Chapter Text
Baz
It’s water that took my mother.
A flood so powerful that it swept everything away. Our garden, all the flowers my mother loved so dearly and tended to with infinite patience. The sling in the garden, hanging from the old oak tree where she used to push me while I begged to go higher and higher. Our horses in the stables, my mother’s favourite mare, white with brown speckles that looked like freckles. Father found it by the river a couple of days later, almost unrecognisable.
We lost everything. Our cats—both of them. All the furniture on the ground floor. Her piano. The photos of us as a family. My toys. All that was left of our possessions was caked with mud afterwards. Ruined like our lives.
But none of that mattered. Not when I had lost her.
I remember the noise that night, the sound of the storm. The way it woke me up at night in my little bed in front of the extinguished fire. I remember calling her name. It was dark and noisy, and I didn’t know where to go because I couldn’t see anything. I was too little to light a candle by myself, but I knew the sound of the storm outside wasn’t normal. That it wasn’t like anything I had experienced before.
Father was away. Gone for work to sell our cattle and make us richer. Fiona didn’t live with us back then. It was only me and Mother that night, and she didn’t answer when I called her name over and over again, louder but not loud enough to be heard over the storm.
I got up.
There was a faint light coming from downstairs.
“Mother?” I called.
I tentatively went down the first couple of steps.
“Little puff, go back to bed,” Mother said, appearing with a candle in her hand.
“What are you doing?” I asked, rubbing my eyes.
The noise was getting eerily louder.
I remember being scared.
“I was just checking on the cats,” Mother replied. “There’s a terrible storm outside, and I thought Mr Whiskers was out in the garden, but luckily he’s back.”
I went down a couple more steps.
“Can I have some warm milk?” I asked. I shivered in my pyjamas. “With honey? Please.”
I caught Mother’s eyes going to the window, her eyebrows creasing and lips thinning into a straight line.
The sound was getting worryingly stronger. The branches of the trees in our garden were bashing against the window, and the wind was a deafening woosh coming from the fireplace.
“Alright, my love,” she said.
I reached the bottom of the stairs. Her warm hands found me, wrapping around me like a life buoy, her lips pressing to my forehead in a gesture that was so familiar to me that I gave it for granted.
It was her last kiss, and I didn’t even know.
My attention was drawn by the cat’s suddenly frantic meowing. I was confused, scared.
“Mother, why is Mr Whiskers—”
I didn’t manage to finish my sentence.
The world ended so quickly.
The water came in so suddenly and powerfully that it smashed all the windows open and broke through the door. I remember covering my ears and screaming in fear. I had never seen anything like it. The water was black and ominous. The level rose so fast that my mother’s skirts were completely soaked within seconds. The cats were gone in the blink of an eye.
“Go upstairs!” Mother shouted, pushing me up. “It’s not safe here, Basilton. Upstairs!”
“B-but mother, the cats…”
“I’ll find them,” she promised.
Her hands were on me, making my legs move, pushing at my bottom up, up, up.
I did as I was told.
I scrambled up the stairs, tripping up a couple of times and letting out a yelp when I finally reached the landing. I immediately turned around, thinking that my mother would be right behind me, but she wasn’t.
She was gone.
Without a sound, without a last word.
I don’t know how many times I called her. My voice was gone by the time people arrived in the morning to look for survivors. In my ears there was still the deafening sound of the water rushing through our house and taking away everything that was dear to me.
As I was sitting on the floor at the top of the stairs that night, watching the black water take my life away, I couldn’t help but think of all those stories that Mother read to me. About Nixes, malevolent water sprites who lured people into water to drown them. I remembered her telling me the story of Lorelei. Of the Nøkk, who played enchanted songs on his violin to get women and children and drown them in lakes or streams. I tried to catch a glimpse of them. Beautiful humans with the tail of a fish. I tried to hear their famous songs, but all that was left was the ominous sound of the water.
My mother was never found.
I was five years old, and my life was taken away by water.
I’ve been terrified of it ever since.
I can’t swim.
I never go near it.
And I can’t believe Fiona is sending me to live by the sea.
Fiona
“Keep your fucking head down!” I hiss at him. I peer outside the window of our carriage and attempt an inconspicuous smile at a couple of elderly women gossiping by the side of the road. They glare at me, so I glower back. “What’s the point in smuggling you out of the castle if everyone can see your pretty face and tell your father that you’re on the run?”
“Stop pushing me down,” he replies through gritted teeth. “And I’m not pretty.”
“Oh, yes, you are. Otherwise that silly girl wouldn’t have agreed to your father’s request to marry you.”
“Agatha Wellbelove doesn’t even know me,” he grumbles. “We met a handful of times, and she somehow convinced herself that I would make an excellent husband.”
“Precisely. Pretty face,” I say, raising an eyebrow and pointing at him. “That’s all she saw, because if she even spoke to you once she would have realised that you don’t swing that way.”
“We spoke several times,” Basil argues.
“Then she must be daft,” I conclude. “How did she not realise that you only like men? You threw a colossal tantrum aged three when your parents told you that you wouldn’t be allowed to marry a prince.”
“You laughed at me!” he accuses.
“What was I supposed to do? You were stomping your feet and rolling on the floor,” I reply with a laugh, thinking back at how ridiculously cute he was back then.
Basil makes a disgruntled sound at the back of his throat and then sighs.
I know this is not ideal. Kidnapping your nephew the day before his wedding is always problematic, especially if it means that your brother-in-law is going to bust your balls until the end of your days. But I’m softer than I let others believe, and I couldn’t face the thought of Basil being forced to marry a woman. Not when it’s the last thing he wants. Besides, Malcolm would bust my balls anyway.
It’s going to be a pain in the arse facing the Wellbeloves tomorrow morning at the chapel and pretending that I have no idea where my nephew is. But I know Basil will be safe with Ebb. No one would look for him over there, in a remote village on the coast. Right next to the sea.
I’ve even paid the driver such a huge sum that he’s going to retire after taking us there and then returning me to the castle just in time for the ceremony, leaving no one to interrogate.
It’s a brilliant plan.
It’s a shame my nephew doesn’t comprehend my genius.
“What am I supposed to do once I get to your old friend’s house?” he asks, still sitting on the floor of the carriage with his face between his knees. “A friend that, by the way, you have never mentioned before.”
“One does not need to disclose the whereabouts of all past lovers.”
“Lovers?” Basilton asks, lifting his face and earning another push from me.
“Ebeneza Petty, also known as Ebb, mans the lighthouse and looks after her goats,” I explain. “We went to school together, but she decided that court life was not for her, so she took over her grandparents’ house and business after their death. Her brother was meant to help her, but…well, she’ll tell you about it.”
“Are you expecting me to work at a lighthouse?” Basil asks, sounding dismayed at the prospect.
“You could always help her milk the goats in the morning.”
“My hands aren’t going anywhere near any-any—”
“Tits,” I supply. “I got it, you like dicks. It’s your father and step-mother you should have told.”
“You think I haven’t tried?” Basil huffs grumpily. “Since age three, remember?”
I sigh and look outside the window. The countryside is green, the fields peppered with daisies as summer is well on its way. I hate the idea of sending Basil near a big mass of water, but he will adapt. He’s stronger than he thinks he is, even if his heart is soft. Besides, it’s for his own good.
I peer outside the carriage window and hum to myself at the dark clouds on the horizon.
“There’s a storm brewing,” I tell him, “exactly where we’re going.”
“Bloody brilliant,” he replies, his fingers reaching for his left earlobe to pull at it like he always does when he’s anxious.
“It’s going to be fine,” I tell him for the umpteenth time. “You’ll see.”
Baz
It’s hell.
The rumble of thunder gets louder, shaking the carriage as we approach the little village by the coast. It’s taken us most of the day to get here, and Fiona has already warned me that she’s just going to drop me off and then leave straight away, otherwise she won’t make it back in time for the wedding, which would raise suspicion. As if Father wouldn’t point his finger at her straight away when he finds me gone and not simply rehearsing my wedding vows in peace and quiet in my room like I asked him—and how did he fall for that? Who would spend an entire day and night writing their vows?
It started raining an hour ago as the sun set over the horizon, and my anxiety has been rising with every puddle that we’ve spotted on the way here. They’re a lot larger than they were ten minutes ago. When there was still light, the sea looked scary in the distance—angry and dark, the waves huge.
“Take me back with you,” I beg Fiona, my voice drowned by the crackle of thunder. “Fiona, you can’t leave me here.”
“You’ll be fine,” she says dismissively, then poking her head out, she shouts to the driver, “It’s the cottage near the lighthouse! Shit, I got my hair all wet.”
I’m going to die.
I’ll get dragged away by floodwater.
I will be eaten by a goat.
“It’s not going to work,” I try to tell Fiona as the lighthouse comes into view. It’s all white, with a red metal balustrade at the top. The light shines bright in the darkness surrounding us, like a beacon drawing me to my destiny.
