Chapter Text
Their first meeting would be better called a sighting.
Tarquin, seventeen and halfway through his first yearlong voyage, leaned against the ship’s heavily carved gunwale and openly stared around him at the floating port city of Bandalas. The Final Sight was in need of repairs after a battle with a ship from Rask. The best place this far outside of Prythian for any kind of ship work was this strange city.
Bandalas was a cobbled-together mess of wood and metal and rigging. Plank bridges stretched between towers across waterways and avenues. People used ropes to swing from one landing to another, calling out as they stepped into taverns and houses and buildings that defied gravity, seemingly held up by rickety beams and magic.
It was a truly neutral city that didn’t take sides in any fight. All violence was forbidden on its docks as all were welcome. Supposedly the city itself would eject you into the waves if you drew a weapon within it. When Bandalas said all were welcomed in its watery avenues and boisterous music halls and friendly docks, it meant all.
There were High Fae and faeries and humans working alongside each other, yelling, bartering, singing, arguing. On a low floating dock, a pair of mermaids were sitting side by side and selling wares. Pixies flitted near hanging lamps. Everyone seemed to tolerate each other well enough, though there were dirty looks from some to others.
Tarquin had never seen anything quite like it. His home city of Caspian had a variety of citizens but everyone tended to stay in their own quarters and areas. In the palace where he lived with his parents, the only lesser faeries you saw were the servants. Here, people seemed more on equal footing.
As he stepped back from the bulwark, he instinctively ducked. A splash of water pulsed through the space where his head had been. He stepped back and looked up at a pair of water sprites who had perched on part of the Sight’s mainsail rigging. They giggled and then splashed through the air like miniature dolphins, heading to the stern of the ship.
Intrigued, Tarquin followed their path, moving around the sailors on his own ship, ducking to avoid getting smacked in the head by repair beams. He would soon get pulled into work, but neither the captain nor the first mate had given him instructions yet.
Sometimes his position as the Prince of Caspian meant that even the captain was occasionally hesitant to give him orders. He hated that, but if he tried to convince them otherwise, wouldn’t that be insulting in a way? Not respecting the respect they gave him? But it felt strange to be respected just because of the position he had been born into. It seemed more like he had drawn the luck of birthright.
He climbed the stairs to the quarterdeck. One of the sprites flung a splash of water at him. He lifted a hand and directed it away. They both stopped midair.
“Nice trick,” the smaller one said, flicking her hair and sending rainbow droplets flying.
“Do it again?” said the other with a devilish grin.
Before he could agree, they both sent water spurting in his direction. Tarquin focused and caught their waterspouts. The magic that was always at his fingertips and growing every day responded to his request.
Midair, the water reshaped itself into an osprey. He smiled and sent it back toward the water sprites, who cheered and caught a ride on its back as he soared it out over the harbor.
Between his ship and one across the way, they jumped off the bird and rushed toward the figurehead of the ship nearest to them. The figurehead was shaped like a griffin, its powerful lion-like back legs carved from the bow, its front eagle half with talons outstretched. Its beak was open in a screech.
There was a female around his age laying on the back of the figurehead. Tarquin’s cheeks grew hot at the sight of her almost entirely exposed legs. She was wearing…undershorts? Her skintight trousers reached midthigh. She had netting tied around her waist, bits of driftwood and coral and shells tied into its fringe. Her skin was a deep warm brown with golden undertones. Her shirt was sleeveless, showing off wiry muscles and an oval tattoo on her upper right arm. From this distance, he couldn’t make out exactly what it was since it shimmered in the sunlight.
He couldn’t look away, taking in the rest of her, the long dark blue hair with hints of green tied back in a high ponytail, the extra points and curves of her ears. Her bare, delicately webbed feet. The faint scar-like marks along the sides of her neck. She was one of the merli, faeries who were as comfortable in water as they were on land. He could hold his breath for hours underwater, but she could actually breathe beneath the waves.
Her mirthful smile as she caught him ogling her had him stepping back, looking at the sky instead. Or he did for a moment. Then he found himself watching her again as someone called out in a language he didn’t recognize and she stood up, the sprites flanking her. She was utterly at ease as she walked along the figurehead and onto the ship proper. It was a gorgeous vessel, if a little worn in places. Its hull had been carved to mimic feathers like the ones of its figurehead. The flag that hung from its main mast was dark grey.
“Prince Tarquin,” a sailor said behind him, “The captain would like to speak with you, if you have a moment.”
Tarquin shook his head as if dislodging a daydream. “Of course, Ray.”
The sailor, an older High Fae, saw what he had been looking at and spat to the side. “Pirates." He grimaced beneath his bushy sun-bleached beard. "Bandalas should at least outlaw them.”
Her? “That ship?” he asked, nodding to it.
“That one's part of the Charybdis fleet. You don’t want to cross her,” Ray said, glaring across the way at the ship.
The girl noticed. She waved both hands at them cheerfully and then flipped just her little fingers up at them at the same time. Tarquin had never seen a female do that in his entire life because it was such a crass gesture. Laughing, she blew him a kiss and then skipped over to a tall male that favored her, even if he was frowning.
Tarquin rubbed the back of his neck, somehow resisting the very strange urge to jump in the water and swim over to her right that moment.