A Pirate's Dream (12 page)

How could two beings spend such close quarters together and not feel at least something for on another, especially when they shared bodies for a time?

“He asked to go. I relieved him of his duties. He should be landing in the above anytime now, I’d imagine,” he rumbled, staring broodily at the flames once more, watching as the white crystal fire shimmered with differing colors as it snapped and curled.

Fire should not burn in water; none did, except for white crystal. Shards extracted from within magma pools, hot enough to burn indefinitely and harvested by only the bravest souls.

Fall’s chill had settled upon his waters, and soon, every room within the palace would be aglow with crystal flame. He’d need to tell Nimue’s staff to send up enough to last her through to the winter.

“So why don’t you sound happy about this? Flotsam is finally with fry. This is a good thing, no?”

Looking at his sister with new eyes, Sircco shook his head. “Do you not wish to mate, Sirenade?”

Her hair began to twirl and curl around her shoulders with mirth. “Me? Mate? I should think not. I’ve no desire to rub fin with—”

“A legger,” he supplied.

“No.” She frowned. “Legger or otherwise, matters not to me.”

“Then?”

A sea dragon circled her head before swimming in a rhythmic bob toward her outstretched hand, rubbing itself lovingly against her pinky claw.

“I simply do not desire a male, period. Hard as it may be for you to believe, brother, I’m quite content without one.”

He narrowed his eyes. Unlike his sister, he’d never been happy being alone. For the longest time, he’d only ever wanted Talia. But even when his desire for her waned, his desire for more never had.

He wasn’t sure he would call it a need for love. Love seemed a foolish notion. But companionship. Closeness. He craved them and from someone other than his strong-willed sister.

“I want a mate.” The moment he said it, he knew it to be true to the very depth of his core. Sirenade lifted a porcupine fish quill off her desk and dipped it into a well of squid ink.

After opening the book, she scratched a few notations down.

At first, he thought she intended to ignore his proclamation, but after a moment, and still without looking up, she said, “A mate. Or Nimue?”

Jerking, he sat up straighter as the glass in his hand bobbed, spilling some of the amber liquid onto his tail. With a growl, he swiped at it. “I never mentioned the pirate’s name, and no, I wasn’t thinking of her.”

Or had he been?

In fact, he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about her lately. The way her neck curved like a swan’s, how perfectly rounded her breasts were, and how he wished he knew what color they were tipped. But beyond her looks, he looked forward to their private, shared moments.

Even when surrounded by groups of people, when she spoke to him, it was like the rest of the noise just faded away. She had a quick wit about her—and a wicked tongue. She knew she was different from the rest of them and yet never seemed fazed by that difference.

Where most leggers were constantly aware of the disdain the folk felt for their form, she flaunted her legs. Her gowns had grown progressively more revealing, sometimes hinting at peeks of ankles when she wore flat slippers. Or other times, like this morning, she’d worn a gown with long vertical slits down each side.

Her creamy flesh on full display and what he’d always found so repulsive now seemed less and less so.

“Mm-hmm.” Sirenade cleared her throat.

He glanced up only to see a knowing twinkle in her wave-swept eyes.

“Would you like me to repeat that, brother, as I’m fairly certain you didn’t hear me?”

“What?” He tossed back the remainder of his drink then set the glass aside on the floor.

“I said—” She grinned like a catfish that’d just swallowed a parrotfish. “That you were always built differently than I. It is not wrong to want. Or even to want a legger. Nimue is sweet. She is the daughter of Hook, which in my eyes, makes her all the better.”

Growling, he riffled his fingers through his hair. “I do not want her.”

“And so you keep saying, and yet, I hear you pacing the waters of your room every night. I see you watch her. See the way you study her. The way she studies you back.”

Studies him back? Did she study him back? Was she as perplexed by him as he was by her?

“She does not seem so lonely anymore. Have you noticed?” she asked.

“But what if...” He stopped speaking, not sure how to word his thoughts.

Cocking her head, she asked, “What?”

Her hair, which just moments ago had relaxed, was now curling tightly at the tips.

