Chapter Text
Sailors could be coarse men. This was no surprise to Eric, but as he passed adolescence, it got more obvious. By the time he was twenty-one they had long been comfortable enough to tease him.
Pierre started it, as he often did. “We saw that lovely young thing come with her father to visit. What’s she—a countess from one of the old countries? He’s a Duke, ain’t he?”
Eric continued to haul rope. “Yes, he is. And though it’s none of your business, Lady Elaine will be gone soon enough.”
“Elaine, eh? She had thin lips and narrow hips, but it takes all sorts. Is that what the prince likes?”
“Didn’t you see him ogling Vera at the dock?” Another sailor broke in. “That’s what he likes.”
Eric had blushed. Vera was a pretty woman whose younger brother was captain of one of the other ships of the queen’s line. She did not have thin lips or hips, quite the reverse. “It’s not like that,” he’d said, much to everyone’s amusement.
“Might as well be like that, Vera might be a bit old for you, but she wouldn’t say no to a prince. She’s a right one in fact, you could do far worse.”
“Hoo, Vera!” Another made a suggestive gesture. “I’d marry her tomorrow if she’d have me!”
“Why? When she could have me?” said toothless old Carlos.
The men cackled and Eric was hoping the spotlight was off himself, but there was too much time on a ship. Soon they reverted.
“Come on, Eric. What’s it like to have wenches crossing the ocean for you? Don’t tell us you waste it all.”
Carlos grinned his toothless grin. “‘Course he wastes it—do you not know the boy? He’s out here with all o’us. We have our living to make, but he’s here on his own account.”
Pierre took the coiled rope from Eric, lifting its wet bulk as if it was nothing. “Aye, what’s that about—you’d rather be here with a handful of rough grunts like us than back at home with a handful of sweet curves?”
Eric knew he was blushing then, but he only shook his head. “I’ve told you how important the sea trade is. I believe in this trip.”
“I believe in a long pair a legs!” Carlos called.
The men cackled and a ribald list of favorite body parts came from various men on the deck.
“What about you, Eric?” Juan asked.
“I suppose I like—eyes,” Eric said, knowing he would only set them off again.
He didn’t much mind the men’s ribbing, though he wasn’t as annoyed by Grimsby’s interruption as he sometimes was.
“Eric, I believe I have mentioned before—but it’s time you start to distance yourself from the men. At least do not indulge in this sort of—jesting.”
“They don’t mean anything by it. Half of them are happily married.”
“I am far from suggesting that you need to marry any time soon, but a strong alliance with the mainland would not exactly hurt. You of all people recognize how fragile our island’s economy is.”
“Yes. That’s the point of this trip, and the last one, and the next one! We can ally ourselves through regular trade with half of the Americas. I cannot marry that many women.”
Grimsby’s lip twitched. “A fair point, sire. Not but what the ambassador from Colombia had a very pretty daughter. In fact, I thought you rather enjoyed her.”
“Claudia was very kind, but she was homesick the whole time she was here.”
“I daresay she’d get over it. You do realize no one who’s visited would say no?”
Eric frowned and ran a hand through his damp hair, perturbed for the first time that day. “That makes it worse, can’t you see? I don’t want someone who has already decided to say yes. Or worse, someone who feels like she can’t say no.”
Grimsby’s shook his head. “A problem for another day, sire. At present, please spare my blushes for when the queen asks what you and the men speak of on these long days at sea.”
Eric gave a wry smile. “I’ll try.”
Less than a month later, at the end of their trip after the terrible storm and fire, he came to, disoriented on the beach. A strange weight and warmth lay next to him, and an incredible voice pulled him to wakefulness. It was pure and beautiful, yet also achingly familiar. It was his own longing and soul connected to something much more delicate and other… He had to open his eyes and see.
His eyelashes were crusted nearly shut, his eyes burned with the familiar tang of salt. A cool wave lapped at his feet and dragged at his ankles. Much like the voice drenched his mind and tugged at his heart.
Something blocked the sun from his dazzled eyes as he finally got them open.
She was curled next to him, over him. Along with her voice in his head, her hand was on his face.
He was still dizzy and disoriented, still unsure if he was dreaming or drowning, but joy and relief spread through him.
It was as if his deepest fear had just been brought to life and vanquished. It was his greatest wish answered.
Eric couldn’t be said to have had a lonely childhood—he had friends, a loving mother, devoted servants—but that fear lingered, the fear of a lost child. Her song pulled on that thread and sewed it into a tapestry of something so beautiful and bright, it brought tears to his eyes.
