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Viego tried, to no avail, to find constellations he could remember on the stars above. He tried to recall their shapes and the stories from books and tales that he had learned about them when he was a child. The world might have changed a lot, or he had forgotten more than he believed, because the night didn't cease to be an incomprehensible tapestry the more he looked at it.
Viego didn't really mind. The stars didn't mean much to him, but there was beauty in that clear night sky he had not seen in so long. He could do nothing but stare at it quietly. He felt a painful jab in his chest, where his heart would have been.
He was not alone in his stargazing. Pyke was there too, at the other side of the deck. He had been going around the boat, dealing with the ropes and the sail, steering the wheel with an expertise and confidence the Viego of a long lost past might have envied.
By chance, experience or skill, or a combination of all, he brought them to a part where the sea was calm. It barely rocked the sloop as it stood still, no land in sight.
"Lookin' for your wife up there?"
Pyke's eyes glowed like two stars of their own. He seemed at ease, which was rare, although something more frequent between the two as of late. Maybe it was the place: he always felt more like himself on board a ship.
"Did you marry a star lady or somethin'?"
Viego frowned.
"Don't be ridiculous", he replied, dry, although it lacked the edge telling that he was up for a fight.
Pyke chuckled and let him be, and soon silence spread between them again for a few moments.
"Do you remember any of them?" Viego asked, eventually.
Pyke hummed, thinking, and scratched his chin. Much like Viego, he had trouble remembering; he looked at the stars, certain that he knew them, and from time to time a name would come to his mind, a figure, only to vanish in a second like the waves against the hull.
Some of them, though, remained.
"That's the Eye." He pointed at a bright, blue star near the zenith. "It signs the North. That's the Guardian constellation. You can see it only in summer. And that's… that's…"
The name slipped away from his mind leaving only the memory of a night on a fishing boat, and of a red-haired, freckled girl smiling under the moon.
Viego's huff brought him back to reality. The Ruined King was seated like he was in his court, exuding a petulancy that Pyke at first didn't tolerate aboard his ship.
"Is it weird?" He asked.
"What is?"
"Being here. You never sailed, did you?"
Viego lifted his gaze to the sails tied up at the mast and he got on his feet.
Since he became the Ruined King he had crossed the sea many times, always through the Black Mist. He had no need for sailing, yet Pyke was wrong, and he smiled, satisfied to prove it.
"Only once", he admitted.
Yes, the only time was when he and his soldiers crossed the sea towards the Blessed Isles, in a desperate attempt to bring his queen back to life.
Nowadays, everyone knew how that story ended.
But if there was anything weird, it was how he had accepted to make this trip when the other offered it to him. That he had left the Mist behind, daring to let himself be guided deep into the sea by a man like that. One that had tried to kill him -that he also had tried to kill- more times than he could count.
From the first moment, their relationship had built itself over threats and insults, accusations and sharp blades. To anyone, it was obvious that they were too different to understand each other: a king and a fishmonger, a man who was born with anything at his reach and another who had to fight for it.
It was obvious that they would not stand each other and yet here they were, in quiet company.
It had taken a lot to reach this point; a lot of time and a lot of wounds. But at some point, one of them had become aware of the lack of sense in everything, of the emptiness in that hatred that brought them together. At some point, they have looked at each other and seen a twisted reflection of the monster they had become.
Pyke got closer. He kept his face uncovered, leaving life-hardened features and scars that never truly healed in sight.
"And the sea?"
"What about the sea?"
"Have you ever swum in it?"
The King looked down towards the waves. Both the moon and the prow's light were reflected on the surface, but further deep everything was pitch black.
"No", he replied, eyeing the waters with mistrust. It was Pyke's turn to smile.
Without another word, he got to the rail and casted a last glance towards him -an invitation- before jumping out. It seemed like he swimmed even before he reached the sea, shrouded in a green sheen, and there was almost no sound once he dived in. His light was still visible for a bit until it disappeared a few metres in, swallowed by the waters.
Viego was left alone on the deck, and he might have remained that way. In fact, he had all intentions of staying there at first. But when he lifted his gaze again, the gleam of the stars looked cold and insignificant. It was hard to admit, even harder to admit it to himself, that what he really enjoyed from that trip was the company.
He huffed and, taking off his jacket (out of logic more than necessity), he let himself fall into the sea with less elegance than his partner.
Under the surface, it was dark and cold and quiet, in a much less pleasant way that it had been out there. With the help of some wisps of Black Mist, Viego started walking further away from the ship.
“You’re cheating”, came the scolding from everywhere. He saw the eyes glisten, circling him, before Pyke appeared from the darkness.
