Page 35 of Ballad of Sea and Sky

“Really?” Caspian asked, brows raising as he regarded me. “No, ‘I told you I could be trusted’ or ‘don’t be condescending, you overgrown seagull’?”

“All of those comments are implied,” I said dryly, sipping the amber liquid. It was ale of some kind, but very different from what we drank on the island. More sour and less fruity, but still refreshing. “You’ve sung that song before,” I pushed.

“I have,” Caspian agreed, looking amused at my interest. “This,” he held up the golden instrument, its strings twanging discordantly, “is called a lyre. And the song is just an old siren ballad. Something all of us are taught as children.”

“But what is it about?” I pressed, unable to force the song from my mind. A band of dwarves with various instruments had taken the stage and were playing a lively tune, encouraging the patrons to stand and dance. I looked on a little enviously, wishing we had music like it at selkie celebrations.

“It’s an old story,” Astraios cut in. “About the doomed romance between the sea and the sky.”

“Doomed?” I asked, turning my attention to the second mate. “Why doomed?”

“Because the sea and sky can never be together,” Astraios said matter of factly. “They touch, but never meet. Their romance is doomed to fail.”

“Like our ancestors,” Caspian added, giving me a meaningful look. “A siren princess and a selkie prince. It’s the story of our past.”

“That’s…” I paused, trying to decide how it made me feel. It was a silly notion, a romance between the sea and the sky, but it was a song of bitter longing and regret, clearly about more than the words implied. “Very sad.”

“It is,” Caspian agreed, eyes meeting mine across the table, his eyes full of unspoken meaning.

“All ballads are rather sad,” Astraios interrupted, oblivious to the moment between his captain and myself.

I gave myself a little shake, breaking eye contact with Caspian and trying to change the subject. “I’m afraid I don’t know any ballads,” I said a little wistfully. “We have no music in the Silent Isles.”

“What?” Astraios asked, looking between us in confusion. “What do you mean there’s no music?”

“The selkies are not a musical people,” Caspian replied for me, turning to his second mate. “It’s outlawed.”

“Skies above,” Astraios muttered, taking a deep swig of his ale. “No wonder you’re so uptight.”

“Hey!” I protested, jabbing him in the ribs with my elbow.

“What?” he laughed, holding his hands up in mock defeat. “It’s true!”

I glanced back to Caspian, who was looking between me and Astraios with a strange darkness in his amber eyes. I might have imagined it, because it was gone the moment they met mine.

“Come on, Princess,” Astraios said, standing and holding out a hand to me. “You are sorely in need of a dance.”

“What?” I spluttered, trying to dig my heels into the wooden floorboards as he dragged me toward the other spinning couples. It seemed to be mostly dwarves dancing, their movements free and uninhibited in a way that was a little like selkie dancing, but still unfamiliar. I was a fair dancer, but I didn’t know these songs, and the idea of making a fool of myself in front of the Siren King filled me with an existential dread.

Caspian watched with a raised brow as Astraios led me to the floor, a slight smirk tilting his lips as if he knew I was about to put on a mortifying show.

“It’s tradition,” Astraios said, nodding to where several other sirens had risen to dance, many choosing partners from among the various dwarves and fae at that tavern. “We dance before we sail.”

“I don’t know the steps,” I protested, attempting to twist from his grasp.

“You’ll learn,” Astraios shouted, swinging me onto the floor heedless of my protest.

The dance was lively and carefree and strangely sensual, and my heart thumped in time with the beat as Astraios whirled me around. It was a spinning, churning whirlwind of music and joy, and soon my hesitation was lost under the footfalls of those who danced around me. Astraios was a lively partner, passing me between other dancers before catching me again, and I laughed as he spun me, until my gaze fell to Caspian.

He was watching us dance with something like desire mixed with fury, and I realized in that moment that he was jealous.

Hewantedme.

I broke my gaze, unsure what to do with his desire and trying to focus on Astraios and the dance.Wantingdidn’t mean anything, other than physical attraction, and while there was no denying I felt some attraction for him, too, I would never act on it.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Caspian snatch a pretty fae female by the waist, spinning her onto the floor with a laugh.

“You’re staring,” Astraios teased, lowering his head conspiratorially. “Jealous?”