His hand slipped around hers. It fit perfectly, as it should.
He could not dream this, could he? Surely drowning in the ocean would not be so bright and so warm?
His blurry gaze finally focused on her eyes, and he smiled. He couldn’t have made this up.
But then a noise startled her. The song and the tapestry she was weaving were cut off, unfinished.
Her weight and her warmth rolled away from him, leaving his left side cold in her absence. The sudden glare of the sun made his eyes squeeze shut against his will. Another wave dragged at his ankles, but this time it was cold and empty. By the time he forced his eyes open again—surely it had been a mere moment—she was gone.
Harder and tougher hands tugged at his arms and hoisted him up.
The injuries her song had all but obliterated came back with a vengeance. His head spun, and his stomach was none too certain. His legs were barely answering him.
He was sick before they reached the palace. The sailors leaned him toward the rocks so he wouldn’t choke.
“It’s all right, lad,” sad Pierre, who was a good man despite his brash ways. “That’s the way of it when your head gets conked.”
They helped him up the long winding ramp from the beach to the castle.
He was surprisingly close. Did she know that? Did she bring him back home?
His brain must’ve been fuzzier than he realized for he didn’t realize he’d spoken aloud.
“Do you mean the storm, lad? I suppose she did bring you back home, in a way. I wouldn’t get too sentimental though. She damn near tried to kill you as well.”
“No. She was singing…”
“That’ll also be the knock to the head,” Pierre said. “It can make a shrill noise that lasts for hours. It’ll go off, young sire, don’t worry.”
Eric’s head did clear, and he was able to form more coherent thoughts.
His description of being completely unconscious until he reached the beach, of a girl pressing against the cut on his head, was taken more seriously.
“I suppose it could have been one of our island girls,” Grimsby said. “Many of them can swim as soon as they can walk, just as their brothers do. You’d be a bit of a load for a young lady, but for a strong swimmer, a tall young lady perhaps…”
Eric had no image of her height or build. Nothing but her eyes and her voice.
He could not convey to Grimsby, let alone his mother, the desperation he felt to find her over the next few weeks. His ears were always strained to hear that unfinished song. The unfinished tapestry still dazzled his eyes and senses, even when the sky was cloudy gray and spitting rain. He HAD to find her, he had to finish what had started on the beach. He felt he might actually lose his mind if he did not.
He expressed only a little of this to his mother, before realizing he was frightening her. Or perhaps that was because he had gone sailing against her express wishes.
“The ocean gods are treacherous and deceitful,” she said. “Did you think I only restricted you to land for your body’s sake? It is your mind I am concerned for! I am thankful this compulsion did not send you diving into the sea in search of your lost girl, to drown for good this time. I could not stand it, Eric. This fixation is not healthy or natural.”
She was probably right, Eric admitted, it was not natural—but it was certainly not evil, treacherous, or deceitful. He could not explain to her that the song had been as rich with love as it had been with compulsion.
When he met the shipwrecked girl, he was disappointed. He’d almost felt as if the song was drawing him to her room, even before he was told of her rescue. His steps grew fast as he was told of another shipwreck victim.
He’d barely taken in her eyes—brown and beautiful—when her lack of voice smote him like a slap to the face.
He may have visibly flinched, and he hated that he made her feel worse about her predicament. He wasn’t even sure what apologies or assurances of help he gave before he got out of the room. Thankfully his experience kicked in, for she was not the first shipwreck victim the castle had taken in since his arrival.
Later that day, Eric felt the same heart stopping urgency that came on him at times. He was passing by his study, his long treasured collection of oddments and trinkets from the ocean and from other islands and countries.
He was pushing the door open before he knew it. “Hello? Is someone here?”
He wasn’t even sure why he’d sought it out.
He threw back the curtains and looked out at the sea. His heart calmed. It was probably nothing, just the same drive and urgency that overtook him at times. He wondered if he would live with this his whole life. Or would a time come when he no longer remembered the song and the desperation? He recoiled from that thought. He would rather remember and go mad than forget.
Perhaps his mother was right to be concerned.
But when he turned back to the shadowy room, a faint shuffle and flicker caught his eye. He drew a step nearer and it resolved—it was the mute shipwreck victim.
“Oh, it’s you.”
She rose from her crouch and turned quickly to replace one of his ornaments on the high shelf. Its jade tail caught the sunlight, as if it glowed from within. “My little mermaid.”