“How am I cheating?” His voice sounded as clear as if he was on the surface. Pyke circled him again like an annoyed shark.
“It’s not swimmin’ if you don’t swim.”
Viego tried to catch him, but he quickly retreated, nimble like a fish in water.
“You didn’t learn or what?” He spinned a bit more, provoking him.
“Of course I learnt. Who do you think I am?” Viego scoffed. He would have clicked his tongue if he was able to.
“A petulant prince.”
The king tried to catch him again, and again Pyke evaded him. He stopped a few meters ahead, almost lost into the dark. He saw how Viego let the Black Mist dissipate under his feet and looked around with suspicion.
For Pyke, there was not much difference between being under or over the surface. For him, the sea reached everywhere. Swimming was easier than breathing now, something he didn’t have to remember to do, and under the waters there was no place he couldn’t reach and nothing that could harm him.
He just realised that maybe it was not such an easy thing for his partner.
“Come.” He let Viego get closer and offered him a hand that the other reached for. “I’ll guide you.”
He practically towed him to the depths without effort. Viego let him do it without complaint. He would have been deeply offended normally, but now it was a gesture that practically didn’t catch his attention.
The seafloor, unlike what most of the people on the surface thought, was not a lonely place. Even there, where there was apparently nothing to be seen, there were eyes and voices all around if one paid enough attention to find them. Pyke never felt alone when he plunged this deep, never truly on his own, never truly lost. It was a reassuring sensation when his death was still so fresh, constantly on his mind. The desperation of his last moments still cut deep against his will.
In those depths, he could hear the song of the Swimming City, far, miles away, like a whale’s song calling for him and all the drowned that could hear.
He didn’t dare to ask Viego if he could hear it too. A part of him didn’t want to know. Selfishly, he wanted to keep that only for himself, but he also wanted to share that sound with the only person he probably would ever be able to show it to.
“Do you know what a jaull-fish is?” He asked all of a sudden. Viego eyed him curiously mid-stroke.
“Some of those vermin that pester around the decrepit port you call a home?”
Pyke laughed, a dry and short sound, because of the insult without bite or because he was far from the mark.
“Jaulls are leviathan kin. Big. Two pairs of eyes and rows of teeth big as a cutlass. They’re smart too. Do you know how they hunt?”
The Ruined King made a disdainful gesture with his head and looked at his side. Normally, darkness was no hindrance for him, but he seemed unable to peek through the waters.
“They go in small shoals. One of them, the biggest, attacks first. A distraction. You need to drive it away from the ship or it will break the keel with a bite. It’s a harpooner's job to tie it down, but to do so, they need to get into the water.”
Viego saw something move by the corner of his eye, but when he turned his head, it was gone.
“A mature jaull-fish can swallow you whole. You need to be careful, with the young ones too. Because when you’re busy lookin’ at all those teeth is when they take their chance. They bite your talons... and drag you to the bottom.”
He stopped there, in the middle of nowhere, and pulled Viego towards him, into his arms. No sound came out of the Ruined King’s throat, only a surprised couple of bubbles. He closed his mouth again, irritated.
“How funny. And I’m supposed to be scared?”
He tried to free himself, pushing Pyke by the shoulders. Even with his inhuman strength, Pyke was able to keep his hold on him, looking at him with amusement. He had caught more slippery fish.
“If you were smart, yes.”
After writhing a few more moments, Viego surrendered with a sour face. He refused to look Pyke in the eye, and the other saw how his expression changed to one of surprise, then attention, as he looked into the dark.
“Do you hear it?” He asked, cautiously.
The song. It was clearer but still far, far in some unknown direction, where a distant glimmer could be seen. It might have been the moon at the other side of the surface, or it might have been something else entirely.
Viego didn’t answer. He simply looked back at him, with big, bright eyes, and kissed him. Soft lips met rough and chapped ones, both of them cold. Pyke was tempted to slip away, continuing with the game, but he supposed that he had already made enough fun of him. And it wasn’t as if he didn’t like it. He hummed, pleased.
When they met, something like this would have been unthinkable. Even now they often wondered why. Why were they drawn to one another and shared moments like these? Both of them, deep down, knew the answer: loneliness, the pain, the rage. The blurred memories and the phantasmagorical visions of a reality that no-one else could understand.
They both knew and they both remained silent, fearful to break that spell, that frail tolerance and understanding that they had struggled so much to reach. They preferred to float, far from the sky and the seafloor’s lights, from the Ruin and the shore, in a moment that meant nothing and everything at the same time, ethereal.
"Swimming in the Mist is like swimming in the ocean", Viego said, almost a whisper against his lips. "You would feel welcome there."
It was not the first time he made that offer but the first time where it didn’t sound like a threat. Even then, Pyke’s answer did not change.
