Elodie of the Sea Read online

“That’s Captain Everson’s ship.” He raises a dark brow, but I don’t back down from the challenge. I meet his gaze with what I hope is a placid look and wait. That’s something I’ve learned over the years—most people are uncomfortable with prolonged eye contact, and I’ve gotten out of several sticky situations by simply waiting them out.

  After several long moments, the man backs down and gives me a lazy grin. His gaze drops as he assesses my skirt and blouse, probably deciding whether I belong. Perhaps deciding he doesn’t care either way, he loops his thumbs in his belt and asks, “What’s your name?”

  “Elle.”

  It’s familiar enough I could answer to it, and there’s no reason to give him more information than he needs.

  “Elle…”

  Crossing my arms, I give him a female smile that can easily be translated as “you’re not getting any more than that.”

  “All right then.” His eyes laugh at me, but there’s nothing about his posture that warns me I’m in danger. Not yet at least. “Where are you from, Elle?”

  “Murin.”

  His brows shoot up. “Murin?”

  “It’s one of the kingdoms above Triblue,” I say as if he’s daft. And one of the only ones I’ve spent much time in besides Triblue itself. If pressed, I could give him vague details, trivial bits of information about the kingdom.

  “Yes, I’m aware of that.” He crosses his arms, matching my posture. Then abruptly choosing to change the subject, he asks, “Are you hungry, Elle?”

  I study him. “I could eat.”

  “Well, you’re in luck.” He offers his arm. “You see, I happen to know the best place on the island.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Elodie

  The tavern is loud and packed with pirates of all ages, sizes, and levels of hygiene.

  My new pirate companion gallantly pushes through the door, displacing a man who can be nothing less than a small giant. Understandably concerned, I wait to see what the man’s reaction will be. To my great surprise, the giant takes one look at the pirate at my side, lowers his eyes to the disconcertingly sticky floor, and mutters an “excuse me” before nudging his way into the crowd.

  I give the pirate a questioning look.

  Instead of acknowledging me, he leans close. “Don’t let the quality of the company fool you. There’s no place on the island that serves better food.”

  Before I can question his sanity, he leads me to an occupied table in the back. As soon as the lounging men see him coming, they leap to their feet and gallantly offer us their seats.

  “The chicken is excellent,” my escort says as he absently waves his hand at the harried-looking barmaid, requesting service. “A bit on the spicy side, however. If you are delicate in nature, you might want to stick with the soup.”

  The woman behind the bar acknowledges him and hollers that she’ll be right over. He turns back to me, and he leans close, his eyes twinkling suggestively. “Tell me, Elle, are you going to play it safe? Or are you up for a little spice?”

  “I’ll have the soup.”

  He flashes me a quick grin. “Point taken.”

  I quickly scan the room for faces I recognize. We’re not far from Isle Milayle. It’s very possible I might run into someone I know.

  “What brings you to Calesia?” the pirate asks, drawing my attention back to him.

  Before I can answer, the barmaid deposits two tankards on the table, sloshing half the liquid out in her haste to get to the next group. From the stains on the wood, I’d say it’s a common occurrence.

  I take one sniff of the drink and nudge it away.

  After taking a hearty gulp from his own tankard, the pirate fixes his eyes on me. They’re green, quite striking, and they seem to know far more than they should. “Well?”

  “Well what?” I ask, grimacing as a man at the table next to us chugs several tankards, one right after another, to the chants of the establishment’s charming patrons.

  “What brings you to the island?”

  Knowing I won’t be able to avoid the question, I turn to him, rapidly spinning a story. From what I understand, women aren’t usually allowed on pirate vessels, as the men are often painfully superstitious and believe misfortune will befall them should a solitary female foot so much as step from gangplank to deck.

  “I was taken captive when the pirates laid siege upon the ship I was traveling aboard.”

  He sets an elbow on the table and drops his chin in the palm of his hand, giving me his undivided attention. “Is that so? How horrible for you.”