His urgency from the last days subsided even more, and he smiled at her startled face. “Its fine, you can look at her. Isn’t she beautiful?”
She looked down at it again, turning it over in her small hands.
The shipwreck girl was also small, he told himself—another reason she could not be the woman from the beach. He was a head taller than her if not a little more; she could not have dragged him through the storm-ridden waves.
But that was not her fault.”You should keep her,” he said. “I’m running out of space as it is. Please do. Shipwrecks are terrible things, but there are beautiful things about the ocean, too. She can remind you of that.”
The girl smiled, a little sadly. Her eyes roved over his treasures.
“It probably seems a little silly— to spend so much time on a collection of no real use.”
She shook her head vehemently.
“Thanks. Most are from my travels. This fossilized rock from the sea bed, for instance. Isn’t it fascinating?”
She took it and before he could stop her—“Wait, no!”— she slammed it to the floor.
He flinched as it exploded. Was she addled from the sea…?
But then she scooped a piece from the ground to show him. Beautiful red crystals lined the rock. “It was hollow,” he said. “How did you know this was here?”
She turned and took up a large conch shell. “Those are rather beautiful, aren’t they? On the beach sometimes you’ll find—“
She put it to her lips and blew a mellow note.
“Why— I didn’t know you could play them. How wonderful.” He looked around, feeling refreshed and light-hearted. “What other secrets does my collection hold, I wonder? I hope you’ll tell me. Show me.”
She put the conch in his hands expectantly.
“What, me? I don’t know how. I don’t play the horn or the flute…”
She pursed her lips to show him, and he copied her. When he went to blow however, he got only the the most unimpressive airy splat. He blew a little longer than necessary, enjoying her silent laugh. When he put it down, her eyes were dancing.
“I’ll have to work on it.”
He searched his collection for a moment—walking toward the back corner. “Here--an actual flute.”
He turned around and was surprised how close she was. He held the silver instrument out. “I had this for its beauty—but do you play?”
She shook her head sadly, though her fingers still reached for the intricate thing.
“Why don’t you try?”
She held it up to her mouth straight on, like an oboe or panpipe.
“Er, no. I think it’s held like this.”
He demonstrated, putting the flute parallel to his shoulder, his mouth blowing across the hole.
“I think it’s supposed to—“
She snatched it back, holding it correctly this time and feeling out where her finger should press. A few silent attempts, and then a pure clear tone sounded from it.
She quivered in delight, and he laughed. “You’re a natural. Perhaps we can find you a tutor.”
She blew the note again and tentatively pressed a key. The note obligingly went down before it broke off. She tried again, and trilled the note back and forth.
“Perhaps you won’t need a tutor,” he amended. “I’ve heard it takes a long time to build up the breath to play well, but you must have it already.”
She clutched it to her chest, looking a question between him and the door. “Oh yes, you should keep it with you. You can take it to your room.”
Her smile broke out more brilliantly than before, and Eric forgot what urgency felt like.
It wasn’t until the lagoon that his conversation with Grimsby came back to him. Here was a girl who literally could not say no to him.
But she was so open, so clear in what she liked or did not like. Was he fooling himself that she was encouraging him? Surely not, and yet it could not be denied that she was different in more ways than merely her silence. She’d clearly never driven horses before, or perhaps even seen them up close. She had wanted to examine their hooves at one point, and he had had to grab her waist before she dove underneath them, risking a startled kick to the face.
She had eaten several flowers, and though naturally graceful and strong, she had not known the island dances until he taught her.
She seemed to know so much in some ways and nothing in other ways.
And now, as the wind moved the branches and leaves, and the canoe floated in lazy circles, he wanted very much to kiss her. Did that lay in her area of knowledge or ignorance?
He pushed the feeling aside, laying back in the boat to look at the stars. It did not help that she lay so close. That was another strange thing. He thought of their island as fairly relaxed about such taboos. His mother’s court was certainly not like the Spanish delegation that swathed their poor women in five layers of cloth and did not let them take a step without a duenna to keep a sharp eye on them.
But even with his casual approach to such things, the shipwreck girl did not quite fit. She moved as if she neither needed nor wanted space between herself and him. Or herself and anybody. She was so eager to connect and experience and touch…
He shook his head. “We use the stars to navigate when we’re at sea,” he said. He pointed out several. “Aries. Sirius, the Dog Star. The hunter.” Her warmth next to him was tempting. Too tempting. He couldn’t help but picture the beach—the unknown girl leaning over him, only now he was picturing THIS girl over him… he sighed. “I wish I knew your name. Maybe I could guess.”
