezes until I realize it’s the urge to cry trying to press through.
My palms come to my eyes and I push until the urge fades.
Until the sun is nothing but smeared streaks across the blue sky and I’m so dizzy I need to sit down, suck in ragged breaths.
I can’t marry him.
You don’t have a choice in this.
I won’t do it.
If you want to ensure the safe return of you both….
I can’t do this. Can’t replay the conversation in my head over and over until it drives me mad.
I throw myself back into the sun warmed grass, wondering at how quickly it all changed.
What could be the driving force behind all of this?
Does he think that if I'm married to him, I’ll feel compelled to give up my piece of the crown more readily?
He’d be fooling himself. And part of me knows he must realize that, too. It’s something else. Something deeper.
There’s a snap of fingers an inch from my nose. I open my eyes to see Sora scowling down at me.
Above us, the sun has already moved well in the sky. How long have I been sitting here, contemplating my fate?
“What are you doing? You have a wedding to prepare for.” She drags me up by my wrists and I don’t resist, though I’d like to.
My body seems to have gone completely numb, moving as though under the command of someone else.
She brings me through the cottage where the men have already cleared out to gods know where.
“Wait,” I say, coming to a jerking halt in the doorway of the guest room when I spot a soft blue dress laid out across the bed. “The wedding is now? Today?”
She tugs hard, heaving me the rest of the way into the room so she can slam the door behind us.
Someone’s pulled a large copper tub in here; steam rises off of the water.
“Yes, now. Are you forgetting the deadline Talon has to get to the games in Staygia?” I’m surprised to watch her eyes soften when she turns to face me, taking in my expression. “Oh, you’re terrified aren’t you?”
Who wouldn’t be? I want to reason, but the words get trapped in my throat.