“Relax,” she says. “Ebb is going to love you. Just be mindful of the goats. They like to eat clothes. And paper. Basically anything they can get their teeth on.”
I wonder if human flesh is on the menu as I clutch the bag with my art supplies to my chest. There is no way those pesky goats are getting anywhere near my drawings.
“We’re here!” the driver shouts from the outside.
My heart does an unpleasant little somersault in my chest. My stomach sinks, and I suddenly feel so sick that I think I’m going to ruin the carriage seat.
“Fucking finally!” Fiona comments, opening the door of the carriage and letting out a yelp when the wind snaps it shut in her face. “Bloody wind.”
She groans as she pushes the door open again. I contemplate refusing to leave the carriage—she won’t be able to drag me out. Probably—but then I hear her call Ebb several times without an answer.
“Is she not there?” I ask, peering out. “Did she even know we were coming?”
“Yes, I sent her a letter when your father set the date for the wedding,” Fiona shouts back, her hair flying wildly as she tries to keep her skirts down with both hands.
The beacon from the lighthouse is so bright that it could be day, but the inside of the little cottage is dark and empty-looking.
“She has another house down the road,” Fiona says. “I’ll go check it. You go up the lighthouse and see if Ebb’s there.”
I try to argue that I don’t even know what this Ebb is meant to look like, but Fiona is already walking down the long road that leads to a couple of scattered houses. Her hair is all wet, her clothes drenched. She’s going to be in a foul mood when she gets back. I wonder if I can convince the driver to go up the lighthouse, but as soon as I step outside he drags the carriage under a sheltered area to check on the horses and give them water and hay.
I inhale deeply and resolve to get a move on.
The waves are crashing on the rocks by the lighthouse, foaming as they hit the shore with an anger that I’ve never witnessed before. It was different with the flood. The water was brown and dark, but it was almost smooth and calm-looking as it dragged away everything. This is different. There is fury in these waves, a violence that makes me shudder in fear.
I try to take a step, but I’m rooted to the spot, my eyes glued to the water. It’s so dark. So powerful.
The path that leads to the lighthouse is narrow. Too narrow. The stones look wet and slippery.
I turn around, but there’s no sign of Fiona, and the driver is busy tending to his horses. I swallow down bile, my hair sticking to my face as I look up at the blinding light above me.
I can do this.
I’m not going to let my fears have the best of me.
I’m a grown man, and the master of my own destiny.
I take a step, then another. I focus on the task at hand. On finding this Ebb woman, who has been kind enough to host a complete stranger and save him from an arranged marriage. I slowly make my way to the path, one step at a time. The light is so bright as I approach the lighthouse that I have to shield my eyes with my hand, and that’s my first mistake. I don’t see where I’m putting my feet.
I slip.
“Fuck!”
I lose my footing and end up on my arse, groaning in pain. I’m all wet and now sore. I curse as I try to get up, but the ground is so bloody slippery. I look at the water, and my eyes catch something as the waves crest and rise. Something shimmers, reflecting the light from the beacon, but I have no idea what it could possibly be. I squint at it. I should run away, but I stare at the massive wave with my mouth open. That’s my second mistake.
I barely have the time to inhale deeply and close my mouth and nose as the wave crashes over me. The water is so cold that it’s a shock to the system.
It takes me under with immensurable power.
I knew this would eventually be the way that I go.
Death by water.
I try to move my legs and arms in vain, keeping my fingers on my nose because I’ve never learnt how to swim, and I know that my lungs will fill with water as soon as I let go. I open my eyes, but it’s all black and they burn because of the salty water. The current pushes me like a rag doll. I can’t even tell which way is up. I feel my chest burning, desperate for oxygen.
My only thought, amid the panic and the desperation, is not for Fiona or my father. It’s not for my step-siblings or Agatha Wellbelove, alone at the altar in her pretty, white dress. It’s for my mother. It used to keep me up at night, the thought of her body swaying in the current. Nibbled by fish.
I’m going to end up in the same way. Smashed against the rocks or dragged out to sea like she was.
As I feel all my strength leaving me, my fingers losing their grip on my nose, I stop thrashing and just think of letting go. What have I got to lose, after all? I’m never going to find true love. There’s never going to be anyone who wants me, faulty and broken as I am. Another man like me.
Maybe this is for the best, I think as I let go of my nose. It won’t be long before I see my mother again.
I feel it, then. Hands circling my body. Strong arms wrapping around my back and bringing me close. I shudder and open my eyes, but I can’t see a thing underwater. I wonder what kind of sea monster captured me. If I’ll end up being eaten by a kraken or one of those mysterious creatures of the deep that terrify sailors.
Fingers reach for my face—human fingers. They pinch my nose close again as soft lips press against mine. I’m so shocked that I open my mouth to let out a silent scream. I’ve never been kissed. I’ve never been devoured. But it’s not sharp teeth that greet me. Air is blown inside my mouth, precious oxygen that my lungs take with violent relief.
I reach for the body next to mine, touching the arms and chest that are pressing close to me. It’s a man. A half-naked one, by the feel of it.
As he swims at incredible speed towards a distant light, probably towards the surface, I wonder if he saw me drowning and dived to save me.
If he’s the saviour I’ve been waiting for all my life.
As my mouth fills with water and my lungs struggle to cope again, I find myself praying that this is not the end for me.
My face breaks the surface of the sea, and I gasp for air, coughing out water and trying not to vomit as I’m slowly dragged towards the shore.
“Calm down and just focus on breathing,” the man who is still holding me says.
I finally look at him and feel like I’m about to faint because he’s the most handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on. His thick curls are all wet but somehow still lovely. Even in the dim light, I can see the freckles and moles on his face. And his eyes—as we get closer to a small patch of sandy shore tucked between the rocks, I can see the colour of his beautiful eyes, illuminated by the light of the beacon. They’re blue like the sky. The most intense and wonderful shade. I want to capture it with my pastels as soon as I get out of here. As soon as I get him dry and under a roof.
“Th-thanks,” I manage to say, my voice coming out ragged and scratchy from all the coughing.
“Almost there,” he says. My feet can touch the sand. I start walking. “Like that, you’re safe now.”
His hands leave me, but I know he’s behind me. I’ll get some dry clothes for both of us. I’ll ask Ebb if she can make us a hot cup of tea or some warm milk, and then I’ll get to talk to him and thank him properly for saving me.
“Basil!” I can see Fiona, climbing down the rocks and looking frantic as she lifts her skirts and walks into the sea without a second thought. “You gave me a fucking heart attack! The driver saw you going under!”
“I’m fine,” I say, reaching her and letting her take me into her arms. “This man saved me.”
“What man?” Fiona asks, looking confused.
I turn around, and he’s not there.
He’s gone.
“No!” I shout, walking, practically diving back inside the sea. Even if I cannot swim. Even if it means death. “No!”
“Basil, what the hell are you doing?!” Fiona screams, holding me by my jacket, then by the collar of my shirt when my jacket slides off my shoulders as I try to find him, to reach for him.
I’m not going to lose him like I lost my mother.
Not again. Not with my back turned as I reach safety.
I keep my eyes open as I dive underwater. Fiona is screaming above me, and hands grab me, pulling me up.
The driver and a woman that I’ve never seen help Fiona drag me to the shore. I kick and scream, and I notice that I’m crying only when I’m inside the now lit-up house.
“He was there!” I try to explain between sobs. “He dived into the stormy sea, and he saved my life!”
“What did he look like?” the woman asks, looking worried.
“He-he was young. More or less my age. With curly hair. Freckles and moles all over his face and his arms. Blue eyes, the colour of the sky in summer.”
Fiona looks at her, but the woman seems confused.
“There’s no one like that in the village,” she says. “And I was with Gareth and the other lads just now. They helped me gather my goats. Are you sure, Lord Basilton? We don’t get many outsiders, especially not this far out and away from the village.”
“You need to look for him,” I insist.
I can’t bear the thought of him lost at sea. Dead because he saved me.
“Maybe you hit your head and imagined him,” Fiona says, looking all serious. “Well, the good thing is that you’re fine. You swallowed a bit of water, but now you’re alright. Safe and sound inside Ebb’s house. This is her, by the way. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a wedding to get back to.”
“Oh, a wedding. How lovely!” Ebb says wistfully. “Who’s the lucky couple?”
“Basil, here, and a poor girl who needs to work on her common sense,” Fiona replies with a sigh.
“You can’t be serious. You’re going to leave after I almost died?!” I try to protest, but Fiona is already lifting her wet skirts with a grimace and heading for the door.
“I’ll write to you!” she promises before she’s gone.
I’m left there with Ebb, who very kindly offers me a cup of hot milk and a plate full of biscuits.