  I shrug, playing the aloof, noble type.

  “Where were you headed before you were attacked?”

  If this man is at all familiar with the mermaid-bedecked ship, I’m in a world of trouble.

  “Ptarma.”

  “And only a month ago? In the dead of winter?” he asks, looking rather mock-astounded. “He must be a brave captain, sailing that time of year.”

  This isn’t going as well as I’d hoped.

  “Tell me about Captain Everson,” the pirate presses, thankfully moving on, though this question very well might be the trap that snares me. “Is he as dashing as people say? He has quite the reputation as a charmer, you know.”

  Wary, I shrug a single shoulder. “He’s a pirate. I’m afraid I find you all to be very much alike—no offense, of course.”

  He chuckles. “None taken. Tell me though, did you find his peg-leg off-putting? Or his eye patch? I’ve heard it can be a bit of a shock when he takes it off.”

  I lean forward. “Can I be honest with you?”

  The edges of his eyes crinkle with his smile, telling me he’s genuinely enjoying himself. “Please.”

  “I was so traumatized, I can’t tell you a thing about him. I holed up in a deserted storage closet and spent every moment there until we came ashore.”

  He sits up, his mischievous smile morphing to an admiring one. “Clever.”

  “Excuse me?” I try to look vexed, as a nice young non-mermaid would. Of course, it helps that this very situation is quite vexing—mermaid or not.

  “If I were anyone else, I would be completely lost to your innocent eyes and sad, sad story.”

  I narrow my “innocent” eyes in irritation. “How dare you accuse me—”

  The pirate sticks his hand out, cutting off my indignant reply. “I’m sorry, I’ve been terribly rude. Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Everson, and I am captain of the Oceana.”

  Captain…Everson. That should come as no surprise considering how the worst sort of luck has been following me around lately.

  I huff out a breath and give his hand a good, firm shake instead of letting him kiss my knuckles. “That’s inconvenient. Since we’re on the subject, where’s your peg leg? Oh yes, and your eye patch?”

  “I left them in a deserted storage closet.”

  “You’re quite the jester, Captain Everson.”

  “And you’re a very pretty liar.” He empties his tankard and then nods to mine.

  Shoving him the drink, I purse my lips, cursing my choice of ship.

  “What are you really doing on the island?”

  I tap my fingers on the table, avoiding eye contact. “I have no business on the island. I’m only here until I can find someone to sail me to the mainland.”

  “You want to go to Triblue?” Everson sits back in his chair, studying me. I can tell the pirate doesn’t trust me, knows I’m hiding something. I’m sure with that intense stare, he’s used to gleaning information off all the people he meets, but he’s in for a rude awakening if he thinks he can manipulate me—I know that trick.

  “It’s a good start,” I finally answer.

  “Where are you headed?”

  I shrug. “I’ll travel up through Vernow, maybe visit Lauramore.”

  I doubt the inhabitants realize it, but many magical beings make their homes in the small mountain kingdom. Lauramore houses the largest fairy population in Elden, and to the north, ri
ght on the edge of Errinton, there is a village primarily made up of gimlies. I can hide there, at least for a while, until I decide my next move.

  Everson sets the second empty tanker aside. “You’re running away from someone.”

  It’s not a question. Somehow, he read it on my face.

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “It’s my business if I take you aboard my ship.”

  I eye him warily. “Why would you do that?”

  He gives me that grin again, the one he knows is charming. “What can I say? I’m a gentleman who has a weakness for damsels in distress.”

  It’s a bad idea; I have no idea if I can trust this man. Just his chosen profession is enough to make me a fool for considering his offer.

  “When do you sail again?” I ask, still debating.

  He looks away as if thinking and scratches the side of his neck. “That depends. This person you’re running from—how soon do you think he’ll find you? Does he know you’re here?”

  “I never said it was a man.”

  “I took a guess.” He leans forward on one elbow. “Clingy lover?”

  “Something like that.”