"I will not swim in the sea of your tears." He put a hand on his cheek, brushing away the hair that floated around Viego's face like a silver halo. The crown on his brow was the only source of light, casting a pale glow around them. Beyond, a pitch black darkness, but neither of them was worried about it.
When they went back to the ship, it was chilly. Pyke didn't even seem to notice that he was wet, and even though Viego could feel the cold against his skin, it didn't bother him. He had grown used to it, although he remembered a time when it was different.
"It was warmer in Camavor." He lifted his eyes to the sky.
“In Bilgewater too.” Pyke followed his gesture for a moment and then sent him a thoughtful glance. "How warm?"
Viego licked his lips and the taste of salt filled his mouth again.
“I remember a time when we went swimming in the lake. Not the sea, the sea was too far from the palace. We went… some nights in secret, she and I.” Two faces crossed his mind, one soft and gentle, the other with sharper and harsher features, similar to his own. “You could always feel the breeze at night, it was nice in summer. You could lay down and watch the stars and…”
There was a hand on his arm and then another on his neck and then lips against his own.
“Warmer than this?”
Viego blinked, forgetting what he was talking about for an instant, and then he chuckled softly. Instead of trying to resume what he was saying, he simply kissed him back.
The inside of the sloop was narrow and they barely had space to move around without hitting a corner or one of the wooden walls, clinging to one another. Despite that, Pyke had managed to make it cozy in its own way.
He guided him in the dark, and Viego practically let himself fall onto the makeshift bed, dragging Pyke with him as he held him tightly by the shoulders. Pyke let out a small sigh of surprise (he had never truly grown used to the strength he had) and looked at him.
For a moment, the spectral crown caught his eye, with his dim and twinkling brightness. In that moment it felt familiar, and he kept on looking at its ever-shifting dance and Pyke could almost hear the whispers in his head, the voices of the deep ones gaining strength…
He was pulled again, painfully this time, forcing him to move his eyes away from the crown to the man who wore it. Viego was a sight to behold, with his still wet hair plastered on his neck and face. He squinted at him with a surly expression that was both a plea and a demand.
“No. Look at me”, he said, as if he had read his mind, putting a hand to the nape of his neck.
With a simple movement he exchanged their positions so Pyke was now under him, at the mercy of his whims.
“Only me”, he repeated against his lips.
“Greedy”, Pyke replied. Viego chuckled and it reverberated inside his chest, filling Pyke with a distant emotion, surreal, too human.
It was him who cradled the other’s face between his hands and kissed him with more need than he believed possible. Both the voices and the lights disappeared from his mind.
Inside the sloop’s belly there were no lords or serfs, no voices from beyond or broken hearts. There was the scarce heat that the friction between two cold bodies was able to provide and the longing for that lost a long time ago.
Calling it love might have been too much. Love was powerful, love hurt in a way that neither swords nor harpoons could match. But there was fondness in the way Pyke intertwined their fingers, in how Viego left breathless kisses against his neck.
They had hated each other. Sometimes they still did, when the tide and the mist were high and dense and there was no future or reason to find. But they had found each other, somehow, and they had become a constant in the other’s existence. A breakwater that endured the harshness of a storm that every time claimed a bit more of themselves.
“Come with me”, Viego asked often, at some point. There were tears falling down his cheeks and tainting them black, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Come back to me.”
The desperation on his voice made Pyke’s chest throb and he didn’t answer. He was not sure those words were for him or for the ghost that Viego sought everywhere.
“Say my name”, he demanded in exchange, with a strangled voice, gripping his hair.
Viego fumbled for words for a moment and then his eyes shone with preternatural clarity.
“Pyke”, he said, as if he just remembered. “Pyke, Pyke, Pyke…”
With that, he had enough.
Viego’s embrace was painful at the end, repeating his name over and over again like a litany. It was almost like being left breathless by the blow of a wave. Pyke knew that eventually he would float and catch his breath again.
Warmth persisted long minutes afterwards, when they were snuggled against each other, leaving lazy kisses on each other’s skin.
It was like a dream while it lasted, a pleasant illusion made of the pieces of happier days. They could float together, serenely, without worrying about where the current would sweep them along.
But at some moment the dream would come to its end. It could be all of a sudden, or little by little; a simple “I miss her”, long hours with a lifeless gaze, pain, and anger, and whispers from beyond.
It was the rocking of the waves beating against the coast in the middle of a tempest, a current that was too strong and deafening. It dragged them away until they became something different, until they could not recognize each other anymore.
But the sea of death was eternal and persistent. At some moment, the storm would pass, and then they would drift ashore once more, with the soft melody of a sea song in the distance.