I can hear the carriage setting off, the horses neighing in protest because the weather is still utterly shit outside. Poor animals. I feel bad for putting them through it just to save me from marrying a woman. But that’s nothing compared to the fate of the man who saved my life only to be swallowed by the sea…
“There, there, Lord Basilton,” Ebb says softly, patting my back. She has a ragged look that I wouldn’t normally associate with Fiona, but she also has a sweet kind of sadness to her, as if life had been terribly unkind when she didn’t really deserve it. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived. I was making sure the goats were safe inside their barn. They’re always out roaming the fields, you see.”
“Basil,” I say. “You can call me Basil. Or Baz.”
“That makes it easier,” she says with a smile. “I’m not one for formalities.”
I am, but right now all I want is a hug, even from this strange woman that smells like goats and looks like she probably needs a bath.
“Are…are you sure that the man who saved me is not from the village?” I ask. “He could have been a guest at someone’s house.”
She tilts her head and studies me for a long moment.
“I doubt it,” she finally says. “The village is tiny, and everyone knows each other’s business. But I can ask, if that puts your mind at ease. I’m going to return home as soon as you’re settled, and then I can pop by Gareth’s house and ask him.”
“What do you mean return home?” I ask with a frown. “Isn’t this your home?”
“Oh no,” she says, looking at her hands with a sad expression on her face. There are wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and mouth, as if she spent too long in the sun and wind. As if she laughed and cried too much. “This used to be my brother’s house. Nico. He’s my twin. Fiona used to date him.”
What?
“Wait, I thought she dated you.”
Ebb lets out a little laugh, her eyes lighting up for a fleeting moment.
“Oh, yes, she did. Not at the same time as Nico, obviously.”
“Obviously,” I breathe out in disbelief.
Bloody Fiona.
“Anyway, Nico used to live here and man the lighthouse, while I lived in the house at the end of the road and tended to the goats. It was a nice and quiet life. I was happy. I thought he was too,” she explains, the ghost of a smile lingering on her lips for a handful of seconds, before the light goes out from her eyes. “But then my brother disappeared. Years ago.”
“Oh.”
I wonder if he drowned.
“He always wanted more,” she says forlornly. “Yes, Nico always wanted to be something…more.”
“Did he…”
“I guess his wishes were granted,” Ebb says with a sigh. She runs her fingers down the length of her skirt. I notice that she’s wearing trousers underneath. I’ve never seen any woman dressed like her, in such a mismatched kind of way, as if practicality was more important than style. “Anyway, I’d better go and leave you to settle.”
“Leave?” I ask, watching her stand up and rummage through a drawer to get a handful of candles out.
“I’ve already made the bed, and there are fresh towels in the chest of drawers. The house is really chilly because it hasn’t been inhabited for long, but I’ll light the fire in the bedroom now, and there’s plenty of wood to get you by. The days are going to get warmer now that summer’s here, you’ll see.”
“Where are you going?” I ask, confused.
I thought I was meant to live with her. That she was going to keep an eye on me, like every single parental figure has done since I was a child. As if I was still a child and not a grown man, capable of his own decisions. Like choosing who to marry.
“I’m going home,” she replies, staring at me in confusion. Her eyes are clear, warm and sincere. “Why, do you want me to stay here tonight? Are you scared of the storm? I know that Natasha…it was so unfortunate.”
She looks like she’s about to cry again, and I shake my head no. Did she know my mother? She probably met her, since she used to go to school with Fiona. And date her.
“No, I’ll be fine on my own.”
I’ve never been on my own.
I’ve never been allowed to.
I feel a thrill down my spine. It could be a shudder—I’m still wearing wet clothes, after all—but I find myself smiling, despite the absolutely terrible experience I’ve just had. Despite almost drowning and losing the wonderful stranger who saved me. I wonder if he’s still alive somehow.
“There’s food in the pantry,” Ebb says. “Bread, milk and eggs. I’ll come tomorrow morning, and I’ll show you around. We can go to the market together.”
“That…that would be nice, thank you.”
Ebb steps closer before she leaves. She leans down and gives me a hug that leaves me gaping at her and then pats my back several times for good measure.
“Have a good rest, lad. See you in the morning.”
I watch her leave and wave goodbye with a little smile before the door slams shut behind her because of the billowing wind.
I swallow loudly and look around myself.
The house is so incredibly tiny compared to the castle where I’ve been living for the past few years. I know that there’s a bathroom with a tub, and I’m pretty sure I saw a bedroom on my way there when they first got me into the house. Apart from that, there’s only this room that serves as kitchen and living room. There’s an old table, a fireplace and a sink. A small sofa tucked against the wall, big enough for two people and no more. The shelves are full of books, but there are no plants or flowers. No art on the walls.
It’s small and bare, but to think that is mine—that I get to be here on my own.
I grin for the first time in forever, tears running down my cheeks as relief for being alive and not having to marry Agatha Wellbelove floods through my veins.
“Fuck…”
I cover my face with my hands and shudder as I cry, reaching for the handkerchief in my pocket and finding it wet from my dip in the sea.
I sniffle pitifully and stand up on wobbly legs to reach for my bags. The driver must have piled them all neatly next to the front door, because I doubt Fiona would have bothered. She complained that I had packed too much, but I don’t know for how long I’ll stay here. How many days or weeks—or perhaps months, I wonder with dread—before my father accepts the fact that I don’t want to marry a woman. That I never will.
Fiona said not to worry. That she will give Father the letter that I wrote, pretending that I sent it from my hiding place. She said she will keep me posted. That it will only be a matter of time. I think she underestimates my father, so I packed clothes to last me through all sorts of weather and all of my art supplies. No point in leaving them at the castle, anyway. Father always says they are a waste of space. A colossal waste of time on my part, since my job will be to follow in his footsteps, and I’ll never get a chance to be an artist.
No one has ever heard of a Lord Pitch or Grimm who created art.
A frivolity, he used to call my life passion. A pastime for frail ladies.
“Your father can shove your longest paintbrush up his arse,” Fiona always said when I got upset after he threw away my art supplies. “Here, I bought you some more. Don’t cry, boyo.”
I hid them under my bed. Underneath the floorboards in my bedroom. Inside a hollow tree in the gardens. I gathered them all before I left, and now I proudly display them on the empty shelves around the house. I place the blank paper in one of the drawers in the bedroom before I even get my dry clothes out. I get my landscapes and portraits out, my watercolours and pastels—the ones I’m most satisfied with—and I decorate the house with them. I have money on me; I’ll get some frames in town, perhaps. Maybe I can order an easel, so that I can paint whilst standing. The view from the lighthouse is probably stunning.
As I fall asleep, lulled by the roar of the wind and the sound of the waves crashing on the shore, I think of my future here. Of all the art I will get to do. Of the freedom I can bask in for the first time in my life. And I think about that beautiful man who saved my life.
I hope he’s still alive. That he made it out of the water.
I would love to draw him.
Simon
He’s on the rocks again. He sits on the one closest to the path, careful and clearly terrified of slipping, even though it’s practically impossible for him to fall into the water from over there. Besides, the sea is calm today.
He gets some things out of a small bag and then starts drawing.
I’ve asked Shep about it. He said some humans use devices to draw pictures and paint them. That some of them are utter crap but others are so wonderful that they can take your breath away. Shep said he’d try to find some to show me, but I doubt there’s anything more breath-taking than this particular human, sitting on the rocks with his dark hair fluttering in the gentle breeze, his pale eyes staring at his lap, then looking at the sea. He looks like a dream, ethereal and unreachable.
He suddenly moves, staring in my direction. I duck down, fearing that he might see me.
The Mage has been very clear. No interactions with humans. Penny laughed, and Shep looked bashful for a moment, but I know that he means business.
Still, I can’t pry my eyes away from this particular man. It’s like a powerful sea current is pulling me towards him.
I think it’s my fault he fell into the water the other night. That he saw me, having the time of my life riding a big wave during the storm, and he wasn’t careful enough. The Mage always says that we’re not here to save humans. That they wouldn’t spare us the same kindness, so why should we? They take our fish and ruin our corals. They’re not worthy of our mercy, according to him.
But I couldn’t let him die.
How could I?
I risked everything to save him. The Mage’s ire, my people’s safety.
All for him.
I stare at him now, his hand so careful on the paper as he spreads the colours with his fingers. They are covered in blue and green and yellow pigments. I want to get closer and hold them in mine to see them from up close. I want to touch him to feel how warm he is. I did the other night. I felt his slender body pressed to mine, but there were clothes between us. Why do humans have to wear so many layers?
I just want to see him naked. His skin is the most beautiful colour, darker than mine but not as dark as Shep’s. His shirt is unbuttoned, and I can spot dark hair on his chest. My mouth waters at the thought that I had him so close that I could smell him, despite the strength of the waves. That for a moment, my fingers sneaked under his untucked shirt, and I could feel his spine against my palm.
I stare at him now, relaxed and content as he smiles at the piece of paper in his lap.
