Page 69 of Ballad of Sea and Sky

I laughed, although it sounded more like a sob. “And this marriage,” I said. “It would be purely political? No other motivation?”

Caspian chuckled, warm and low as he put an arm around me. “Purely political. I don’t like you, remember?”

“And I loathe you,” I replied, melting into him.

“Clearly,” Caspian said, breaking away with a smirk. His smile softened, and he tucked a lock of teal hair behind my ear. “Please just…think about it, Marina. We can’t do anything until my wings heal or my people come for us or we find some other way off this rock. Please think about it.”

I nodded, feeling like my throat was too tight to reply.

The gods knew I was desperate for this male. I desired him in a way I had never desired anyone before. But what if it were purely physical? What if I said yes, and went with him, and lost everything and everyone I loved in the process?

Chapter 26

“Youhavetomovethe sound to your chest, rather than your head, Urchin,” Caspian chuckled, sitting across from me on the bed.

The days settled into a sort of rhythm. Caspian would fish or make repairs to the hut or scrounge up useful debris while Ran tried to help me channel my magic to evict Morar from the lake. Each evening we ate while watching the sunset, and each night we talked about our lives before he folded me into his arms to sleep.

I didn’t push him to do more than hold me, and he didn’t push me to return with him to his people. As much as I wanted him to take me hard and fast against every surface on this island, I valued the quiet warmth of his embrace each night and falling to sleep to the sound of his heartbeat over the drumming of the sea.

Before long, a week on the island had passed, the weather turning colder and the seas and winds more harsh.

Now that he was more relaxed, Caspian hummed or drummed his fingers in a restless rhythm all the time, unable to be without music for too long. He decided to teach me to sing to pass the time, and I was eager to learn, wishing we had such music on the islands. It was proving to be far more challenging than I had thought, both making the notes and controlling my breathing enough to sing.

“I have no idea what that means,” I complained irritably, pouting my lip at him. “How can you sing from your chest when there’s no mouth there?”

Caspian laughed, loud and rich, and I scowled. “Sorry, Urchin. You’re just so endearingly new to all of this. I mean, feel the vibration in your chest. Push the sound from your lungs, not your throat.”

“My lungs are barely able to breathe, let alone sing,” I responded, trying to do as he commanded. I coughed, the sound dying.

“Practice will help with your breath control,” Caspian said, handing me a shell of water. “You’re a soprano, by the way.”

“What does that mean?” I asked, feeling like I knew even less about music, now that I had a small sense of it.

“It’s your vocal range,” he replied. I gave him a blank look, as these words meant nothing to me, and he chuckled. “I’m a baritone for instance. I can sing lower notes than you can, but you can sing higher than I can. Soprano is the highest, while baritone is the second lowest.”

“Is that good?” I asked. Caspian had taken my hand and was playing with my fingers, a habit he had taken to during our evening conversations. I had no desire to stop him.

“There’s no good or bad about it, Urchin,” he said with a warm smile. “The different ranges blend together to create harmonies and melodies. Diversity in voices makes the songs sweeter and more vibrant.”

He looked up at me, his eyes a warm gold and his face happy and relaxed. Here was Caspian the poet, rather than the soldier or the pirate king. I liked seeing this side of him very much.

“I’ll teach you, once you’ve mastered the basics,” he promised, dropping my hand to lean back on his elbows. “If—” He cut himself off, and I knew he had been about to say if I went with him. Instead he finished with, “If you want.”

“Will you teach me the ballad?” I asked, realizing that I hadn’t heard it all in one sitting, and not since the night in the tavern. “I only heard bits of it. I want to know the whole thing.”

“If you like,” he said, giving me a fond, gentle smile. “Maybe you can write your own selkie ballads some day.”

The comment made my joy flag a little. There would be no music if I returned to my parents. No singing or lyres or honeyed tones or bawdy shanties or sweet lullabies.

“What is it?” Caspian asked, sitting up and tilting my chin so I met his eyes, pure molten gold in the firelight.

“Will you sing it?” I asked, wishing to hear the whole song at least once before we parted.

“It won’t be as good without an instrument, I’m afraid,” Caspian replied, blushing faintly.

“Please?” I asked.

Caspian’s smile sent warmth shooting through every bone. “I can deny you nothing, it seems.”