  A loud cheer rings out through the establishment when it’s announced the loser of a bet will be buying the entire tavern a round of drinks. I watch the crowd, impartial and mildly disgusted. Once they settle down, I turn back to Everson. “Why are you offering to help me? What do you get out of it?”

  “Only the pleasure of your company.” He laughs when I give him an incredulous look. “Listen, I’m heading to Triblue anyway. Haven’t you heard? His Majesty is stepping down, passing the crown to his son. Prince Bran’s coronation is only a few weeks away, and I plan to attend.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “They allow pirates at coronations?”

  “I’m not your run-of-the-mill pirate, darling.” As he says it, he gives me a cheeky wink.

  “When do you leave?” I ask again.

  He wears a smug expression—knowing I won’t be able to turn him or his charm down. “How does tomorrow morning suit your needs?”

  After studying the pirate for several long moments, I finally give in. “That will be fine.”

  It’s obvious he expected no other answer.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Elodie

  Everson’s crew watches me with suspicious eyes, which is no great surprise considering I’m a woman. There’s also the fact that they’re drawn to me, though I doubt they realize why—it’s the magic. It calls to them, makes men think they’re enthralled with the mermaid, but it has nothing to do with the woman herself.

  Thankfully, the pull isn’t as strong as the bards’ stories claim. No one has time for that sort of nonsense.

  I stand next to Everson, looking out across the water, trying to ignore the crew. Each passing moment takes us farther from the pirate island, and I breathe easier as it shrinks into the distance. The captain’s at the wheel, and the wind is in our sails. It’s a beautiful day, not a cloud in the sky, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything at sea.

  “Do you expect to find bad weather?” I ask Everson once the island has disappeared into the horizon.

  He turns to me, keeping one arm loosely draped over the wheel. “The worst of winter is behind us, but we may yet run into a squall.”

  You can never tell, not out here.

  We have a week before we reach Triblue. It’s not very long, not for a sea voyage, but it’s quite a while to be stuck on a ship with a group of pirates.

  “Did you find your cabin satisfactory?” Everson asks.

  I watch a man climb the rigging like a monkey while his wicked-looking cutlass swings at his side.

  “I was going to ask you about that.” I pull my eyes from the pirate. “Why do you have such a well-furnished guest suite?”

  Everson flashes me a smile. “Are you familiar with Prince Teagan of Glendon and his wife, Marigold?”

  “Vaguely.” I’ve heard their names but know nothing more.

  “They’re treasure hunters—though if you ask them, they’d say they’re historians. Years ago, they discovered ruins on an island—I suppose it was an important find because it made quite a stir. I now ferry them back and forth to study their ruined city whenever their royal hearts desire adventure. We have another expedition scheduled for early spring. That’s another reason I’m headed to Triblue—to meet them.”

  Dumbfounded, I stare at him. “But you’re a pirate.”

  Everson turns toward me and leans against the wheel, giving me a rotten grin. “Are you sure about that?”

  I look about the ship, taking in his questionable crew and crates of questionable cargo. “Yes?”

  The captain only laughs.

  Shaking my head, I turn from the helm. Before I’ve taken so much as a step, I stop in my tracks. A man watches me from the other side of the deck. His stare is intent, and there is undeniable recognition in his expression.

  Ice pierces my heart as I boldly meet his gaze. I wonder if Everson knows he has a gimly in his employ.

  After several long moments, the man turns away.

  Severely rattled, I take a deep breath. There’s no need to panic—not yet. He’s a gimly; I’m a mermaid. There’s no animosity between the races. We’re quite friendly in fact. It’s possible he wants to keep his heritage as quiet as I want to keep my own.

  Still, feeling it would be wise to avoid unnecessary time amongst Everson’s crew, I make my way down to my borrowed cabin.

  ***

  We have one day left until we reach Triblue. The week has moved slowly, but perhaps it only feels that way since I’ve stayed out of sight as much as possible. I haven’t seen the gimly again, and I begin to wonder if he’s avoiding me like I’m avoiding him.