I want to see it, too.
I want to check if his eyes are the same colour of the sky in winter. I only caught a glimpse of them during the storm. I want to know everything about him.
Baz
Someone’s following me.
Fiona would say that I’m a paranoid bastard, but I can feel eyes on me all the time. When I’m walking into town, following the path that goes along the coast. When I paint by the sea. When I collect pretty shells on the beach to draw them later.
It’s the burning feeling of a gaze that follows me everywhere.
I’ve started carrying a knife with me everywhere I go. It’s a switchblade, tucked in the pocket of my trousers for safety.
“You’re probably still spooked by the storm.” Ebb brushes off my concerns with a wave of her hand. “Who would be following you anyway? I’ve introduced you to all of the people in the village, and most of them said you’re a posh little lord that doesn’t know how to get his hands dirty. They have no interest in you.”
“Oh.”
Well, that stings more than I thought.
“Sorry,” she says, looking alarmed. “Probably shouldn’t have said that. They do mean well!”
“I bet they do,” I reply drily.
“Anyway, Gareth and the lads are going out fishing tomorrow morning, and they asked if you wanted to come along.”
I stare at her for a long moment.
“Why would I?”
“Hm?” she smiles at me like I’ve just asked the most asinine question. “To make friends. They’re more or less your age.”
I want to tell her that I don’t need friends.
That I have my art, and I won’t even stay here long enough to need friends.
But the truth is that I have no idea for how long I’ll be stuck here. And it might be useful to get to know the local people. Or to show them that I’m not scared of getting my hands dirty.
“Alright, then,” I reply stiffly.
“Brilliant!” she says, clapping her hands and looking ecstatic. “They’ll come and pick you up at five o’clock tomorrow morning.”
“Five?!”
Simon
I see the shadow of a boat above my head. It has a red hull that has seen better days and desperately needs to be repainted. Gareth’s, I conclude. He’s one of the loud humans, always laughing as he casts his fishing net into the sea. Penny has slashed a few of his, but we have to be careful because the Mage doesn’t want us to raise suspicion.
I content myself with following them from a safe distance, warning the fish of their arrival and popping my head up at the rear end of the boat when I hear their voices at the front.
The last thing I’m expecting to see there is him. I swim closer, right below where he’s standing, hoping that he won’t see me.
“Going fishing, they said,” he’s muttering, shaking like a leaf and holding onto the ropes so tightly that his fingers are going white. “And here I was, thinking it would involve using a fishing rod from the safety of the shore, but no. They had to drag me on this infernal tub that is probably going to sink as soon as we get into deep waters. Oh, lord…”
I can’t believe that he’s here.
That I can see him from up close.
He doesn’t seem happy to be at sea, but this is a chance I cannot miss.
I remember the Mage’s words. The way he told me that I have an important role to play for merpeople. A future ahead of me. That I can’t waste it on humans.
I still swim closer.
I’m so enraptured by the sight of him that I don’t notice the net that rains from the sky, directly above me.
Baz
“Shit, this is heavy,” someone shouts from the front of the ship. “Lads, we caught something big!”
“Fuck, yes!” Gareth shouts, gathering his friends to start pulling. “Baz, we need your help, come on!”
I’d rather throw myself overboard and be done with this wretched experience, but I remember Ebb’s words and begrudgingly move towards the side of the boat and grab the net, staying as far away as I can from the bulwark because despite my suicidal tendencies, I don’t fancy a dip in the sea.
“On the count of three,” one of them shouts. “One, two, three, heave!”
It’s heavier than I thought, full of thrashing fish, flapping helplessly in the net as we haul it up. I don’t even particularly like the taste of fish. Why the hell am I bothering? I could be spending my time painting the beautiful seashells I found yesterday on the shore with my brand new watercolours. My fingers hurt from the ropes burning across my skin. I decide to let go of them and sod this whole experience, when one of the men lets out a loud yelp.
“What the fuck is that?!” Gareth asks.
Someone gasps. Someone else swears out loud as they lean so far out of the boat that I think they’re going to dive straight into the water.
“Great Lord!” a burly man exclaims.
I risk falling into the sea to take a peak, and I see him.
His tail is long and thick, a wonderful shade of crimson red with specks of gold that make it shimmer like a jewel in the sunlight. It’s a fishtail, but it ends midway, turning seamlessly into flesh. His skin is covered in freckles and moles. His hair a mass of unruly bronze curls, stuck to his face and framing it in the most perfect way. His blue eyes lock with mine, full of terror and anger, and I recognise him instantly.
Those thick curls and full lips.
The sprinkle of freckles on his shoulders and over the bridge of his nose.
His eyes and the intensity of his gaze as he juts his chin out and stares at us defiantly.
He’s been following me after that night.
It was his eyes that I saw.
He didn’t drown after saving my life that night. He couldn’t. He’s a creature of the sea.
“I can’t believe we caught a merperson! I thought they were stuff of fairy tales and legends,” Gareth says. Then he shouts, “Haul him up!”
“What?” I ask in disbelief, letting go of the net as if it burned me. Surely he’s joking. We’re going to free him and let him swim to safety. “What are you talking about?! Why would you want to capture him?”
“They can grant wishes,” Gareth explains excitedly, a greedy look in his eyes.
“I’ve heard that eating their flesh can make you immortal,” chimes in another bloke.
I shudder and feel my stomach drop at the thought.
What the fuck is wrong with these people?
“My grandmother used to say that you can force them to show you where they keep their treasure underneath the waves. If you don’t let them back into the water, they start dying, so they become desperate.”
I look at the thrashing creature trapped in the net, hopelessly trying to escape. His gaze locks with mine once more in a desperate plea.
“No!” I shout. There is no fucking way they are going to eat him. That they’re keeping him out of the water.
I get my knife out of my pocket and start cutting the net.
“Baz, what the fuck are you doing?” Gareth shouts, trying to stop me. “This is the chance of a lifetime!”
“You’re not bringing any harm to this beautiful creature, you disgusting brute!” I declare.
My fingers hurt as I cut one knot after another, until the merman groans and opens the gaps that I’m making with his fingers, frantically thrashing until he finally slides through the hole that we’ve created, slithering away with a wet sound as his body meets the waves.
“Fuck, it’s gone,” one of the men complains, sounding desolate.
“My wife is going to kill me when she finds out,” another one laments.
“And you’ve ruined my net,” Gareth grumbles, shooting daggers at me.
“I’ll buy you a new net,” I reply, my tone harsh and eyebrow rising imperiously. “I thought sailors were supposed to respect the sea and all of its creatures. I was clearly wrong.”
Gareth looks grumpily at me for a moment before he tells his friends that it’s time to return to shore.
I guess this is the last time I’ll get invited to a fishing trip.
Good.
On the way back, I can’t peel my eyes away from the sea, hoping to catch another glimpse of him.
I get back to the lighthouse and sit outside on the rocks, checking the water. I watch it for hours, my stomach sinking with every hour that goes by and nothing appears on the horizon.
Simon
He’s out again.
He stares at the sea with an intensity in his gaze, searching for something, probably looking for me.
I’ve fucked up spectacularly. I shouldn’t have got so close to the boat. I almost died. Those humans wanted to eat me. I shudder at the thought and hide behind a rock, watching him.
They called him Baz. It’s an odd name. I let it roll off my tongue, enjoying the buzzing sound it makes in my mouth, almost fizzing away as I whisper it to myself.
Penny says that I’ve been stupid and extremely reckless. That I need to stay away from him. She promised not to tell the Mage, which was a relief. As soon as Penny was out of earshot, Shep said that I should do whatever feels right. That at the end of the day he wouldn’t have met Penny if she had stayed away from his boat.
He used to chase storms back when he was human, before Penny started talking to him and they fell in love.
I look at Baz, sitting on the sand and scanning the horizon, his fingers unmoving on the paper in his lap.
He’s so lovely with his wavy hair fluttering in the breeze and his clear eyes searching for something, maybe for me.
I know it’s reckless to stay here. To want him, even though he’s not a merperson. Even though his people wanted to kill me. But all I’ve been thinking of is the melodious sound of his voice. The beautiful colour of his eyes from up close. How angry he looked on that boat when those men wanted to harm me. How he’s been watching the sea every day.
I still want to know everything about him. To see his art. To speak to him and thank him for saving my life.
I’ve never been in love before. I wonder if it feels a little bit like this.
Baz
I’m not a brave person.
I think the water took my courage when it dragged my mother away.
I let a few days go by. A whole week of feeling his eyes on me and catching glimpses of his bronze curls and freckled skin disappearing into the water as soon as I turn my head. He’s a skittish creature, but I guess it’s understandable when there are humans out there, ready to eat you.
I’m not brave, but I remember my mother’s words. Light a match inside your heart, then blow on the tinder.
I gather my courage and knock on Ebb’s door on a Friday morning and realise after a few minutes that she’s not in. I find her in the fields, surrounded by goats.
