Page 21 of Storm and Sea

Now, likely a decade later, Atreus stared into the fire, sleep impossible as the story of his isolation played over and over in his mind. The look of fear and disgust on the sirena’s face was palpable. And even worse, it reflected in the eyes of her son.

Halfling. Skraith.

To this day, Atreus didn’t know what those words meant. He’d never had another Mer to ask. But it was reason enough for him never to approach the Mer village again, even when he was only days away from starvation. He was quicker to approach the bloodthirsty humans than the Sireni. Luckily for him, the humans hadn’t seen him as an abomination.

“Only because you’re hiding

in a shell of their skin.”

Atreus flinched at the whispering voice in his head. He poked at the fire more insistently, letting the floating embers distract him. He wished the sun would hurry and rise already. There was no chance of him sleeping, not with another person so close.

Too close.

Nyel hadn’t so much as rolled over since falling asleep on the mattress. He slept soundly. Obviously, whatever issues he was dealing with wouldn’t stop him from getting a good night’s sleep.

Would he be so comfortable if he knew what I was?

Atreus had made a point not to dip his hands in the bucket Nyel used to clean his wound. It was better to let Nyel believe he was ‘normal’ and not well… whatever he was.

Does he even remember me?

No matter how many times Atreus wished he could forget, the precious minutes he spent with the jade boy remained permanently etched in his brain.

During the nights when his stomach was empty and his heart even more so, Atreus comforted himself by imagining what it would have been like if the boy’s mother had never appeared. Would they have herded the goatfish together? Talked? What would they have talked about?

Since that day, Atreus held dozens—no hundreds—of conversations with the boy. His imagination supplied him with stories that would never be. And now, the subject of his daydreams slept only feet from him. Older, bigger, and with no memory of Atreus.

The sun wasn’t up yet, but Atreus couldn’t stand it any longer. He doused the fire (assuming Nyel wouldn’t think to do so), grabbed his leather pack filled with extra clothes and food, and moved to leave the lighthouse. He paused with his hand on the door.

Nyel slept. Not a snore. Not so much as a heavy breath. Quiet. Peaceful.

Atreus approached, using the sireno’s moment of vulnerability to get a good look. Nyel’s human body was as strange as his Mer. It was so unblemished that he almost appeared fake, like the marble statue in the center of town. But the wavy dark hair that fluttered with each breath was proof enough of his mortality. Atreus was tempted to stroke a finger across his pale cheek, just to know what it felt like.

Then he’d leave, and they would never see each other again.

“If he knew the truth about you,

he’d run and never look back.”

Atreus retracted his hand and, without a sound, left Nyel alone in the tower.

He didn’t belong with his kind. He belonged with the humans. He belonged in Baia Vita.

That green-eyed jerk killed the fire, and Nyel couldn’t make another one. He woke up shivering only to see he was alone in the circular tower room.

Atreus was gone.

Nyel’s shoulders drooped. He shouldn’t have been so disappointed; Atreus told him he was leaving. Still, part of Nyel hoped he would have stayed long enough to say bye.

“It’s only polite,” Nyel muttered to himself, rubbing his fleshy hands together. His human hands were more flexible than his webbed ones.

However, the more he pondered it, the more it bothered him. He got the distinct feeling that Atreus didn’t like him very much.

Another shiver tore through him.

“Sharks!” he cursed, rubbing his arms up and down vigorously. He hated this part of the human body. Why did he have to fight against the air he breathed? This body was so frustrating. When he woke, it took him a moment to remember he wasn’t underwater. The weight of himself was suffocating. With no water to support him, he was a sack of sand. He lay there, gasping for an embarrassing amount of time before he had the strength to lift his head.

Nyel observed his spindly fingers as he wiggled them. In less than a day, he’d learned more about himself than he had his entire life in Corallina. He’d learned that fire was hot, dangerously so. That humans had air ballons instead of gills. That his body needed heat to stay warm.