  The weather’s been calm the entire voyage, but storm clouds moved in from the west this morning. They continue to build, growing darker and more substantial, until they blanket the sky like thick, gray fleece.

  Needing fresh air after too much time spent in my stuffy cabin, I stand on the deck, looking out at the water. The wind whips my hair, which I didn’t bother to braid this morning. There’s a chill in the air, and the pure moisture stings. It’s been too long since I’ve been in the ocean. Even though I’ve been adding salt to my drinks and the few human foods I can eat, it’s not enough. I crave the feel of it on my skin.

  “Sea voyages are painful, I imagine,” a man says from behind me.

  Startled, I whirl around. I’m not surprised to find the gimly, but my pulse jumps. The man doesn’t look old, maybe in his thirtieth or thirty-fifth year—which means he’s at least a hundred. Mermaids age no differently than humans, but gimlies can live for centuries if they’re fortunate.

  “I know what you are—just as you know what I am.” His hair is brown, most likely lightened by years in the sun, and his eyes are green like moss. Gimlies have a strange smell to them, like freshly tilled earth and things that grow. I’ve often wondered if we smell of the sea, but it’s not something I’m about to ask.

  “I have no intention of telling Everson what you are,” I finally say.

  The man only nods, pulls a flask from his belt, and offers it to me. The scent calls to my internal magic like a siren’s song.

  “No…” I take a subtle step back. “But thank you.”

  The gimly gives the flask of little jiggle. “You know what it is; you know you need it.”

  I can’t seem to break my gaze from the small flask. Finally, feeling as if I have no choice when faced with such a temptation, I snatch the flask from his hand.

  “Will anyone see me?” I ask, scanning the deck. Most of Everson’s men are busy attending to tasks, preparing for the storm that will surely hit before we’ve reached Saltwreath—the central port city in Triblue.

  The man in front of me shakes his head. “No, I’ve been waiting for the right time. That’s why I approached you now.”

  What he means is that he’s peered into the future. I
f the gimly says it’s safe; I have no reason not to trust him.

  I dribble the sea water over my arms, closing my eyes with great contentment as the cool water makes me feel whole again. Quickly, I wet my hands and rub them over my neck and face.

  “Thank you,” I breathe as I hand him back the flask. I bite my lip, thinking…wondering if I dare ask. Steeling my courage, I meet his eyes. “Can you tell me where I can go that will be safe?”

  His forehead wrinkles as he thinks. “You’ve run away from Isle Milayle—you were to be queen.” His tone is accusatory.

  “I had no choice—surely you must see that.”

  He nods, still thinking—still watching the play of events that have yet to unfold. It’s a strange thing, watching gimlies work their magic. His eyes flicker as if witnessing an imaginary performance. After a few moments, his expression goes dark. He sets his hands on his hips as he scowls, and then, once he’s satisfied he’s seen enough, he finally turns his attention to me. “Very interesting.”

  “Did he kill her? The last queen?” I whisper, knowing he must have seen enough to understand my question without further explanation.

  “Yes, she was murdered—too much magic was pulled from her and very quickly. It was a painful death.”

  A wave of nausea rolls over me. She died because of me, because I came back to the island. I should have stayed away.

  “If you go back to Milayle, your fate will be the same.”

  Remembering Aristos’s words, I take a step forward. “There was a gimly who came to Milayle years ago. He said—”

  “That you would be the special one? The one strong enough to live?” He raises a brow.

  I shrug, helpless.

  “No, your magic is no stronger than the rest. But I see what the man before me saw, and I know the future he was directing you toward.”

  “Can you tell me?” I need to know. Somehow, I must make him see why he needs to reveal his information. But gimlies, as a rule, are horribly selective about the amount they’ll share.

  They say they’re tight-lipped so a multitude of things won’t go awry. But most of the time I think it’s because they’re difficult, and it makes them feel superior to carry knowledge the rest of us lowly beings do not.