“Good morning, Baz,” she says with a smile. She’s petting one of the goats and letting another one chew on the hem of her dress.
“Morning, Ebb,” I say. “I’m in need of a favour, and I was hoping you could help me.”
“Of course!” she proclaims, without even knowing what I need.
“Do you have a little boat that I could borrow?”
She seems delighted at the thought that I might want to venture out to sea. I don’t tell her that I’m absolutely terrified, my hands shaking and palms sweating as I follow her to the little stretch of land behind her house, where a tiny little boat is moored, a couple of worn-out oars sitting inside it. The paint is peeling off, the colour so faded that I can’t even tell what it was originally meant to look like. At least it doesn’t look like it has any holes.
“I don’t need it, so you can take it,” she says cheerfully. “I am so glad that your fishing trip with the lads cured your fear of the sea!”
“You could say that,” I mumble weakly, swallowing hard as I look at the floating nightmare.
“Well? Don’t you want to take her for a ride?”
I think I need a moment.
I close my eyes, and I think of him. Of his crimson, shimmering tail and the moles on his chest. Of the fact that he saved my life.
I light a match.
I blow on the tinder.
I open my eyes again and step inside the little boat.
Simon
I don’t think he’s ever rowed a boat before.
It takes him a while to figure out how to steer the boat into the direction he wants it to go, which I assume is open sea. He doesn’t look too confident. He looks like he’s shitting himself in fear.
Still, he carries on rowing until he’s far enough from land that his people will probably struggle to hear his calls for help. And he looks like he’s desperate for help as he carefully puts the oars down and just sits there, his breathing laboured while he hangs onto the boat for dear life. I swim just behind him, where he can’t see me, ready to duck down as soon as he turns his head.
“Come out,” he says, softly at first, then a little louder. “Come out, wherever you are!”
I think he’s talking to me.
I could just disappear under the water. Pretend that I never saved him. That he didn’t save me.
I find myself swimming closer instead, under the boat at first, gathering the courage to do something I’ve never done before. I don’t think he wants to hurt me. He’s probably just curious, like I am. Or maybe he just wants to tell me to stay away from him.
I think about the Mage’s words of warning against humans. About what his friends said they were going to do to me.
I don’t know if I can trust Baz.
What if he’s changed his mind, and he wants to devour me?
Baz
I still remember one of the tales my mother used to read to me before bed.
It was about a Nix that liked to attract people to drown them in rivers. It was a cautionary tale, but it also had this little bit of wisdom. It said that throwing something made of steel or a drop of blood into the water can propitiate an evil spirit and save a human life.
I take the spoon out of my pocket and throw it in the water.
I wait, but nothing happens.
I wonder if I’ll need to cut myself with the knife that is still safely tucked in the right pocket of my trousers. If that will convince him to come out.
But then I see him, his unruly and wet curls emerging from the waves as his eyebrows knit into a frown. He raises a hand, his fingers clutching my spoon.
“You just hit me on the head with this,” he says in the loveliest accent.
“Sorry,” I reply without thinking. “It—it was meant to be a gift for you.”
“What the hell am I going to do with a spoon?” he replies, sounding unimpressed and making me feel like an idiot. I guess the tales were wrong. Or maybe it’s because he’s not a river spirit.
We just stare at each other for a long moment, his frown softening as his eyes roam over my body, slow and deliberate. Hungry. I wonder for the first time what merpeople eat.
He tilts his head, staring at me as if he was trying to decide what to make of me.
I had a plan in my head. I was going to thank him for saving my life, and then I was going to apologise on behalf of the entire human race for the terrible treatment he received the other day. And then I was going to ask him to stop following me around because it’s a little disconcerting. But I watch him move, sinuously and so gracefully in the water, his fishtail flapping briefly and splashing some water in my direction as he smiles at me.
And all that comes out of my mouth is, “Can I draw you?”
He blinks at me for a handful of minutes, his mouth open (I wonder if he breathes air like me, or if he has gills hidden somewhere).
He’s going to say no.
He’s going to tell me to go to hell with my spoon and my boat.
“Yes.”
“Yes?” I ask in disbelief.
“Sure,” he replies, a smile blooming on his face. “But this spot is not great. There are boats coming and going at all times of day, heading to the harbour. I know a better spot where no one will bother us. Follow me.”
He makes it sound so simple. As if following a wild creature of the sea was the most logical thing to do. As if I didn’t have anything to lose by letting him guide me to what appears to be a cave in an inlet tucked just beside the rocks that stretch close to the lighthouse.
I try to steer the boat as best as I can, but it’s so bloody difficult, and the merman ends up taking a hold of the tip of the boat to guide it past the rocks.
“My name is Baz, by the way,” I declare, realising that I’ve completely forgotten my manners.
“I know,” he says, flashing a grin at me. “I’m Simon. Simon Snow.”
“Snow?” I reply, wondering if a creature of the deep shouldn’t have a more appropriate surname like Kelp or Coral.
“My mother picked it for me before she died,” he replies candidly. “She…I never met her. I’ve never met either of my parents.”
“My mother died when I was five,” I blurt out. “She was taken away by a flood on a stormy night, and I never saw her again.”
He turns to look at me, and the boat bumps against the rocks, making me jump and yelp.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I hiss under my breath. I don’t want to fall in.
“Is that why you’re so scared of water?” he asks, studying me with a piercing gaze. “Why you were so terrified of the waves that night?”
I stare back at him in shock.
How did he figure it out?
“Yes,” I find myself admitting. Even if I don’t like people knowing about my weak spots. About this stupid phobia of mine that no one takes seriously. “I—I’ve been terrified of it ever since.”
“Hmm,” he hums to himself, taking control of the boat again and pulling it through a narrow passage between the rocks. “The sea is generous. She gives us food and shelter and provides a heaven for so many creatures. But she can also take from us.”
“She?”
“The sea is like a mother to us,” he replies simply.
I guess he’s right. From his perspective, the sea is a home. Safe and familiar. Exactly the opposite of what it is for me.
I let him take me through the narrow entrance of the cave and then gasp in surprise at the way it opens in front of me. It’s more spacious than I thought it would be from the outside, with a spot where the merman—Simon—tells me to moor the boat. There is light inside, filtering through what appears to be the entrance of the cave from somewhere behind the lighthouse.
“Can I get out through that passage?” I ask him, and he shrugs at me.
“I guess,” he replies. “I’ve never seen anyone here, though. It’s my little cave. I don’t think any of the people who live in the village know of its existence. Or if they do, they don’t use it. I reckon the entrance towards the sea is too narrow for boats. You had to put your oars in, and I pulled you in. If you were to try it on your own, you’d probably end up smashing your boat against the rocks.”
I shudder at the thought, but he smiles at me, his face coming alight with it. He tilts his head and waits for me to get off the boat, swirling around what I suspect is relatively shallow water.
I try not to make a fool of myself as I stumble out of the boat and almost trip. Almost. I make it in one piece, tucking my hair behind my ear as I look down at him. Fuck, but he’s gorgeous. His curls are still wet, but there are a few strands that are drying from staying out of water while he took me here. I wonder what colour his hair would be when it’s completely dry.
I fish a pencil and a small drawing pad from my pocket and find a place to sit down. I’m going to get my clothes a little wet, but it’s definitely worth it if I get to draw him.
I sit cross-legged on the ground and let my fingers fly over the paper, wishing instantly that I had a bigger pad, an entire canvas to dedicate to him. He doesn’t stay still, but it’s great practice since I get to admire the way his muscles flex. The beautiful line of his back as he turns around for a moment to look down into the water. The way his biceps shift as he swims around me.
“Do you need to go underwater to breathe?” I ask after a long moment, the thought suddenly occurring to me.
“No, I breathe like you do. Like whales and dolphins.”
“Oh,” I exclaim in surprise.
“Why are you making that face?” he teases. “Did you think I had gills like a fish?”
“Well, to be entirely honest, I did.”
He finds it absolutely hilarious and won’t stop laughing.
“Wait until I tell Penny!”
“Who’s Penny?” I ask.
“She’s my best friend,” he explains, swirling around and swimming closer. He rests his arms on a rock, propping his chin on them as he observes me. His eyes are the most wonderful colour. I wish I had my pastels on me to give them justice. “And she’s probably going to get extremely mad at me when she finds out that I’m talking to you.”
“Why?” I ask, changing pages and realising with dismay that I’ve already filled up half of my brand new drawing pad. “Am I that dangerous?”
He hums and looks at me, the corner of his lips curling minutely into a fleeting smile.
“I don’t think you are,” he whispers. “Do you want to eat me?”
Not in the way you mean, I think.
“No,” I reply immediately. “I don’t eat fish. Or marine mammals,” I hurriedly add when his eyebrows go up.
“Fish tastes nice,” he mutters. “But thank you, I suppose. For leaving it to us.”
