Chapter 46
Richard cinched the final knot and stepped back, breathing hard.
It’d taken him a while to finish the task, and his arms ached from the hauling. But the result was satisfactory. Once he’d abandoned the foolish notion of breaking the enchantment, the answer’d been simple.
Containment.
Loop the rope tight about the waist, draw it round the mast and pull. Flint had been the easier of the two—he wasn’t as strong and weighed much less. Richard had toppled Flint from the rails and dragged him to the mast before lashing him there.
Kaelen had been a great deal harder. Twice, the knight had nearly gained the rail again, flinging Richard away as effortlessly as if he were a leaf stuck to his clothes.
The third time, Richard—heart pounding, head still throbbing from where it had cracked against the deck—yanked down Kaelen’s trousers.
They tangled around Kaelen’s legs, making him trip, and he fell face-down onto the planks with a wet crunch.
Richard had moved quickly, lugging Kaelen to the mast by his ankle, then binding him with seven loops for good measure.
Now Kaelen sagged against the timber, blood streaming from his nose and his yellow smallclothes stark in the dim light. The man’s pupils were still blown wide, and he strained against the bindings, voice thick with longing.
“I must go to her, Richard—Richard, please—she is waiting in the water, she cannot wait long—”
“Really, Kaelen?” Richard snapped. “Must you always be so easily bewitched?”
It was, he supposed, an unfair thing to say, for the fault was hardly Kaelen’s. Flint, too, writhed against the rope, just a hand’s breadth from Kaelen, in a slack-jawed daze.
“Need her,” Flint moaned. “Need her, need her. Richard, untie me. Are you not a friend of mine—”
Richard gave them both a withering look and strode to the railing.
The mermaid was still there. She had swum closer to the ship and floated on her back, her tail rolling in a hypnotic motion.
Her song had taken on a shrill edge. As Richard rested his elbow on the bar and cupped his cheek, the mermaid tossed her hair over a shoulder.
She warbled louder, the song pulsating within Richard, raising goosebumps along his arms.
He tilted his head. “You have a lovely voice. Please. Do go on.”
The song faltered. The mermaid glared. Her tail flicked, throwing up a splatter of foam.
“Come now.” Richard tutted. “There is no need for that.”
The mermaid hissed, baring her teeth—filed to sharp points—and narrowing her eyes.
Another head broke the surface beside her.
A male, with dark hair plastered to powerful shoulders and a tail of sapphire scales coiling beneath the waves.
He smiled at Richard—akin to the portraits of the gods—and opened his mouth.
Out came a baritone that reminded Richard of honey. Rich and aching, a song that was older and slower, that made Richard’s chest tighten. The merman extended a long, muscled arm, water sluicing over his fingers.
Come with me, his smile said.
Richard smiled back.
No, these weren’t the eight-legged siren. These were merfolk, often confused with sirens on account of their beautiful, luring voices. He’d read of them, but there hadn’t been a sighting for centuries. Even Seola had scoffed when he’d asked.
And now, here they were. Singing to him. Soldiers, Richard realised on seeing the identical silver plates wound around their waists.
“You, too, are beautiful,” he said. “But though I yearn to see your home, I have no wish to discover the sharpness of your teeth.”
The song trailed off, and the merfolk exchanged a look.
Richard leaned over the rail and beamed at them.
“Forgive me,” he said, “but I have a great many questions, if you would not mind. Do you live hereabouts? Is your realm beneath these waters? Is that what you guard?”
The merfolk blinked up at him.
“I shall not lead anyone here,” Richard said. “Truly. We have come only for the siren upon that island, and once we have it, we shall return. My companions and I shall tell none of your presence. You have my word.”
For a moment, the merfolk simply stared. Then, with an imperious tilt of their chins, they dipped under the surface. The water closed over them, and they vanished into the depths.
Richard sighed and gave a belated wave before pushing off the rail. Rubbing the tender bump at the back of his head, he returned to the mast. There, Kaelen was wincing as blood dripped from his nose, and Flint squinted at Richard blearily.
“What,” Flint said, “in the unholy fuck.”
“Merfolk,” Richard said brightly. “Though I am not entirely certain as to their taxonomy. They ensnared you with their song, and I had to stop you both from plunging into the sea.”
Kaelen gaped, his eyes brown again, and a look of horror dawning upon his face. “I am sorry. I don’t—I don’t recall—I knew something was wrong, I felt it, and yet I could not—” His voice cracked. “I think I struck you. Did I strike you?”
“It is forgiven.” Richard folded his arms. “I may have broken your nose.”
Kaelen hung his head, glimpsed his exposed smallclothes and squawked.
“And why did you not get ensnared?” Flint demanded, a flush rising up his cheeks.
Richard shrugged. “I thought the song beautiful, but felt no compulsion.”
“Of course.” Flint rolled his eyes. “The unlustful creature you are.”
Warmth flickered within Richard at the thought. All those sailors who had met their death here. And yet, it’d been him, with his strange lack of desire, who rescued his shipmates. As with the Lumeron, there were indeed times when his troublesome nature proved fortunate.
“Now, handsome.” Flint jutted his chin at the ropes. “You tie a pretty knot, but you’ll be wanting to cut us loose now. I’ve a need to put my clothes to rights.”
“And me,” Kaelen muttered, staring at the trousers clustered around his ankles.
Richard snorted. “I think not. Both of you shall stay as you are until we have reached that island.”
Ignoring the resulting protests, Richard narrowed his eyes at the approaching island. It loomed larger, its sandy coastline coming into view.
The eight-legged siren.
Richard had a sinking feeling that these merfolk were child’s play in comparison.