“Lyra!” Theo screamed, his voice cracking and lost on the waves. He slipped across the deck, trying to make his way towards the railing where she disappeared.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Wyn huffed. He ripped another piece of his shirt sleeve off, tying the ship’s wheel to its post in a feeble attempt to keep it stationary. He slid towards Theo, using the rain-slicked deck to his advantage, wrapping his arms around the prince and anchoring him to the spot.
“This is the second time today I've had to keep you from jumping off my boat,” Wyn grunted, not sounding as put out as he claimed to be. “Am I really such bad company?”
“It’s not safe!” Theo shouted, clawing at Wyn's arm, banded around his torso.
“You and I both know Lyra can handle herself,” Wyn disagreed, hauling them over to a low bench under a short overhang.
“But, but—” Theo tried to protest, but he knew Wyn was right. Lyra was the most terrifying creature he'd ever met. He knew Lyra would greatly appreciate that fact. Still, a lifetime on the run may or may not have created a few abandonment issues for the young prince.
Theo and Wyn fell into an uncomfortable silence, the boat rocking on the waves as the storm raged and spat around them. It was an uncanny feeling, watching the crystal-clear skies just beyond the storm. Time passed like molasses, driving Theo crazier with every passing moment.
The wind whipped the rain against their skin, stinging like pinpricks until they were freezing and wet.
“I’m so fucking over the water.” Theo gritted his teeth.
Wyn paused for a moment and then let loose with a hoarse, coughing sound. It took Theo a couple of seconds to realize Wyn was laughing.
“Oi, really?” Wyn wiped some of the raindrops from his face. “This is what really puts you over the edge on water?” He nearly fell off the bench; he was laughing so hard. Theo couldn't help but smile.
As if on cue, the rain started to slow down. Theo looked towards Wyn eagerly, then back towards the water. Neither of them said a word, not wanting to spook whatever calm settled over the fluke storm.
It took a few more minutes to confirm the rain was, in fact, stopping, and it wasn’t a trick of their imagination. The wind lessened from hurricane gales to a soft, ocean breeze, and the sky lightened. They still couldn't see the sun, but this was Scotland, so Theo wasn't going to push his luck.
“Well, I'll be damned.” Wyn let out a low whistle of appreciation. “I think your girl pulled it off.”
“She's not my…” Theo trailed off, instinctively going to correct Wyn and realizing he both didn't want to and didn't even know how to classify his relationship with Lyra. Theo could sense Wyn preparing an eye roll of herculean proportions when Lyra broke the surface of the water.
“Lyra!” Theo jumped to his feet. Both Wyn and Theo rushed towards the edge, peering over the side to get a better view.
Lyra was floating in the sea, her torso sticking up out of the water, a picture of perfect repose. Which was impressive, considering the ab muscles it entailed to hold yourself halfway out of the water. Unfortunately, mermaids and other sea folk had been banned from human water polo teams since one particular scandal from the 1952 Olympics.
“Are you all right?” Theo blurted out, unable to keep himself from asking, even though Lyra was in one piece in front of him.
“Yes, of course,” Lyra rolled her eyes, and Theo wondered why he was always surrounding himself with people who were more fluent in sarcasm than English. “Did you think I was going to drown?”
Theo crossed his arms over his chest, getting ready to defend himself, but Wyn interrupted.
“Any chance you've gotten an answer to our question from the Blue Men, and we can all go home?”
Without warning, several blue heads popped out of the water around Lyra. Theo sucked in a sharp breath, fighting to keep his composure, but Wyn had no problems cursing loudly. They were a rather ghastly sight.
There were four of them, their skin a deep indigo, shifting in the light of day with a texture like mother-of-pearl. Each man was completely bald, devoid of facial hair or any other visible hair, for that matter. Even eyebrows, which gave them a very uncanny valley tilt to their appearance. Their eyes were wide open, blinking rapidly as they took in the boat and its passengers.
Theo could feel the magic they had in the air like static electricity. Lyra claimed they only had a little magic, but after the storm and looking at them now, Theo wasn't so sure.
One of the Blue Men turned around to say something to their kin, and Theo's heart stopped.
He could hear the exact second Wyn saw it, too, clutching at his heart and muttering something under his breath. It sounded like a prayer. Theo would never inquire as to what he said.
Each of the Blue Men had a pair of mangled scars running down their backs. Their flesh was twisted and rough, as if sewn together multiple times in a hurry. The wounds looked so raw and visceral, Theo was worried they might start bleeding.
“What is that?” he asked, keeping his voice to a barely audible whisper.
Wyn and Theo didn't take their eyes off the Blue Men, who were now in conversation with Lyra, speaking a language of the sea neither of them knew.
“I reckon,” Wyn murmured, as if the knowledge weighed on him, “that's where God tore off their wings.”
