Page 36 of Siren's Treasure

“Thessa knows what I am.” His head moved around the partition and his eyes twinkled at her. “Don’t you? Shadow of the Tide? A horrible, bloodthirsty pirate.”

“Far from it!” Morris was outraged in his charge’s behalf, though he still deftly arranged Thessa’s escape. They emerged onto the main deck where the late afternoon sun painted everything in warm amber light. The Duke patted her hand. “Shadow of the Tide, indeed! I apologize for his behavior, my dear. He’s a good man, you know. True-hearted. It’s just… he hasn’t changed much from the boy climbing the palace walls.” And then his lips firmed. Perhaps he thought he’d said too much. “Now, where were we? Walking, yes. You just—you just…”

He left Thessa perched to the starboard railing while he tried to demonstrate. “Back straight, head high.” The Duke paced the deck slowly. The sea stretching out behind him like polished glass, silhouetting him like a somber pecking bird. “Like so. Small steps at first, so you don’t overdo it and trip.” A few sailors cast curious glances their way but quickly averted their eyes when they caught Morris’s considering gaze—like he’d force them to prance around with the same exaggerated movements. “Now, you need to find your balance as you walk, as I do.”

The cabin door wrenched open, and Raggon materialized from a spray of mist to stand in front of Thessa, wearing a deep bluecoat with polished brass buttons. Her breath caught, seeing how the cambric shirt that he’d stolen from where she’d discarded it fit him to perfection. His hair, still damp but combed back, framed a strong jaw that he still hadn’t bothered to shave.

Now there stands a prince!

“Maddox’s old finery,” Morris muttered darkly. “A bit theatrical for my taste.”

And far too dashing for hers! Her knees were already too wobbly as she gripped the ship’s railing to keep steady—against both the rolling deck and her own traitorous impulses.

“Shall we continue your lessons, my lady?” Raggon gave a mock bow that was far too gallant. The warmth behind his blue-eyed gaze throwing her heart into a stuttering staccato might be the reason behind that. His fingers took hers in a move that now felt familiar, almost natural. He swept her closer to him, bringing her snugly against his chest.

With difficulty, she smothered all embarrassing gasps that her new lungs were trying to emit. He certainly was taking a far more intimate approach to his walking lessons than the Duke had.

“Follow my lead,” he whispered. She supposed she should nod here—better that she get this over with, no matter how mesmerizing her tutor was. “Feel the deck beneath you as you step,” he said. “The sea has a rhythm—you know this better than anyone, Thessa.”

She closed her eyes, forcing herself to concentrate. Her legs still felt strange, but less alien with each passing minute. For the next hour, as the sun began its descent toward the horizon, they worked together. His teasing challenges drove her. His hands steadied her when she faltered. “Keep it simple, Clam. Don’t try to run circles around me.”

She laughed. That was kind of him to think so.

His fingertips ran down her arm, kindling more warmth beneath her skin. “Okay, turn.” She did so, feeling the way herknees balanced her movement. They practiced what should be simple movements—walking forward and back, standing still without support—until theybecamesimple. The ship’s gentle rolling became less of a challenge and more of a familiar partner in this gentle harmony.

The horizon began to snuff out the burning sun by the time she could walk the length of the deck without assistance. “You’re a natural,” Raggon said. The sincerity that he usually reserved for his brother, and for his less guarded moments, sent a thrill through her.

He shot a triumphant glance over at Morris, who’d retreated to the helm to pore over maps, though he took the time to occasionally interrupt their lessons with scowls and reprimands to keep a sensible head.

“That’s it!” Raggon said, watching Thessa with the pleased eyes of a teacher. “We’re starting a young lady’s finishing school.”

The Duke rolled his eyes. “Ah yes, taught by the refined Sylphorian pirates. That would go over well.”

Raggon’s laughing gaze traveled over Thessa and turned her suddenly shy. The sky above them had darkened to deep indigo, the last crimson streaks of sunset fading like embers. Now that she was walking on her own, he was no longer touching her at every moment, and strangely she missed the feel of him already. “Never mind you’re a beginner,” he said, “—you move with a grace that I’ve never seen in any maiden on land.”

Was he really complimenting her? Pools of golden lantern light danced across his features, revealing a need to touch her again. Her breath caught, and she moved away, her fingers nervously tracing the weathered grain of the ship’s railing as she fought to regain her composure.

A strange rhythmic sound thumped across the deck, near the mainmast. Her head lifted. “What’s that?” The question was pulled from her.

“Drums. It’s Sylphorian Music.”

Other noises mixed with the thuds—a haunting soprano with no breath and pipes—thatsound she recognized. She’d watched a man play one on the shores of Coral Bay once. Some pipes had fallen to the bottom of the sea to join her treasures there, though much to her disappointment, she’d discovered it was mute—the odd instrument needed air to move through the holes to play.

The work of this long day had drained her, but somehow this music filled her with energy that was no longer her own. This was a type of magic in itself!

Raggon turned to her. Years had fallen away from his features as the melody gained momentum. “Circe thought she’d taken our spirit, but it lives on in the sounds of our people.” He guided her to a sheltered spot near the ship’s rail where a pile of canvas sails had been neatly folded, creating a makeshift alcove away from the others.

Not waiting for an invitation, Thessa settled against the seating with a sigh of relief. She swayed to the unusual rhythm as it moved through her soul. She missed the music of her own voice, but this had its own charm—earthy and solid where merfolk music was fluid and ethereal.

Raggon’s shoulder brushed against hers as he settled beside her, and she felt herself relax at his familiar presence. His elbows pressed into the coiled ropes behind them. “That’s Theron, Adair.” he pointed out the men. “Cass is the drummer there. Circe meant to keep them as hostages on this ship before I came back.” A dimple appeared in his left cheek. “I might’ve stolen the rest of her crew while I was at it.”

That’s where those grumbling shadows had originated! From their vantage point, she was able to pick out the Sylphoriancrew from the mercenaries. Where the hired sailors were rough around the edges and frowning, Raggon’s countrymen were marked by an easy camaraderie. They dressed differently too, their clothes simpler but well-made and clean, with patterns of waves and birds woven into the fabric.

The crew had transformed the deck with their celebration, clearing a space in the center. Some already engaged in a peculiar twitching movement, as if responding to invisible currents. Was this dance? They didn’t look in pain. The ship’s cook bowed deeply to thin air—to what? To whom? She didn’t understand this at all, though a big, sloppy grin had taken over his mouth. She hid an answering smile.

“For years, Circe watched our kingdom in her jealousy,” Raggon’s voice dropped to a near-whisper, and she leaned in, not to hear, but shockingly, to be closer to him, though she prayed he didn’t guess how much she was softening.

His expression had a faraway look that spoke of pain and loss. “The witch despised our prosperity, our joy, our simple lives, and secretly wanted our happiness for her own, but even after she’d taken it, she could never possess what wasn’t hers.”

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