53. Floundered
The next few days passed in a blur of long morning walks along the surf, late afternoon dips in the ocean, and evening dinners of fish and whatever vegetables they could find in the untended garden.
They moved between the cottage, garden, and sea. Not to mention between each other. Lyra knew the truce was coming to an end, but she didn’t want to think about that or what it meant for them.
It was their last night in the cottage before the servant would arrive to take them back to the castle. And it was bittersweet. Neither of them could admit that they had no real desire to go back. Including Lyra, who had been most excited to celebrate her first holiday.
Wilder was bent over the wood stove, their evening catch frying in the cast-iron skillet. Lyra felt utterly at peace while she arranged the kale into some semblance of a salad. Her breath came easy and her heart felt full.
“What is that song you’re humming?” His voice tugged her lips up before his words resonated.
Lyra turned towards him, a question on her lips.
“You didn’t realize you were humming, did you?”
She couldn’t remember a time she had ever hummed on purpose in Atlantis. Wilder flipped the fish over and chuckled.
“You’ve been singing since we left the ancient willow.”
Lyra frowned and shrugged. “I didn’t realize I was, and couldn’t even tell you what the song is.”
“It’s lovely,” he murmured.
“Thank you.” Her cheeks burned under his praise, and she tried her best to tamp it down.
“Did you not sing before because of your magic?”
Lyra studied the kale in front of her to keep from recoiling from his words. Her magic. That was the last thing she wanted to discuss, and she could feel it stronger now, the thread more like a corded rope around her heart.
“Yes.”
“And now?” he asked with a quizzical raise of his brow. She could tell he wanted to discuss it further, but she couldn’t find it in her to open that box.
“The magic feels different.”
“How so?”
Lyra huffed. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Wilder picked up the skillet and deposited the fish onto dark green plates before spooning some of the herbs from the pan onto their plates.
Lyra brought the bowl of kale over beside him and scooped out handfuls next to the fish.
“Wine?”
“Sure,” Lyra replied, and he uncorked a bottle.
All of their dinners had been this way, casual and relaxed. It was exactly what she had needed and was healing to her in a way, but now with the conversation turning towards her magic, tension bloomed.
They took their seats at the walnut dinner table. It was pockmarked and grooved with age and love. Lyra set their plates down, and Wilder poured their wine, but they both remained quiet.
“What are you thinking about?”
She rubbed a finger along the rim of her glass. She was thinking about so many things. How much she’d enjoyed her time here, how much she had enjoyed him.
But now that he brought up her magic, the bargain loomed like a monster under the bed. And there was something darker surfacing in her mind, something that didn’t sit right about the grand scheme of things.
“Something has been bothering me since I agreed to the bargain with your father.”
“And what is that?”
“What did the humans get out of this bargain?”
Wilder shifted on his chair, and by the fluttering of his jaw, she could tell he was just as annoyed as she was. “My father never said. He’s been ultra-secretive about this whole thing. It’s why I refused to take part.”
Lyra nodded and pushed the food around her plate. This evening was taking a turn for the worse.
She should have been honest with him and told him about her fears, but she couldn’t.
“Did you really not ever notice that the tithe was something more? Did your father?”
Lyra shrugged, relieved that he didn’t circle back to her magic. “Births had declined, but it was blamed on the mermaids for having lives outside of reproduction. That’s why my father implemented all the rules.”
Wilder’s jaw clenched. “Your father is the reason for all the sanctions against females?”
Lyra sighed and met his gaze once more. “Yes.”
“And did he notice when those rules weren’t increasing the birthrate?”
“Of course not,” she spat. “That would require him admitting he was wrong.” That would never happen; she didn’t even think her father knew those words.
“How do you think he’s going to feel when you undo the tithe, proving him wrong?”
She didn’t answer.
If she were honest, she hadn’t thought about what would happen after she broke the bargain. Lyra had only focused on the severity of the first steps.
“Are we going to talk about this?” he asked as they picked at their dinners.
Her face scrunched up with disgust, and it wasn’t from the food.
“I don’t think there is anything to discuss.”
Wilder glared at her and took a sip of the white wine. “You are under a bargained oath with my father to use magic. If you don’t, you will die. You know this.”
A shadow passed over her face as she glared right back. Again, it came back to her magic, like always.
“We are still under a truce until tomorrow, and I would like to keep it that way.”
Wilder slammed the glass down. “We are going to talk about this.”
She shoved her plate away and crossed her arms, but didn’t move from the table. “You are ruining this.”
He met her glare head-on without flinching.
“Why did you even agree to use it if you never planned on it?”
Lyra ground her teeth. “I do plan on using it. I’m just not ready yet.”
“I find that hard to believe. You haven’t even tried.”
She couldn’t do this.
Couldn’t stomach telling him that she was afraid of being a failure, afraid that she would let everyone down—let him down.
Lyra stood and turned to flee the dining room, but Wilder was upon her, wrapping a hand around her wrist.
“Tell me you’re going to break the bargain and that you will stay here—with me.”
“I will say no such thing.” She pulled against his grip, and he let go. When she didn’t move farther away, he cupped her cheek.
“You will die if you don’t break the bargain. And I—can’t let that happen.”
He had said it. Said what was so glaringly obvious between the two of them and what she had been struggling to keep at bay. And it terrified her to hear it.
Scared her more than losing herself to magic or failing and dying. She couldn’t bear the thought of letting him down.
Lyra’s fear hardened her heart.
“I don’t want to stay here with you. I don’t belong here or with you.”
Wilder reeled back as if the words had struck him.
“You do not want me. I am not good.” The words tasted bitter in her mouth. “No one has ever loved me because I am hard to love. I am impossible to be around most days. There is something wrong with me—so save your time and your energy.”
“That is not true,” he argued.
“It is. It is true. I don’t belong here. I can’t stay.”
And there was the truth of it.
She still did not believe she was worthy of their kindness or their loyalty.