Chapter 30 A Sea of Silver #2
A startle ripples through me. I think he could be drunk, but he’s so good at masking it I would never have known without getting close to him.
“There’s worse?”
He chuckles darkly, leans a fraction closer so I can see the swirl like deep blue storm clouds in his irises. My breath catches at the proximity. And damn, my heart is beating so loud I’ve no doubt he can hear it.
His heel drags along the deck when he props his knee up. “I could have saved her…if I’d only married her. She would have been granted immortality once taken to Skoyr, brought into our godly family as a means of protection from my father.”
“But you didn’t?”
He shakes his head no, solemnly, before tilting his chin toward the cloudless night sky. “There was something about forever that terrified me. If we had ascended and she’d taken the vow of immortality, her fate would have been sealed. We’d have been bound into eternity.”
My throat goes dry. So dry I almost reach for the canteen at my side before remembering I took it off in the cabin to come spar.
“Why was Ireus so angry? I thought he favors mortals.”
Another laugh from him, this one darker still. “He favors them from a distance. To Ireus, humankind is something to be observed and lorded over. The idea of loving one of them, of treating them as equals in any sense, is unimaginable.”
“But there are hundreds of demigods—”
“It doesn’t take love to make a child. To permit them to grow and do your bidding here in Hlódyn. What I had with her was…different. And it threatened a very delicate balance in Skoyr. A plan my father had for my future. A union.”
“Like an arranged marriage?” I blurt it out loud enough that it echoes off the water and I cringe for it. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
His nose scrunches slightly in a way that should corrupt his face but only serves to make me want to lean in further.
Stupid!
I shift back, letting the heat on my cheeks die away.
“Essentially,” he drawls. “I was to wed Cyres of the Star line. House Stjarna.”
“Cyres? As in—”
He nods before I can finish. “Yes, that one.”
The goddess of love. Of beauty. Of all things pleasant and compelling. If ever there was a time I felt more insignificant, I cannot think of it. A slow puff of air escapes me.
“You can say it, although I’ve heard it poised a thousand times. 'Talon, mate, what in the three layers of hel were you thinking?'”
My lips purse and unpurse around a short laugh. “Well, I’ve seen the paintings. I mean…Cyres for saint’s sake; I’m certain it doesn’t get much better than that.”
“Again, you’d be surprised.” His eyes regard me in a way that sends a wild current through my stomach and then lower. Dangerously low.
“I’m guessing she didn’t take it well—the rejection, I mean.”
He gives a noncommittal shrug. “Hard to say. By the time the news was given to her, I’d been banished to this realm. The impact from the fracturing of the midnight crown severed the connection between Hlódyn and Skoyr. Until it is reforged, travel between realms is impossible.”
“But—” I bite my tongue, thinking of Harial, Rhyland’s trickster brother. He’d appeared to me in that storm, real as anything.
The high arch of his brow lifts. “Some gods are able to project themselves here in other forms. Some use Oracles, mortal bodies they can possess. The rest use dream connections with their godly children, urge them to do their bidding. I suspect there will be many godlings competing in the games this year. Whoever returns a completed crown to Ireus will be richly rewarded.”
A frown mars my face as I stare out across the still, dark water, glazed in silver.
The ship creaks and groans in the silence.
For a moment I’m thinking of Mór. He said she was trapped on her isle, yet she came to me as Mama Morgana in Helgate, which means she must’ve found a way around her father’s wards.
Must have power to project her form across continents.
Just like Harial. She’d said herself how the trips tired her.
And though I didn’t put much weight into at the time, she’d claimed to have hid the fallen crown pieces herself.
Meaning all of what’s happening has been orchestrated by her hand.
A vision, perhaps. Like she’s loading the cards to match the future to whatever outcome she deems worthy.
All while Rhyland struggles. Why? How? What’s her endgame?
I shiver, frustrated I can’t voice any of this without giving myself away.
“You’ll be a target for them,” I say. Not a question. There’s no doubt in my mind he would be the first they would concern themselves with eliminating.
“Almost certainly.”
“You’re not afraid?”
“The time for fear has long passed.”
A pulse of worry hums through my veins. I want to remember how much I hate him. I want to cling to it. But I can’t seem to. Not here, not now.
“I want to fight. I want to join you in the arena.” There’s a familiar, stubborn edge to my voice. I relax into the sound, greeting it like an old friend.
His face hardens almost instantly. The quiet ease that surrounded us evaporates. “Absolutely not.”
His dismissal ignites a firestorm within me. "Absolutely not?" I echo, incredulous. "You think I'm going to sit back and watch while you risk your life, alone, with no real hope of beating her beasts?"
He starts to rise, his powerful muscles rippling beneath his tanned skin. "It's not your fight, Nymph. I dragged you here. Used you all the while. I won’t see you hurt."
"I can defend myself." I scramble to my feet, the sudden movement sending a dizzying wave through me. Ignoring it, I lunge, aiming a kick at his exposed ribs. He sidesteps easily, a flicker of amusement in his eyes.
"You're going to have to do better than that," he drawls, chest rumbling with the sound.
Fueled by desperation, I throw myself into a vicious attack.
A whirlwind of fists and feet. He evades each and every one with an effortless grace, his movements fluid and precise.
It's like sparring with a phantom; every strike met with empty air.
I scream and silver flame ignites my palm.
It hisses against the shadows, its reflection dancing in the black of his pupils before I release blaze after blaze.
He lets me tire myself out, a predator toying with its prey. Then, with a swiftness that startles me, he seizes my wrist, twisting it behind my back. A gasp escapes my lips as he pulls me against him, his bare chest a solid wall.
"Stop this," he murmurs, so soft it could be a caress of wind.
I struggle, but his grip is borne of iron.
He spins me around, forcing my arms above my head, and with a gentle shove lowers me by a handful of my shirt to the deck where he looms over me, his powerful frame blocking out the moon.
Pinned beneath him, my heart beats into my ribs, a wild rhythm that echoes the fierce beat of his own.
His eyes, dark and intense, search mine. "Don't mistake my mercy for your strength, Nymph," he whispers, his voice low and warm. "I won't let you leap into this path of destruction to prove a point. I'm not even trying, yet I have you here, helpless. Mine for the taking.”
He is infuriating and intoxicating all at once. His gaze, scorching. I'm hyper aware of every place our skin meets. The rough callus of his palms on my wrists. The valley of carved muscle spread over his torso laid flush to mine.
“Pirate,” I whisper, and feel the tears of frustration spring to my eyes, slipping down my cheeks. I hate myself for it. For all of it, every feeling. Every base desire. But I am so tired of trying to fight it.
His gaze narrows but softens. “There are some paths, once taken, that cannot be came back from, Avalon.”
I don’t care. I don't care. Maybe l say it outloud. Maybe he can hear the words sung in my blood. Maybe I move up or he moves down.
One way or another, our lips find each other in the darkness.