Page 37 of Storm and Sea

But Atreus hardly heard him. Something caught his attention. Transfixed him. Something that only appeared with the touch of water. A line of green scales ran from Nyel’s mouth, down his neck, and onto his chest. The air grew still, and Atreus was suddenly reminded that this person, this male standing before him… was Mer.

Like me.

Of course, Nyel was Mer. That’s what they’d been talking about all night. But there was something about seeing the transformation. Watching Marvassa touch someone else right before his eyes. The realization hit Atreus like an avalanche cascading down a mountain, burying him with the weight of the sireno’s presence. He wasn’t alone anymore.

Had he been lonely all this time? Even among the humans?

Atreus reached gently, tracing his finger up the line of green scales starting from Nyel’s neck—his jaw—pausing at the corner of his parted mouth. The scales were cool to the touch, and as the water dried, they melted into flesh before his eyes. Nyel’s skin was porcelain—perfect. Atreus traced a finger along his cheek.

Nyel’s shuddering intake of breath had Atreus jerking his hand away, backing up like he’d been caught doing something indecent.

He cleared his throat. “Well, uh, goodnight. I’ll get you in the morning, and uh… keep practicing,” he said by way of parting as he closed the door.

Atreus paused outside the room, hand still resting on the doorknob. He had no explanation for what had just happened. That was unlike him—encroaching on someone’s personal space. The awkwardness of it all made his stomach squirm uncomfortably.

But he didn’t pull away.

Still, Atreus couldn’t let his infatuation with the idea of another Mer being around lead him to forget basic manners. That was weird, and he knew it.

Atreus walked down the hall and flopped onto his bed, burying his face in the pillow and breathing in the homey smell. He was exhausted, and today had been… a lot. Even the incredible fact that he was sleeping in an actual bed for the first time in his life wasn’t enough to dispel the unease that settled in him like a termite infestation—eating away at his wooden foundation of rules.

Don’t get too close.

Don’t get too comfortable.

Don’t be a burden.

Know your place.

There were too many new things happening all at once. That was the only explanation for his behavior in Nyel’s room. He’d return to his right mind after a good night’s rest.

Still, the restive image of jade scales turning to porcelain skin consumed his thoughts until he finally fell asleep.

A yowling cat jarred Atreus from arguably the best sleep he’d ever had. Sleeping in an actual bed designed for a human body was incredible. He’d be sorry to return to the lumpy pad in his lighthouse—because he was going back. He and Nyel were not staying.

Last night was a fluke.

The sound of the crying cat (maybe a small wounded animal?) scratched his eardrums until it was too much, and he rose. If he didn’t already know what made that noise, he’d wish to put the poor creature out of its misery. Alas, Atreus was all too familiar with the sound now coming from the kitchen—not a dying creature, but Marina—singing. In her most elegant soprano, she forced songbirds into a life of mutism.

Giovanni’s daughter, a few years his junior, must have arrived on the merchant barge early that morning (or late in the night) once the rains eased. He’d listened to that singing voice almost every day of every summer since he was thirteen. As a child, it was cute, but now that Marina was well on her way to womanhood, it was painful.

Atreus opened the door, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He’d have liked to yell for the vocalist to knock it off, but this was her house—not his.

Remember your place.

Nyel was already awake, dressed in the clothes Giovanni had lent him, and sitting expectantly on the edge of his bed.

“G-good morning,” Atreus said, surprised to see the gold-flecked eyes so alert.

“Morning.” Nyel’s expression was placid. Way too awake for this early in the morning but untroubled.

He doesn’t look upset.

Maybe Nyel forgot about his awkwardness the night before.

“Time to eat. And I promise to warn you about any meat.”

The sireno’s shoulders relaxed. “Oh, thank the Spirits. I don’t think I can force down another bite.”