He looked toward her. “Diana? Catherine?”
Her look of contempt for his guesses made him chuckle. He wanted to kiss the corner of her mouth as her lips twitched.
Suddenly she pointed at the sky. His brain was fuzzy with her proximity. “Er, the sky?”
She pointed more insistently, pushing his chin away from her.
“Oh, Aries? Is that your name? It’s unusual. Arie—“ she put her finger on his lips, silencing him. As she taught him how to say it, half his brain was focused on her fingers, his lips. What he wouldn’t give for an excuse to touch her lips…
“Ariel,” he finally realized. “That’s a beautiful name.”
She smiled and lay back again.
“Written in the stars.” His lips still felt the imprint of her finger and the warmth of her hand. This was a different type of madness, one that left him content, yet wanting.
He looked at her again, and she was studying the stars. Her warm skin had almost blue highlights in the starlight, and in the dimness the sparkle of her eyes stood out even more. The line of her neck was the most graceful thing he had ever seen, and he wanted to see if her skin was as smooth as it seemed.
He drew toward her, but she abruptly sat up.
Eric followed her lead, trying to clear his head. He grasped one of the oars to ground himself. Hadn’t she been leaning in also? Maybe not, but she didn’t look upset—excited, maybe startled…
A small school of glowing fish dived under the boat and around, spinning it in earnest. It was odd and wonderful. She leaned over the edge to look and he still could only look at her.
Despite all the sailors’ teasing over the years, or perhaps because of it, he’d rarely kissed a girl. There was more wrapped up in it than there would be for a regular islander. Most of the girls he saw often were either servants or the daughters of servants, and as he grew older, he didn’t want to raise expectations he wasn’t prepared to answer. There had been Lashana’s daughter, Therese. They’d kissed several times in this or that dim corner of the castle when he was what—13? 14? He suspected Lashana had known and taken a lenient view. Therese had married last year; he’d been at the wedding.
But even at that age he was realizing that he had to be careful. His people didn’t live in poverty, but his life was different, undoubtedly. It wasn’t right to taunt a girl with the possibility of such a life if he couldn’t follow through.
But none of that mattered as he looked at Ariel. He didn’t care about any of it—he didn’t even think of any of it.
When a squirt of water hit him in the face it made him laugh out loud. It should’ve broken the spell he felt with her, but then she wiped his wet cheek with her hand and he was lost. He caught her wrist when she pulled away. He was unable to let her go.
He guided it back to his cheek. “Ariel.”
She clutched his other hand, and this time he knew they were both leaning forward.
And the boat capsized. They tumbled into the cold water, heels over head. Between coughing and sneezing out sea water, and clothes hanging wet and cold like sea weed, the mood was well and truly broken.
Eric didn’t even care—at least not much. He felt light and carefree. If he didn’t know that he’d had nothing more than lemonade, he might suspect he was drunk.
He and Ariel walked back to the palace, for he’d sent the carriage back so the horses could be curried and foddered earlier.
It was quite late, and the road up to the palace was dark except for the stars and the moon. The lanterns on the walls of the castle ahead of them made tiny splashes of orange warmth, but the night was cool and dark.
Ariel stumbled over an unseen stone, and Eric took her hand. It was only polite to help a lady on uncertain terrain, wasn’t it?
Like the lanterns that glowed in the distance on the high castle, her hand brought a glow of warmth to him.
The starlit ocean was visible to their left, through the dark shapes of the palm trees.
Ariel paused to look through a clear patch, and her hand tightened on his. He couldn’t quite read her expression—fear, determination, sadness?
She stared out for a long moment, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “It’s all right,” he said, hardly knowing what he was promising. “It’s going to be all right. I don’t know what you lost when you came here, but I’ll help you.”
She leaned her head on him, and she fit perfectly.
The night breeze found them however, and she soon shivered. “We should keep going. It’s only going to get cooler, and you need something dry to wear. Goodness, it is late. If you don’t mind, let’s not announce our presence as we get back in. My mother will not be best pleased that I went out today.”
He looked at Ariel, who had one eyebrow cocked.
He winced and closed his eyes. “But I don’t need to warn you to be quiet, do I? I’m just that sort of idiot.”
She touched his cheek again, making him open his eyes. She shook her head emphatically.