“You’re very welcome. What do you eat?”
“Fish, seaweed, urchins,” he lists with his fingers. His hair is drying in the warm air of the cave, curling up even more and revealing a wonderfully rich bronze colour. “And I know that you probably think that my breath would stink since I eat raw fish—because that’s what Shep always assumed before kissing a merpeson—but we do clean our teeth with a type of seaweed that tastes kind of minty.”
Did he just mention kissing?
I feel myself blushing at the realisation that when he saved me from the storm, he pressed his lips to mine to blow air into my mouth.
It was my first kiss.
He probably didn’t even consider it as such. He has probably kissed countless people—mermaids. Beautiful, female mermaids. Or this person called Shep. Nothing like me.
No one seems to be like me. I’ve always been alone.
No, Simon was simply trying to save me, after all.
It was an act of kindness and nothing else for him.
Simon
I can’t stop thinking about the fact that I kissed him that night.
That my mouth pressed to his.
That I felt his lips part, soft and pliant.
I wish I could have savoured it more. That I got to taste him. I wish I had kissed him properly.
That I could do it now.
I’ve only kissed a mermaid and Jeremy. But it was nothing like the way Baz makes me feel. In hindsight, with the mermaid it felt like I was just doing what I was supposed to do. What was expected of me. And Jeremy was a right twat, fooling me into thinking that he was into me when all he wanted was to have sex and then discard me once he got bored. I was never in love with either of them. My feelings were incredibly manageable.
But this is different. The way I yearn for him, so desperately and impossibly. The way Baz looks at me, like I’m something precious he wants to capture in his little book. Something worthy of his attention.
I’ve stayed up late every night, thinking about him and finding it impossible to just close my eyes and forget about the way he felt against my body when I saved him. The determined look on his face when he cut that net and saved my life. I’ve lost track of countless conversations with Penny, or drifted off while the Mage was giving one of his lectures because my mind was elsewhere, on land. With him.
He turns another page and shifts even closer to me. His ankles are so close to my arms that if either of us moved even just a fraction we would touch. I want that to happen. I want to feel him against me again, warm and solid, his skin smooth and soft under those clothes of his. Why do humans have to wear so many clothes?
“Who is Shep?” he asks after a long moment.
“Hm?” I hum distractedly, admiring the way his hair frames his stunning face in lazy waves of black. It looks so soft. I want to touch it so fucking badly. I want to touch all of him.
My face and skin are dry, which feels weird, almost uncomfortable. I move a little, and my arm bumps against his leg. I freeze, but Baz grabs my wrist, his touch careful and gentle, and he turns my arm to study an old scar that runs down towards my elbow.
“How did you hurt yourself?” he asks, his grey eyes meeting mine. He looks almost concerned. A little sad. God, he’s so fucking handsome.
“Harpoon. It hurt like hell,” I reply. He looks confused, so I add, “The Mage sends me on missions sometimes. He’s like a mentor. He’s the one in charge in my community. Anyway, he sent me to stop a fishing boat that was after a pod of whales. Things didn’t exactly go to plan…”
“He sent you on your own?” Baz asks, suddenly sounding outraged. “Against a whaler and its crew?! Those ships are massive!”
I shrug again. Penny said the same. I try not to think about it. The Mage wants what’s best for me, after all.
Baz gently lets go of me, keeping my arm in an upright position. He studies the scar on my arm while his fingers move on paper. He continues drawing in silence until he gets to the very end of his little book. He lets out a desolate sigh and looks disappointed.
“Can—can I see?” I ask timidly. He looks surprised by my request, a little embarrassed as he hesitates with the little book clutched in his fingers. “It’s just…I’ve never seen any art. Shep told me about it, but I…”
Baz looks down at his own hands and then seems to mull things over for a seemingly endless time before he hands me the book.
I let it open at a random page and gasp.
Is this me?
I’ve seen my reflection in the water before. In the very few mirrors that we found in shipwrecks. But this—this is different. This is me seen by Baz’s eyes. And I don’t look wild or scary or weird, like I assumed I would to him.
I look lovely, a dreamy expression on my face. My curls are round and full as they probably look now that they’re dry. There are drawings of parts of me. My lips and my eyes, with my lashes fanning over my cheeks. The scar running down my arm, the muscles of my shoulders. All my freckles and moles that I always thought looked ugly, but he painstakingly depicted with such care and precision.
I flick through the book slowly, admiring all the different poses he’s drawn me in. The way he’s captured all of my imperfections and made them somehow look beautiful.
I realise that he’s holding his breath and fidgeting with his hands while I can’t pry my eyes from his booklet.
“Unfortunately, I don’t have my colours on me today,” he says, his speech fast as he pulls on his left earlobe. “I would have done a better job with my pastels. Or watercolour. I’m quite good at that. I think.”
“These…” I start. Baz looks like he’s about to be sick. “They’re so beautiful.”
He exhales shakily, and I smile at him.
“You think so?”
“God, Baz—they’re so wonderful! I didn’t think it was possible to create something like that with your fingers. I wish I could take them with me so that I could look at them over and over again.”
“You can keep them if you want,” he says, probably just out of courtesy because he seems like he actually wants them back.
“If I did, they would dissolve in the water in no time,” I point out. “You’d better keep them. They’re too wonderful to be destroyed by the sea.”
He preens at that, watching my fingers flicker through the pages all over again, starting from the beginning this time.
“I guess you’ve never seen art before,” he ponders to himself.
“I sort of have,” I contradict him. I lied to him earlier. “Shep showed me an illustrated book a couple of days ago. It had dragons and princesses in castles. Strange creatures with green skin and pointy ears. But the drawings weren’t as good as yours.”
“Oh,” he breathes out. I pry my eyes from his art to catch the breath-taking way his cheeks flush, and I can’t help but smile at him. “Who…who is this Shep? Your girlfriend?”
I snort out a laugh at the absurdity of his statement.
“No, Shep is a bloke,” I explain, watching the way his eyebrows rise in surprise. “He used to be human, but he fell in love with my best friend Penny, and now he’s a merman.”
Baz stares at me like I’ve suddenly grown gills.
“He became a merman?”
“Yes,” I explain. “Mind you, it’s extremely rare. He’s the first one to do it in over a hundred years, apparently. Penny had to ask on his behalf, of course. And they both had to give up something important to have their wish granted.”
“A wish?” he wonders out loud, still looking dumbfounded. “What did they give up?”
“Their ring fingers,” I reply with a grimace. “They got chopped off. So they won’t be able to marry. And Penny had to give up her ring. Plus, they will never be able to grow legs on a full moon.”
“What?” he asks, shocked.
Shit.
I wasn’t supposed to tell him that.
Humans are not meant to know.
It’s a well-guarded secret. Penny didn’t even tell Shep until after he got turned into one of us, because he wasn’t meant to know. And I’ve just told Baz. Fuck.
“I-I-I just…forget about it, okay?”
“What do you mean forget about it?” he asks, crawling on his hands and knees to move closer to me. He whispers, “I won’t tell anyone. I swear. Who would believe me, anyway? The other young men in the village hate me after I set you free and cut Gareth’s net. The only person I could tell is Ebb. She is lovely, but she’s a bit loopy, so no one really pays attention to what she says. But I have no intention of telling her. Or anyone else.”
“I’m—I’m not supposed to…”
“You saved my life, Simon,” he says, his eyes so big and so grey as he leans down until our noses are almost touching. God, he smells so fucking good. Like trees and grass and underground water. His lips look so soft. I still remember the feeling of them against my mouth. “I owe you my life. I would never do anything to hurt you or get you in trouble.”
He saved my life, too.
Maybe I can trust him. Even if he’s a human. Even if they’re all treacherous and dishonest, like the Mage always says. Even if they hunt us, steal our fish and throw their rubbish in our water.
I’ve been let down so many times.
Sometimes it feels like the core of me is just hurt.
But it feels like Baz is the same. Like we match. There is a sadness to him. A loneliness that I recognise because I’ve experienced it most of my life.
“On a full moon,” I start. I turn around, stupidly checking that there’s no one behind me, even if I know that I’m the only one who ever comes here. I wet my lips and call myself an idiot for giving in to Baz so easily before I continue. “If we get our entire body out of the water, then we…we can grow legs. Like humans. Just for one night.”
Baz gasps and just stares at me in awe.
“And can you just…walk?”
“You have to learn to,” I explain. “Like you did when you were a child. But you have to be careful, because if you’re still out of the water by the time the sun rises, then you’re stuck in human form forever.”
I shudder at the thought. I remember all of the fairytales we were told when we were little, warning us against the viciousness of humans and the risks of walking on two feet.
“Wow,” Baz says, still looking shocked. “So, do you all just…walk out of the water on a full moon?”
I shake my head no and look down at my tail, moving rhythmically underwater.
