Page 90 of The Noble's Merman

How many lives had he taken, boarded upon pirate ships past? The Song had been a complicated presence in his life, his primal urge to see blood, clashing with his inner desire to commune with humanity. The Song was part of him, yet only now, after meeting Kent, did he realize that he didn’t have to use it. It didn’t define him. He was a mer just like any other, and could choose his own destiny.

The Song did not control him, no, he controlled the Song.

He tried to reason with himself—perhaps Kent would return soon. He wouldn’t abandon Mo, would he? He was thankful Mo saved his life, and Mo wouldn’t hesitate to do it again, if need be. But Kent was so angered at Mo’s lies, the hurt reflected in his face so fierce, that Mo couldn’t say for sure. But he wanted to believe. No, he needed to believe that Kent would return. His chest pulsed with magic, strong and unrelenting, and that alone was some strange reassurance that despite Kent’s anger, despite the pain, they were still connected. Someway, somehow. Kent was such a pure soul, the most amazing creature in every way, he would surely understand Mo and why he did what he did. Even before he walked away, it appeared as though he was trying. If only he would come back, and would talk with him some more…

Mo vowed that he would wait for him. Right here, in the same spot Kent left him, he would wait as long as it took. He’d always waited for him before, in the shallow waters by Stubbington, Kent’s home. In any and all instances, he would always wait for Kent.

He needed to make clear his devotion. And perhaps, if the magic could grant him a wish, it would let him be with Kent again.

His sobs lessened, but tentacles still clenched around his heart.

“Please come back to me…”

Kent walked further, and with each step he took, the soles of his feet ached. He realized he hadn’t walked much at all this past fortnight while aboard the John Beaut, being confined to the small room with barely any space to exercise his legs. So when finally able to stretch, getting his legs moving, it hurt more than it should have. He’d have to start walking sooner or later, and with how his conversation with Mo went, he felt there was no better time than now.

The sun shone bright over the tall grass of the field in front of him, which felt odd because he swore while still on the ship, it was raining. Perhaps the strange weather was caused by Mo’s Song. The Siren’s Song—just the thought made his head swirl. Despite being warned by Allen that there was a possibility that Mo was a siren, Kent simply ignored it. Was he ever so foolish.

But thinking of Allen—what happened to him and the others? Were he, Seth, and Wenta all right? He vaguely remembered them swimming in the water alongside himself and Mo, but then he’d passed out, not remembering the journey until he woke up on the rocky beach. They must be fine though, right? Wenta was a mermaid and Allen partially mer. They could swim to safety—where that safety was, was anyone’s guess. Perhaps they were close, and had even made it to the nearest town. He’d have to keep walking to check, but so far all he saw nearby were more treeless hills, more grass, and the occasional abandoned shed. There appeared to be some sort of town in the distance, but it likely would take at least another twenty minutes of walking to reach.

Nothing I haven’t endured, walking every other day to visit Mo on the beach of Stubbington.

Now, he knew Mo was a siren. He’d watched Mo kill three men right in front of him, their blood still staining his shirt. But something very odd struck him that he didn’t fully address in his mind until now—was the fact that Allen had suspected Mo, he had reason to believe Mo was a vicious killer of the sea even before witnessing it, and yet?—

Yet he still helped him. Kent remembered seeing Allen untie the ropes around Mo, all the while hearing and seeing evidence of the Song at that very moment. Even when Allen brought up in conversation the possibility of the Siren’s Song existing within Mo, he reassured Kent that despite if it were true, Mo’s love for Kent was genuine. As someone on the outside, Allen could see what Mo and Kent shared, how they interacted, how they cared for each other.

I see the way he looks at you.

A burning sensation pulsed behind his eyes, and he sobbed, thankful no one else was around to hear him weep.

What Allen thought, how Allen reacted, it meant that even if Mo was a siren, Allen trusted him.

But how could Kent trust Mo, when that very trust was broken by a lie?

He sobbed again, slowing his steps as he could barely see through his tears. His chest convulsed, and he coughed, only making the magic within ache more.

Yet even despite that, despite the deception, despite the lies, Kent could feel the merman’s sincere remorse pulsing inside his own self via their shared magic. Mo had reason to hide what he did, given his honest affections for Kent. Now that the truth was out, now that Kent knew, could he accept that apology? After all, Mo was a merman, someone of a different species, a different set of morals, and a unique destructive magic that flowed through his veins.

He wasn’t human, yet he went through great lengths to be connected to humanity anyway.

Mo was telling him just that before he walked away.

It brought out a peculiar sense of longing that only made Kent cry more. He wanted to talk more, wanted to learn more about Mo. He wanted to understand. He wanted to be close to him again.

He wanted Mo.

But he kept walking further, curiosity getting the better of him to see where he was. Wild fields became tame farmlands with grazing sheep as he ventured on, glad to see evidence of other humans nearby. Perhaps if he felt inclined, he could find the farmer who owned the sheep and ask for hospitality, or see about a public house or church in the town that was coming up.

The beautiful expansive landscape and the rocky beaches behind him made him believe that his initial inclinations were right—he was in Cornwall. The ship was arriving from the west if coming from the Atlantic to England, and since it had sunk prematurely before they reached Portsmouth, it made sense. The pirates had also mentioned how they wanted to lengthen Kent’s stay on the John Beaut before he was to be delivered back home. Which meant… he was a good few days away from Stubbington, even by horseback.

It also meant that his family had no idea what had happened. Being this far away still meant that the pirates wouldn’t have sent out any messengers to alert Kent’s father of the situation, of the ransom he was supposed to pay. Herbert Wilson and Katherine would still be under the impression that, by now, Kent likely had made it to Massachusetts on The Sterling Mer. He was thankful that after all this, he didn’t need to empty his father’s pockets and the ransom plot had dissolved along with the sloop John Beaut.

But Cornwall reminded him of someone he desperately did not want to think of at this moment: Diana. That was how he was able to recognize these hills and cliffs—he had been here before. Not this farmer’s field in particular, but someplace nearby, when he and Diana had visited to see the gorgeous landscape. It was only a few months before she had left him that they’d traveled together to Land’s End.

And then she did abandon him, leaving him with a broken heart so shattered that he practically felt it impossible to mend at the time. For approximately a whole year, he’d grieved the love he lost, unsure if he could ever find another to fill his heart again.

Then he met Mo.

Mo not only mended his broken heart, but he occupied it, filling it with more love and affection than he’d ever received from another. Diana’s companionship would never compare to the way Mo made him feel, so whole, so adored, so cherished. It didn’t matter to him that they were both male. It didn’t matter that Mo was not even human. Kent knew it to be true the moment he thought of it: no love would ever be greater than the one he shared with Mo.

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