“I’m not an idiot? That’s very kind of you.”
She took his hand again as they went up the last stretch of road toward the castle. He led her around to a postern gate and slipped in while the watchman dozed. “We are a relaxed kingdom, as you see.”
She grinned as the watchman snorted in his sleep.
Of course, for Ariel silence was obligatory, but Eric had trouble holding back a chuckle as they slipped further in. He nearly gave the game away when they almost ran into Grimsby.
Eric had to press his lips together to prevent a most adolescent snicker from coming out. When had he last felt like this?
Ariel leaned around him, looking down the hall when they’d left. The hat she’d given him was now on her head at a rakish angle. It was perfect.
He was loathe to let her walk away, but he knew it was the only thing to do. He sent her on towards her room, though his heart pounded when she dashed back to return the hat to him.
She put it back on—in his space again, and smiled so beautifully he felt a pang through his heart. He wanted her in his space all the time, forever.
Then she was gone and he let her go. Some madness had seized him today—quite different from the madness left him on the beach—and he needed to think.
Ariel left him all but drunk on happiness, but he needed to sober up and consider what he was doing.
Later, in dry clothes, he sat on the stone terrace with Max. It was late, very late, but he was far from sleep.
The land dropped away toward the ocean, and the stars lit up its ever-churning waves.
His thoughts returned to his rescuer, the girl from the beach. Grimsby reported no progress today. Not a single woman on the island claimed to have helped him. And why would they lie? Not to flatter himself, but he and his mother were generally well-liked.
Perhaps she didn’t want the notoriety. Or perhaps she was embarrassed that she’d sung to him…
Even as he thought about it, the tendrils of the unfinished song brushed against him. The edges of the undone tapestry grasped at him, threatening to pull him back into his obsession.
And only yesterday he’d told himself, quite sincerely, that he’d rather go mad than forget! He truly had been crazed.
A day and a half with Ariel, and he wanted something else. He wanted her smile and her small form tucked against him. He wanted her hand in his, and her beautiful eyes to return to him when she saw something beautiful, startling, or new.
It was not as hard a decision as he’d expected. Ever since his near drowning, everyone had been concerned for him. They hadn’t thought his obsession healthy or good, and perhaps they were right.
Ariel was all those things. And perhaps she would get her voice back someday—if it was from injury to her mind or body—or perhaps she would not. They would have to work out a more complex system of communication than eye gaze and laughter, but that was no barrier. He would learn Mandarin or Turkish or any impossible language for her if need be, but how much more fun to make up their own language?
From his pocket he fished out one-off the shards of the sea rock she’d broken yesterday. It glinted red in the dim light. Ariel knew how to find the secrets and beauty in life, and he would do it with her.
He was on the point of going inside when he heard something.
The voice filled the air, drowning out the breaking waves and sighing winds. For an instant he had the impulse to run…
But then it was in him. The song was playing, the tapestry smothering him. He had to see what it was. He had to have it.
Down the ramp he went, his body urgent but his feet reluctant. He followed the voice.
There was a woman on the beach, dark hair and pale skin. Brown eyes but surely they were wrong—
But the song doubled down an him and he almost fell to his knees. He had to have the song; he had to have the woman.
If she threw herself back into the ocean, he would follow her. If she hid herself on the island, he would tear it apart to find her. If she asked him to open a vein and prove his love, he would do it…
“Eric,” she said. “I’ve finally found you.”
“Yes. You found me.”
She reached for him and he reached back. How could one not reach for the sun? But her hand was cool and clammy in his. It was not warm, not perfect like—
“I’m so cold, Eric. Won’t you help me? Won’t you take me up to the castle?” She took his arm and turned them towards the path, towards the terrace.
“Yes. Anything you need.” He frowned. “We—we help any victims of the ocean. There’s another—“
“But I’m not a victim, Eric. I saved you. My name is Vanessa.”
“Yes,” he said stupidly. He could not seem to answer her at all without first agreeing. “Yes, you saved me?”
“Of course, I did. I’m your fiancé, aren’t I? Don’t you want to marry me?”
“Yes.” There it was again. With a dawning horror, none the less potent for the tiny amount of space it was allowed in his head, he realized he could not say no.
”Shall we wed tomorrow? Please say yes.” She sighed musically, taking his hand and humming something he did not quite catch. As quickly as that, he was swallowed up.
”Yes,” he said. “Let us go speak to my mother at once. I am so… happy.”