Page 14 of Saved By the Selkie

“Speak for yourself,” I huff. I’m not in time with the music at all.

“Listen for the rhythm!” he calls. “Just like the ocean and the waves!”

I close my eyes and try to imagine the music as the rise and fall of the water. It helps a little, but it can’t make up for how clumsy I am.

I jerk to a stop when someone whistles and clapping starts. Reluctantly, I release Aramis’s hand and pull away as the crowd hoots and hollers. Some of them are encouraging; some seem like they’re jeering at us, and it’s hard to tell who’s sincere and who’s not.

I’m suddenly cold, shuddering in the stiff evening breeze rolling off the water. Aramis is heading back to the barrels; he looks at me over his shoulder, all starry-eyed, and I can’t get my breath.

“Another drink?” he asks, and I nod numbly.

nine

Aramis

L

ir is drunk. I’m not quite sure how that happened—probably has something to do with the several glasses of grog I put into him—but he’s glassy-eyed and red in the face and even clumsier than usual.

I don’t think he’s ever been drunk before, and he doesn’t seem to understand what’s happening, but he’s giggly and all over me.

Which would be fine, except that even in humanoid form, he’s a big guy and he keeps nearly knocking me over.

There’s also the itty-bitty issue of the look Anna’s giving me over her cup of grog, her eyebrows in her hairline. Porthos just laughed and clapped me on the shoulder, and I don’t think I’ve stopped blushing since.

If they didn’t think I was sleeping with Lir before, they definitely think it now.

Well, there are worse things for them to think, I suppose—like that Lir is a magical selkie who could be their ticket to fame and fortune.

I’ve just told Johan again that he can’t fire the cannons—he seems intent on doing it for some reason—because we’re too close to a port. It’s not the main line, sure, but there might be ships around here, and we could accidentally start a battle, depending on who’s in earshot. I know the Danes patrol around here sometimes, although I’m not sure how far north they actually sail.

We’ve been crawling, down past tiny little towns that barely count as ports on the Greenlandic shore. They’re not worth stopping near, but there’s no question we’re not making it to Boston before we need to stop for supplies.

We’ll have to put in at St. John’s, I think, if and when we make it there. Even if we do make it, I don’t think we’ll be able to get much—maybe some fresh greens and we can fill our water barrels again. There hasn’t been as much rain as I’d like, and I’m worried we’ll run out.

The stores of salt pork and preserved fish are also being steadily depleted. Most of our jam has also disappeared, and I think I know who’s to blame for that. Lir’s become very fond of sweets, although he’ll never admit it.

But that’s causing consternation among the crew. I don’t want to stop and delay us, but I think it’s for the best.

Lir wobbles up to me as Johan walks away, clearly sulking about the cannons. The moon’s just rising, and the night is clear and wonderful.

Lir claps a hand on my shoulder, and both of us nearly land in a heap on the deck. “Why is everything spinning?” Lir asks.

“You had too much to drink,” I tell him.

“Too much to drink,” he repeats, then puts a hand on his forehead.

“It’s alcohol. Lir, you’re drunk.”

He lists to the side, like he’s going to simply topple over. It takes most of my strength to keep him upright. “Drunk?”

“Intoxicated.”

“I don’t like it,” he practically whines. “Make it stop.”

I chuckle. “I can’t do that, sorry. You’ll have to sleep it off.”

He closes his eyes, like the suggestion of sleep made him suddenly tired. Hesitantly, I brush a lock of hair behind his ear. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”