“Most merpeople don’t even try. Ever,” I reply in a whisper. “Because they don’t want to be like you. They…they despise humans. They think you’re just dangerous beasts who want to do us harm. And—I know you’re not the same. But some of you are like that. So, the last thing merpeople want is to look like you. Even for one night.”
I know my words hurt. That I’ve probably offended him. Baz doesn’t say anything for a long while. When he sits up again, he leans closer to me—close enough to touch, but not quite.
“Have you ever tried?” he asks, breaking the silence.
I could lie.
I should lie.
Only Penny knows, but I haven’t been entirely honest with her either. I told her that I’ve only done it a handful of times. That it was just out of curiosity and I wouldn’t do it again.
“Yes,” I murmur, my eyes darting to the water, as if I was betraying the sea by admitting it out loud. “I have…”
“Once?”
“Loads of times,” I confess, my cheeks flushing in shame. “I can walk. I’ve been coming here on a full moon since I was little. I was—I’ve always been curious. I’ve always…”
“Wanted to see what it was like?” he completes my sentence after I’m quiet for too long.
I nod.
“You can’t tell anyone,” I hurriedly add.
If the Mage found out.
It the other humans did—oh, fuck, why did I tell Baz?
“I won’t,” he says with conviction. His hand finds mine, and it’s so warm. His fingers wrap around my closed fist and stay there for a long moment, his warmth seeping into my skin. A sad little smile dances on Baz’s lips when he murmurs, “I don’t have anyone to tell anyway…”
“What about your human friends?” I ask, terrified about Gareth and the lot finding out my secret. Finding out about me and Baz talking like this.
I don’t think we’re supposed to.
“They’re not my friends,” he says, furrowing his brow as his fingers play with his pencil. “I…I don’t have any friends. I only have my aunt, but she left me here and went back home.”
“Why?” I ask, forever wanting to know more about him and his life. I remember a woman that looked a bit like him dragging him out of the water on the night we met. Maybe it’s her.
“Oh, I…” he seems hesitant, but then he licks his lips and inhales deeply. “I was supposed to marry a woman. Agatha Wellbelove. My father wanted us to be wedded, but I—well, you see, I didn’t.”
“Was she awful?” I ask, tilting my head and staring up at him. He’s so handsome. His dark eyelashes are so long they curl up at the end, and he has the most beautiful eyes. I bet anyone would want to marry him. I would.
“No, she’s lovely,” he murmurs, seemingly lost in his thoughts for a long moment while he avoids my gaze.
Baz
I don’t know if I can tell him. If merpeople are like us in that respect. What if he’s horrified by me? By what I am?
I don’t want him to leave me.
I want to continue talking to him. To get a chance to paint him again. And again and again. To get to know him properly.
But he’s been honest with me, sharing something that could easily get him in trouble with his people.
“I don’t like women,” I blurt out, the words escaping my mouth so fast that he probably didn’t catch them. I want to take them back as soon as they’re out of my lips, but Simon lifts himself up so that his face is even closer, his eyes searching mine. Somehow I find the courage to look back at him. “I don’t…want to marry a woman. Ever.”
“Do you have to?” he asks, sounding genuinely concerned at the prospect. “Is it a human thing?”
“No, it’s not,” I try to explain, shaking my head and wondering how I got myself into this conversation. “People can normally do what they want.”
“Why can’t you, then?”
He makes it sound so easy. So logical.
“Because my family is important,” I try to explain. “Rich. We own land and a castle. I’m expected to marry a lady from a good family and produce heirs.”
“Heirs?” he asks, looking confused.
“Babies,” I specify.
“And you don’t want…”
“I want a family,” I find myself saying, surprised by my own admission. I never said it out loud. I never allowed myself to admit it, because what’s the point in wanting something you will never be able to have? “I want…someone to love. To spend my life with them. I would love to have a family. Just not with…”
I can’t say it.
I’ve never said it to anyone.
Fiona sort of guessed it. Read between the lines without me needing to actually come out to her. I tried to tell my parents but always failed.
“Just not a woman?” Simon easily says, tilting his head and smiling at me.
I nod.
“Not a woman,” I whisper, my voice feeble and brittle.
Simon
I want to ask if a merman would do.
If I would.
But it’s late, and the light is so dim that I can barely see him.
“I should probably go,” he says, without moving and looking lost. Sad in that way that makes him even more beautiful, impossibly so.
“I could come back tomorrow,” I venture and watch his face light up in a smile so stunning that my heart stutters with it. “I…”
“Yes,” he blurts out, sitting up with his back straight and eyes ablaze. “Tomorrow morning. Or afternoon. Whenever you want. I’m free. I’m simply helping man the lighthouse to give Ebb a hand, but that means I’m free most of the day.”
“Alright,” I say, his excitement so contagious that I find myself grinning back at him. “I’ll come around in the morning.”
“I’ll sit on the rocks in front of the lighthouse,” he promises.
“I’ll wave at you from the shore, and we could meet here.”
He says yes so fast that I barely have enough time to finish my sentence.
Baz
“You have so many freckles and moles,” I murmur in awe as I use my pastels to trace the shapes of him.
He doesn’t like standing (swimming?) still, but it doesn’t really matter. Not when I get to study him this close while he asks me so many questions about my life and how things work in my world.
“It’s because I spend a lot of time near the surface,” Simon explains, then in a hushed tone, “Unlike the other merpeople.”
“Do the others just stay underwater most of the time?” I ask, focusing on picking the right colours for his skin. I use my fingertip to shade the copper of his hair. It’s drying into the most divine curls, and I’m dying to slide my fingers through them.
“Most of them only resurface for air,” Simon explains, swirling around and flicking his tail out of the water, splashing me a little. “Why don’t you come in?”
A handful of seconds go by before I realise what he’s asking me.
“In…the water?” I ask in disbelief.
“It’s nice and warm,” he replies with a smile, swimming closer to the rock where I’m perched to draw him. “And it’s shallow here. The tip of my tail touches the bottom.”
“I-I-I can’t swim,” I blurt out, panicking at the thought.
“I’ll keep you safe,” he says. As if it was that simple. As if I wasn’t terrified at my proximity to the water already. “I can teach you how to stay afloat. I’ll hold onto you.”
“I—”
He must notice the panic lacing my voice because he freezes, his wet fingers stilling as they reach for me.
“How about this,” he says gently after a moment, as if an idea suddenly struck him. He sinuously shifts closer, his hands resting on the rock next to my thigh, making dark shadows spread where he’s wetting the stones. He suddenly pulls himself up with a loud splash, his tail shining like a precious stone as he twists and turns, landing beside me and smiling at me as our eyes are at the same level for the very first time. “I can sit next to you, and you can splash your feet in the water.”
I’m speechless for a long moment, staring at him with my mouth open.
He’s so fucking gorgeous.
So breath-takingly handsome and amazing.
What the fuck am I doing?
I’m not supposed to want him. He’s not even human.
But he’s the first person to ever treat me like I’m normal. Without excessive deference or disdain just because I’m rich. Without contempt because I’m not interested in marrying a woman. Without a hidden purpose, like most people who want to be close to me show.
I think he just wants to be my friend, and even if I’m craving more—so much more—I feel myself falling for him even deeper. He’s going to drag me down and pull me under. The worst thing is that I’d willingly let him.
“Alright,” I manage to breathe out, taking my shoes and socks off with difficulty because my fingers are shaking so bloody much. I roll my trousers up, revealing hairy legs that will probably disgust him. He’s smooth all over, with barely any hair on his chest.
I tentatively dip my toes into the water, gasping because it’s colder than I expected, but it’s warm in this cave, and I’m sweating a little, so I sigh as my foot slides inside all the way up to my ankle. Nothing happens. I don’t get dragged under by some mysterious monster. I don’t get my toes nibbled by flesh-eating fish. I wonder if Simon would rescue me if that were to happen. I can feel blue eyes on me, roaming across my legs and thighs, and I don’t really know what to do with this. With him.
Simon is sitting next to me. He’s right next to me, and there are water droplets dripping down his naked chest and arms. I want to lick them so badly. What the hell is wrong with me?
“This way I can see you draw better,” he says, looking chuffed about his idea as he peers over my shoulder and gets my sleeve wet when he leans against me. “Oh, sorry about that.”
“I—it’s okay,” I stammer. How unbecoming. I feel my face on fire. He smells so good. I didn’t think a creature of the sea could smell like this. Fresh and salty, his breath minty when my face turns and finds him a couple of inches close to me. My eyes fly down to his full lips.
“I don’t know why you humans insist on wearing so many layers,” he whispers.
His eyes are on me. Travelling down my chest, past the open buttons of my collar showing too much skin for it to be appropriate. I don’t give a fuck. He seems to be enraptured by it. His gaze lingers on my throat and my chest, then follows a trail back to my mouth before his eyes meet mine again.
I watch his Adam’s apple bob along his neck as he swallows loudly.
