Page 12 of Ballad of Sea and Sky

“My future-son-in-law, your future king,” my father intoned, looking down at the prisoner in disgust, “captured this siren, a captain of the Siren King, and his brethren trying to infiltrate our shore.” Another gasp from the crowd punctuated his speech, and he waited for the murmuring to die down. “Vitulus led the defense of our island, killing his entire crew.”

A smattering of applause and admiring gasps went up at this, and my father beamed as if he could not be happier. “Their wings will be sent to their king,” he added, “and then we will bring the war to them.”

I swallowed, imagining those beautiful wings torn from the prisoner’s back. I tried and failed to tear my eyes away from him, my attention transfixed. He must be in a great deal of pain, and I wondered if sirens healed slower than selkies, or if he was just too injured to properly heal with the iron cuffs. The prisoner must have felt my eyes on him, because his head lifted just enough to meet my gaze.

I stifled another gasp, disguising it as a cough that made Mother glance at me in worry. The prisoner looked away quickly, but that one glance had been enough to throw me off center. His eyes, which I had only seen for a moment, were a deep, bright gold, and something about them made my stomach lurch in an unfamiliar sensation.

“Vitulus,” my father intoned, reminding me that I was not alone with the prisoner. “What boon would you ask from me as a reward for your courage?”

“Only the hand of your daughter, My King,” Vitulus replied, his voice deep and steady as he looked at me. I willed myself to hold his gaze, to imagine my life tied to his, and offered him a faint smile. He looked back stoically, his throat working in what might have been a gulp. “As soon as possible.”

My father laughed, clapping Vitulus on the shoulder. “Well then,PrinceVitulus,“ my father said, bestowing the honorific to cement our betrothal. “It shall be done. One week from tonight.”

“A week?” I cried, the sound lost amongst the cheering and clapping of the crowd and my eyes widened in panic.

“Hush, Marina,” my mother whispered, squeezing my hand. “It will be fine.”

Vitulus bowed and moved to take the seat next to me as my father waved for the siren to be taken away by the guards. He clapped, and the drums took up their rhythm again as the feast began in earnest, servants gliding from the edges of the crowd to deliver platters of steaming fish, greens, and clams. My mother dropped my hand to serve my father and herself, and I folded them in my lap as I turned to Vitulus.

“What will happen to him?” I asked quietly as he shifted in his seat next to me. He picked up a platter of shrimp braised in butter and garlic and began to spoon them onto my plate. I was surprised at this show of deference, as females were expected to serve males, but I didn’t have time to consider it too much as he replied under his breath.

“He’ll be executed,” he said, serving himself shrimp and picking up a platter of vegetables that he again served to me first. “After he is questioned.”

“Executed,” I gasped, feeling naive that I hadn’t realized this would be the male’s fate. Of course he would be executed. He was the enemy. How many enemies had my betrothed killed? I should have realized that he was a killer. He was captain of the guard for a reason, and eliminating threats came with the job.

“Marina,” Vitulus said, placing one of his hands atop mine. I stifled a shudder, trying not to imagine the blood that coated those hands. “This is war. They are the enemy, and they invaded. They made their choice.”

“What were they after?” I asked, trying not to squirm under the press of his hand.

“Not sure,” he replied, squeezing my hands once before letting go to tackle his food. “We will find out when we question him. You’re to stay away from him, Marina,” Vitulus added sharply, cutting me a narrow-eyed look. “He’s dangerous.”

“Of course,” I said demurely, trying to hide my rage at being commanded by this male already. I knew it was probably out of concern, but how dangerous could a chained, broken male be? I lifted my fork, my appetite truly gone as I poked at the shrimp on my plate.

“You look beautiful, by the way,” Vitulus added, looking at me beneath thick, black lashes. “Like a queen.”

I tried to smile, to pretend that I was fine and that I wasn’t thinking about the prisoner with the golden eyes and the white wings. I couldn’t shake the image of him kneeling in the sand like a fallen god, his wings broken and head bowed in defeat. The idea of stroking those broken feathers to see how soft they were. Of looking into those brilliant eyes. Maybe siren eyes were also hypnotic, and maybe I was being foolish, but that voice that called me out to sea was calling to me again.Go to him. Go.

I ate and danced to the pounding drums and pretended until the fires burned low, the sounds of shells clicking and feet stomping on sand not enough to draw me from my thoughts. As I begged fatigue and Vitulus walked me back to my rooms, kissing my cheek respectfully as we parted, I enacted my plan. I was determined to look at those wings once more before they were torn from his back, and to study the golden eyes that I couldn’t shake from my mind.

Ilaidawakeaslong as possible, waiting until the sounds of celebration had died and the only light from the beach was the waning moon hanging low over the sea. It had begun to rain, a wild wind picking up and howling outside the windows, and I prayed a silent thanks to the sea for the noise as I crept out of my room. My bare feet padded silently on the stone floors, the growing storm muffling any noise I made.

I had been down to the dungeon several times, always without permission, so I knew the way reasonably well. My plan was simple: I would pretend to be going to tend to the prisoner’s wounds to make sure he was fit for questioning, and the guards would hopefully let me pass without suspicion. I had brought a small empty basin and several rolls of bandages to perpetrate my ruse. The guards would undoubtedly inform Vitulus if they let me through, and I would almost certainly be chastised for my recklessness, but I knew I was safe enough in the palace with the siren chained and my father’s guards on duty.

Vitulus might as well learn now that I was not a female to be ordered around or controlled. If he wanted to be my mate, he would have to learn to include me and respect my wishes.

The thought of my betrothed and our impending mating made my stomach writhe in panic, so I thought instead of the siren and his strange, golden eyes. The idea of seeing him again sent an unfathomable thrill through me. Would his feathers be as soft as I’d imagined? His skin as warm? Would he even let me touch him, knowing I was his enemy? I wasn’t skilled at healing, but I supposed I could clean and dress wounds reasonably well.

I was surprised to find there were no guards waiting at the dungeon entrance. This was odd, as guards were usually on patrol when there were prisoners in residence, but maybe they were near the cell instead. The door was unlocked, also unusual. Perhaps the guards left it so that their replacements could enter to relieve them when their shift was up.

A small, annoying part of me knew that something was wrong and that I should turn around. But a larger part of me was intensely curious, and decidedly reckless. I pushed the door open and descended into the darkness below.

The dungeons were deep at the bottom of the keep, down a spiraling damp stone tower that ended near the base of the cliffs. The roof was open to the sky and the elements, and rain battered the stone walls, making them slick and dangerous. Because of the tower’s location, the lower floors were often flooded and unusable, so I knew most prisoners would be kept on the top three floors.

Lichen and seaweed clung to the cold, damp walls, and I held fast to the rope rail to make sure I didn’t slip to my death down the open center of the tower. I realized with chagrin that I’d have to climb all of these steps again on my way back up, and sighed in resignation at the beating my lungs would take.

A single torch had been left burning at the entrance of each floor, leaving just enough light for me to make out the rows of cells as I descended. I checked each one, finding no guards and no prisoners. That niggling worry at the back of my mind took up a solid residence, but I pushed it aside as I searched.

On the third floor, a tiny slit had been carved in the stone wall to let the moonlight and sea breeze in, and it was freezing without the many fireplaces of the upper keep. I shivered a bit, peering down the hallway in search of the guards or prisoner. A jangling of chains near the end of the hall caught my attention, and I grabbed the torch at the entrance and slipped down the row of cells, checking each for occupants.