“I am not in love with her.” He said it slowly, for it was fact. He was intrigued—he could not deny that—but he did not feel a burning of lust in the way most leggers’ poems professed love should feel.

He wanted to be around her and wondered what she did during her days away from him, but he did not wish to ravish and possess her. But then he imagined laying her down on his bed and taking her lips as his palms cupped her breasts as she moaned and writhed beneath him and his body tightened down low.

Coughing, he shook his head to clear the strange thought.

“You were saying?” She asked with a hint of a smile, as though she’d been privy to his thoughts.

“Only that I worry she might confuse my interest in her as an interest in Talia.”

The smile faded. “How often do you speak with her of Talia?”

“Often. Daily.”

Gods, was that wrong? Should he not have? She seemed to enjoy his stories. But he lacked such a basic knowledge of the fairer sex that he was unsure now whether his desire to please her had backfired.

This morning, when he’d professed to having a surprise, what he’d actually wished to give her was a necklace that’d once belonged to Talia—a conch shell necklace with every color of the rainbow in it and streaked with veins of gold.

He’d thought she would enjoy having it.

“Does she like it?”

“I suppose.” He shrugged. “She seems engaged, offering her own stories of her mother back.”

The skin under her eye ticked. “Brother, do you ever talk to her about, well, her?”

“Her? I do not understand.”

Her hair went limp. “Sircco,” she groaned. “I’ve very little experience being courted, but I am a maiden, and if there is one trait leggers and folk share in common, it is that no woman wishes to speak of other women to a man she desires.”

“Nimue does not desire me.”

“Brother, you are truly clueless. The pirate is enraptured by you. I see it every time you come upon her unawares. The glow that suffuses her face transforms her from something merely interesting to something radiant.”

He blinked. Could that be what she’d done to her face? “I thought it was cosmetics.”

“What?” She frowned, looking thoroughly confused.

“The glow. I’ve seen it on her. I thought she’d taken to painting her face as Stygia does.”

“Gods!” Sirenade’s hair became corkscrew tight. “Do not mention that rat-faced Stygia to me! The wench apparently slapped Cook square in the face this morning, left a bright-red mark upon her cheek for daring to serve her eggs not coddled to her liking.”

A storm rode through her eyes, causing the waters around them to churn and bubble.

“Calm yourself, sister,” he reprimanded, calming the waters with a touch of his hand. “You will kill us all with you temper.”

She snorted. “You’re one to talk.”

But already, her hair had begun to relax.

“And I thought I told you to tell her she was no longer wanted in court.”

“I have, but you know Stygia, and unless she does aught wrong, we cannot simply throw folk from court for no good reason, not even if they do slap a favorite cook. I’m quite certain that Cook handled that reckoning.”

“As I hear it, she tossed Stygia across her shoulder as one tiny little pirate happened to do several weeks ago.”

Chuckling, he could only imagine what that must have looked like. He’d have given much to see it.

“Either way, Stygia deserves to go.”

‘T’would shame her, sister, and apart from being prickly, she’s not a terrible sort.”

Her nostrils flared, but her hair hung gracefully around her shoulders.

“You worry so much about others, Sircco. But sometimes, dear brother, it is okay to worry more for yourself than the sentiments of those who do not matter.”

“That is legger philosophy, and one I could never hold with.”

Her smile was soft but sad. “Talk with her. Tonight after dinner. And do not talk of Talia. Can you try?”

She was not speaking of Stygia.

Before he got a chance to respond, a scream full of terror split the waters.

P
eter Pan rubbed his hands together, staring at his first lieutenant with a strange gleam in his eyes, one the Lost Boy hadn’t seen in over a decade—the thrill of the hunt.

“Hook’s laid low long enough. Blasted fellow,” Peter snarled. “We always knew she’d be forced out of hiding one of these days. Ye Gods, and there she is. Below the under, how very fortunate for us.”

Twisting around so that he lay flat on his back as he drifted through the clouds, Peter gazed at the sky with a victorious smile.

“Are you sure it is her? It seems unlikely that Hook would just hand his daughter over to—”

“The brat stole from the Hag, Linus,” Peter snapped, making him jump. Linus hated when Peter was mad at him. “Hook had no choice but to release her.”