I want him with an intensity that threatens to undo me. I’ve never wanted anyone before. I’ve never felt desire lick up my veins, firecrackers in my stomach. This is so new and terrifying, this feeling of being out of control, my heart threatening to beat right out of my chest to tumble into his hands.
He said he doesn’t know why we wear so many layers. The fact that he’s wearing none makes me want to consider jumping into the water to avoid spontaneously combusting.
“Would you have us walking around naked instead?” I ask.
The corner of his lips inches up in mirth for a fraction of a second.
“It would be nice to see more of you,” he comments with a little shrug.
God, I think I might faint.
Simon
“Do you really need a jacket?” I ask a couple of days later. He’s been telling me about the castle he grew up in. About his step-siblings. I told him about the Mage and Penny. About missing my mother even though I’ve never even met her.
He’s sweating, his fingers flying on the paper as he draws me. He doesn’t seem to get tired of it. Of me. I always think I’m too much for anyone.
“Hm?” he asks, pretending not to have heard me but blushing as his gaze avoids mine.
“Why don’t you take your jacket off?”
Baz
My waistcoat goes next, the following day. Then my shirt.
I follow his eyes roaming all over my chest, making me self-conscious about the fact that I’m more slender than him, hairier. Still, his gaze won’t leave me, and for a moment I find myself wondering if maybe it’s not just me.
Maybe I’m not the only one caught up in a net of impossible want and need, tangled up to the point of no return.
Simon
We’ve been meeting every day, spending a ridiculous amount of time together. The Mage has been asking what I’m doing; if I’m busy boycotting human ships or cutting fishing nets. I lied and said that I am. Penny clearly didn’t believe me, but she didn’t push for an answer.
I can’t stop seeing Baz. Can’t stop wanting to spend time with him. Watching him draw and talking to him. He probably comes across as cold and distant at first, shut off as if he had built thick walls to shield himself from the brutality of the world. But he’s soft and vulnerable once these walls crumble down. Sweet in a way I wasn’t expecting when I first saved him.
His art is like a mirror to his beautiful soul. He lets me admire it. He lets me touch it with my clumsy fingers, tracing the shapes of Baz’s stunning drawings. A pastel landscape of the sun setting on the horizon, a ball of fire melting into the ocean in orange and red hues. The sky at dawn reflected by the surface of the sea in the most delicate shades of pink and blue. I feel the rough surface of an oil painting under my fingertips. The smooth texture of watercolour on thick paper. I want to take them all with me, but they would be destroyed by the sea, and that would be such a shame.
“I wish I could see the ocean from above,” I confess.
“What do you mean?” Baz asks, his eyebrows creasing into a frown when I look up at him. “You can see the ocean all the time. That’s where you live.”
“Not from above,” I try to explain. “It’s different…I want to see the light of the sun shimmering on the surface of the water like in one of your paintings.”
“I painted that one from the parapet of the lighthouse,” he explains. Then he starts playing with his left earlobe for a moment before he adds, “You could…I could take you there. During a full moon.”
I forget how to breathe for a moment.
I just stare at him, my heart in my throat, and wonder if I’ve heard correctly.
“I’ve never left this cave,” I explain softly, my voice a bare whisper. “I’m…it’s too dangerous. I have no clothes. I can walk but not well enough to climb all the stairs that you said are inside the lighthouse. And I’d have to be back by morning. It’s risky…”
I’m coming up with all of these excuses, but my heart is already racing at the prospect of spending a full moon with Baz. Of leaving this cave and exploring. Of seeing the world from outside the water. I’ve always dreamed of that.
I want it with a burning intensity.
“I could lend you some clothes,” Baz suggests tentatively. “And I’d make sure we’re back by morning. I could—I would keep you safe.”
I want to say yes.
I want to wear his clothes, feel them sliding against my skin. I want him to put them on me with his wonderful fingers. I want him to touch me, to be all over me. I don’t even care about the lighthouse or seeing the sea from above if I get to spend a full moon with Baz. Standing next to him.
“It’s in four weeks,” I mutter. I chew on my bottom lip and study his reaction. “The full moon. It’s in twenty-six days.”
“Twenty-six?” he asks, his eyebrows flying up in surprise. “That means that the last one was just…”
“I didn’t transform,” I hurriedly add. “I got stuck underwater. The Mage wanted us all to perform one of his rituals, but—next time, I could…”
Baz
I don’t know why I want this so badly.
In a few weeks, Fiona will probably come and fetch me to take me back to my old, dull life. Confined between the stifling walls of a castle, pretending to be something that I’m not. Far away from the sea. From my art. From him. All of this will soon be over. Simon will be nothing but a distant dream. It could be a matter of days.
But I don’t want to go back.
I want to stay here, even if I don’t belong in this place. I didn’t belong in my castle anyway. I don’t think there’s a single place on earth where I fully fit except for this cave where I can meet him. This liminal space between his world and mine.
“I could take you to my cottage,” I whisper, moving closer.
“I’ve never seen a human house,” he murmurs.
“I can make you sketches of what it looks like,” I suggest. “Or I could just take you there. We could…”
My legs are in the water today. I’m only wearing a pair of shorts. Simon moves between my knees, his tail touching my feet as he slots between my parted legs like the missing piece of a puzzle. His hands rest on my knees for a long moment, his thumb moving almost absentmindedly on my skin.
“I don’t know if I can,” he murmurs, his eyes locked with mine, scared for the first time since I saw him. “If the Mage found out…”
“I wish…” My voice dies in my throat as his fingers reach for me, hesitantly touching my belly. The back of his hand rubs gingerly against my skin, making my muscles skitter at the unexpected contact. No one’s ever touched me like this. I’ve only ever wanted him to do it.
“You wish?” he breathes out.
I wish for him to be mine.
For nothing to stand between us. Not my father or this Mage of his. I wish we could just be together.
I suddenly remember it. That story from my childhood. From a time that feels like a different life.
“There was a tale that my mother used to read to me,” I start, wetting my lips. His eyes follow my tongue, lingering there for a moment that stretches indefinitely. I wonder if he ever thinks about kissing me. I’ve been thinking about it constantly. “It was about a Nix that granted three wishes.”
“A Nix?” he asks.
“A water spirit,” I explain. “Like you, but living in rivers. In fairy tales they like to drown humans. But if you’re lucky, they can grant wishes instead.”
He’s so close. I can smell the saltiness on his skin, the minty freshness of his breath. I find myself reaching for him, sliding my fingers though his curls and finding them soft and damp. I want to touch him all over. I want his mouth on mine. I need him all over me.
“What do you wish for, Baz?” he asks softly.
You.
“So many things,” I lie. I only want him.
“Who knows?” he says with a little smile dancing on his lips. “Maybe I can grant wishes. Maybe all you need to do is offer me a gift in return. Like your spoon that day.”
“What kind of gift? Do you have something in mind?” I ask, my heart in my throat. God, he’s so close, and I’m barely wearing anything. He can probably feel the heat of my skin. The frantic beating of my heart under the surface of my skin.
“What can you offer?” Simon asks.
I could offer my art, or my expensive clothes. I could probably try to smuggle a goat here, but all that comes out of my mouth is, “A kiss.”
I want to take it back as soon as it’s out of my lips, but Simon smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling in the most beautiful way as he leans closer, between the v of my open legs.
“Make a wish,” he whispers before he wraps his arms around my waist and nuzzles my cheek.
And then he kisses me.
I imagined being kissed a million times.
Something tense and awful in a white chapel, surrounded by family and strangers, all dressed up to watch me give up my life to grant my father’s wish to see me married to a woman.
I imagined stolen kisses in the stables with a knight who would promise to take me far away and then would abandon me.
I imagined Simon as soon as I met him. As soon as he pressed his lips to mine to save my life.
But not even my wildest fantasies could prepare me for this. For how soft his mouth is against mine. For the way his breath tickles my cheek, the gentle way he has to touch my jaw with his hand, his fingers sliding through my hair as he hums against my mouth. My lips open in surprise, and Simon seems to take it as an invitation to lick inside my mouth.
I forget how to breathe.
I forget to wish for something.
I forget about everything but Simon’s mouth on mine, the way his fingers are brushing against my stomach, slowly travelling up my chest until they are on my cheek, tentative when his lips aren’t.
It feels like a lifetime before we part. My heart’s still trying to beat out of my mouth in a mad rush as our eyes meet.
I want him back. I want him to kiss me again and again and again.
My lips taste salty when I run my tongue on them, chasing the taste of him.
“My wish hasn’t come true,” I lie. God, this is everything I’ve ever wanted. “It…”
He looks at me from under his wet eyelashes, his eyes so blue that I could drown in them.
“I’d better return your favour, then.”
His mouth is sinful against mine, hungry in a way only I thought I could be, because I’ve been starving my whole life. But maybe he’s like me. Maybe we match.
I keep on kissing him and wish for this moment to never end.