Chapter 3

 

Something tickled Savion’s hand. It crawled, stopped, then crawled again, moving up his arm and onto his neck as if someone played a keyboard on his skin. He weakly tried to swat the offender away, but his hand felt like an anchor. A breeze blew hair into his face as the thunder of waves pounded his ears.

The keyboard-player bit his cheek. “Ouch!” Savion batted at his face and pried his eyes open against what felt like cannonballs strapped to his lids. A tiny crab skittered away over the sand and dove into a hole. Beyond him, many of its friends did the same as a wave crashed ashore.

Ashore?

Indeed, he was ashore. Lying on a bed of palm fronds beneath the shade of a tree. His wet clothes clung to his skin as a searing ache drummed through his head. He rubbed it, but pain and the feel of stitches caused him to jerk back his hand. What? The last thing he remembered was hacking away at the mast lines, trying to save the ship.

The Scepter!

He painfully pushed his body up to rest on his elbows. After the dizziness cleared, he scanned the shore, where foamed-capped waters extended to the horizon. Where was his ship? How did he get here? And more importantly, did his crew survive the storm?

Terror prickled his skin. Planting his palms in the sand, he tried to rise. Twice he fell and had to wait to gather his strength. On the third attempt, he finally stood on wobbly legs, clutching onto the tree trunk. Memories swam through his mind. He’d fallen into the sea. The waters had covered him, forcing him below. Then fierce pain. The last thing he remembered was the pain.

Perhaps he’d managed to cling to a piece of wood. No, surely he would have woken in the waves—not lying on a bed of leaves.

Had his men rescued him and brought him here? Taking tentative steps, he made his way to the water’s edge, scouring the shoreline and the jungle beyond for any sign that his crew had survived. Father, please, surely they are alive and well.

A flicker, a glimmer, a reflection of sunlight caught his gaze. Something stirred in the waves just offshore. A shadow. Shimmers. Then a foamy splash. He rubbed his eyes. He could have sworn he saw the tail of an enormous fish.

His legs gave out, and he sank to the sand. He was seeing things. Wind flapped his damp shirt, chilling him, and revealing deep gashes and dark bruises covering his chest. Whatever happened to him, he was lucky to be alive.

“Father, did you send Guardians to rescue me?” As expected, no answer came. His father wasn’t here, though Savion often spoke to him as if he were. Which provided much fodder for taunting from his crew. Perhaps it made Savion feel closer to the man who was eons away . . . across the gulf. He gripped the amulet hanging about his neck, thankful for its comforting warmth.

A wave splashed over his toes, and a vision of a dark-haired beauty flickered through his mind. A dark-haired beauty with eyes the color of the sea. Now he knew he was dreaming, for he’d never get within twenty feet of a woman so beautiful. He’d been deceived by a lovely face once. Shamed by an alluring figure …

But never again.

 

♥♥♥

 

Perdita popped her head above water and studied the man who was but a speck on the beach. He seemed well—well enough to stand and walk and remain conscious. Which was why she quickly deposited him on shore before he awoke and saw who tended his wounds. A slight pang struck her heart as she watched him struggle to rise and lumber down the beach. Why? She'd plucked a thousand sailors from Neptune’s grip, nursed them back to life, and she’d never given them another thought after returning them to land.

This human was different.

Dipping beneath the waves, she followed him along the shore, careful to dive out of sight when he glanced her way. This human had muttered constantly in his delirium, as most sailors did. But unlike most sailors, he did not speak of liquor or wenches or treasure or battles at sea. He did not utter a single curse nor spew angry words of revenge at some vile enemy. Nay, this man mumbled about purpose and a mission to defeat evil. His words were hopeful and eager. His face even lit with joy when he spoke of a father he missed and his longing for Nevaeh, the land beyond the gulf. That baffled her the most. Nevaeh was naught but a mythical place. No one had ever gone there. At least no one Perdita ever met.

No doubt too much sun and salt had driven the human mad. Still, his words carried such intensity, they stirred something deep within her.

Hope.

Zost! Hope was the opiate of fools. Which made this human naught but a fool. And she a bigger one for following him now. Yet, as he stumbled along, she found herself unusually curious about him: to know who he was and where he came from and why he seemed so different.

After an hour, the man found the small fishing town she knew he would stumble upon. Another hour passed in which he bartered his way on board a merchant vessel that was preparing to set sail.

She should leave now.

He could take care of himself, and Perdita had her death to plan. It was nearly the time of ephemeral redemption, and she couldn’t bear to endure another torturous month.

The human male boarded the ship, and shouts from the captain to weigh anchor and raise sails echoed over the water. Perdita dove beneath the waves and swam to the bottom of the small harbor. Coral in every imaginable color blossomed like crystalline flowers from the seabed, plants swayed in the water like graceful dancers, starfish clung to living rock, and crabs skittered to and fro. Sunlight pierced the water—spears of rainbows from above—while colorful fish of all sizes scattered as she approached. She fanned her tail, propelling herself forward as the warm water slid over her body. This was her curse. Condemned to live in such splendor forever. Indeed, she had once thought it beautiful and peaceful. And in many ways, it was more pleasing than land. But the beauty only reminded her that she had no one to share it with—no family, no friends, no lover. Paradise, no matter how dazzling, when experienced alone was worse than hell.

A fish slid beside her, matching her pace, and she reached over and touched its slick skin. Nay, not completely alone, she supposed. Mayhap she would have gotten used to her underwater world if not for the forced ephemeral redemption—a chance every ten years to break the curse, a month’s time in which she became human again. She welcomed it at first, even looked forward to it with great anticipation. But as each month sped past in failure and she was plunged back in the sea to wait another ten years—another long, miserable, lonely ten years—she dreaded the chance to hope yet again, only to have her hopes inevitably crushed.

What a cruel twist of fate Forwin had pronounced upon her.

The yellow tang rubbed against her and swam off, and Perdita flipped onto her back and admired the surface of the water rippling in the sunlight. There. The keel of the fishing ship slid through the bay out to sea, its hull casting a shadow over the otherwise luminescent scene.

The human male was on that ship. Sailing out of her life as they all did. Then why did she feel so distraught? Swooshing her tail, she sped upward and broke the surface just behind the stern of the ship. In moments, she spotted the man high in the rigging of the mizzen mast, working along with other top men to unfurl sail. He shouldn’t be up there! Not with a head wound that had nearly caused his death. Dizziness could overcome him, and he could find himself once again in the sea.

Then all her efforts, her pain, would have been for naught.

Nay. She could not allow that to happen. She would ensure he arrived at his destination safely, and then she would leave him be. Diving back beneath the waves, she sped after the ship.