“Yes, but are you sure we should trust her?” Linus glanced down at the azure waters rippling beneath them. “She is one of them,” he whispered, fearful any of them should hear him.

He’d always despised the maidens of the deep. Lovely but deadly creatures, they were. He hated fish.

Peter snorted, twirling his pocketknife around and around. “Of course we can trust her. She’s no reason to lie and every reason to do as we say. We know her secret—she would never dare tell ours.”

“Do you think she will do it?”

“She will do it.” Peter winked. “She will definitely do it.” Then he let out a victorious crow that was soon followed by a ripple of more crows from the Lost Boys hidden within trees below.

Linus nibbled on his bottom lip. Peter had always been mercenary when it came to his hatred of Hook, but this level of malevolence against a woman—and fish were not women; they were merely monsters in pretty skin—sat uneasily with him. Still, Peter was his leader, and everyone knew... one should always follow their leader.

*

N
imue climbed the stairs to her room, envious for the first time of the fish’s tails. She was sun drained and tired. Even so, she felt wonderful.

“Out! Out now!”

Frowning, Nimue peered over the railing to see the kitchen doors flung open and Stygia tossed out of it.

“As of right now, you are no longer allowed within these walls!” Cook brandished a rolling pin like a sword, pointing it at Stygia’s prostrate form.

“Cook, I merely came to apologize. I realize that I was rude this morning, and I—”

Notching her thick chin high, Cook glowered at the pretty maiden. Then with a harrumph, she swept back through the doors, slamming them shut with a finality that spoke volumes.

Not wanting to get involved with whatever that’d been, Nimue hurried up the steps. She had no patience for dealing with Stygia right now, and considering the troll had been tossed onto her backside yet again, she doubted any confrontation between them could end without violence.

What she wanted now was a warm bath to help ease the chill from her blood and to find a dress that would cause Sircco to drool on himself when she descended for dinner later in the evening.

It was a dangerous game she played, allowing herself to get close to him, and he to her, she knew there could be no love match between them, but he filled the ache in her soul.

He and this magical realm full of fascinating and strange creatures.

Smiling to herself, she snickered when she recalled the cries of gleeful delight as she’d wiggled her toes for the maidens. And for the first time in weeks, she wondered what her parents would think if they could see her now. Would they be proud?

Taking the final step, she puffed out a satisfied breath and marched straight for her room. She was covered in dirt and snail stain and had no desire for Sircco to catch her thus.

Opening the door, she stepped inside and was finally able to relax. Amazingly, she’d gone from viewing this room as a prison, to now, as her sanctuary. Unwrapping the shawl from around her shoulders, she dropped it to the floor, kicked off her boots, shoved down her skirt, and yanked off her bodice. She stood only in scraps of fabric they called underwear.

Since maidens had no need for panties or bras, they’d manufactured annelid silk specifically for Nimue. Thing of it was, it was hardly more than ornamentation, just a swath across her nipples and between her legs.

Shaking her head, she unpinned her hair. She was just about to head to the bathroom when she heard a sound that pricked at her ears, if only because it was unlike anything she’d heard in the under since arriving.

Holding absolutely still, eyes flickering around every corner of the room, she waited to hear it again. And when she did, she could hardly believe it. The unmistakable rattle of a snake’s tail rang ominously around her.

“Dear Gods Above and Under,” she squeaked, reaching for the only weapon she could find—her boot.

Holding it in front of her like a shield, she followed the sound. Above, a sound like this would be no problem—she would withdraw a pocket pistol and blast the reptile into oblivion. But there was no conceivable way there was a snake in her room.

For one, only sea snakes lived in the under, and their tails did not rattle. And for two, unless kissed by the king or queen, no land-dwelling creatures could survive in the under. That thought eased her nerves immediately. The sound had to be something else.

Maybe the surprise Sircco had mentioned. Had he come and tucked it into her room at some point? It wasn’t really like him to do such a thing. He’d never once stepped fin inside, but there was a first time for everything.