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“What’s this?” He smirks at the metal tea straw jutting from a mug I made.
“Valerian tea with a bit of mint. I prefer it loose leaf.”
His lips curve a little as he reaches for the mug, despite his shaking fingers. “What will it do for me?” He quirks one brow.
“It will make you grow a horn—of the unicorn variety.” He draws the mug to his chest, and I smile. “It should sort you out a bit,” I tell him softly. “Valerian, if you note the name, works a wee bit like the other.”
I don’t want to say Valium, lest it trigger something for him.
Understanding passes over his face, and his blue eyes flare a bit in reaction. “Thank you.”
“Have you ever used a tea straw?”
He shakes his head, and I lean up to kiss his dimple. “Want to come into the den with me?”
While I was steeping the tea, he pulled on a pair of soft-looking plaid pants and a long-sleeved gray T-shirt. He looks a bit better just now, I think. A bit tired-eyed and still a bit pale, but less pained, I believe.
He follows me into the den, where I sift through the drawer in a small table by the front door, fishing out a faded Little Mermaid valentine. I think of his shaking hands and unfold it for him, holding it open so he can read.
To Prince Declan
from Finley. the princess
The corners of his lips twitch as he reads it. His eyes move to my face.
“I wrote it the year after. When I was eight. Don’t know why it survived these years, but I found it somewhat recently near the back of a cabinet.”
He takes it from me, peering down at it. When he looks back up, his eyes are clearer. “I thought about you, too. Used to ask my dad about you.”
“What would you ask?”
He shakes his head, as if to say he’s not quite sure. “If you were okay.”
“You remembered me.”
He nods. His eyes dip to his feet then rise to meet mine. “Saw you as they brought you in. Down at the docks.”
He told me that before, up on the peak as we looked at the dolphins. But I didn’t ask about it then.
“What was it like?”
He takes a sip of his tea, his eyes closing for a brief moment. “This is good.”
“You can tell me,” I murmur.
His lips press flat, revealing dimples. “I remember mostly…this is weird,” he murmurs, “but I remember your eyes. They were dazed…but kind of lit up. There was this…just something there. Kind of like an energy in them. Almost this magic. Everybody else was at the dock, but you were somewhere else.” He swallows. “I had never seen a person look like that. So I remembered.” His lips press flat again, and his hand goes into his hair as he shifts his weight.
“Later…years later, I realized that’s how people look when they’re going crazy with pain. But you were stoic, Siren.” His lips press together again. He looks back down at his feet and then back at my eyes, and I can see it bothers him to talk to me about it. “You seemed dignified…even though you were so tiny. I remembered that a long time.”
My eyes well. I blink quickly. “Come outside with me? I want to show you something else.”
Six
Declan
She teaches me to throw clay. I’m too tall to sit with my knees under her wheel, so I kneel beside it, my knees on the cold stone of the patio, with Finley leaning over and around me. Her hands shadow mine, teaching me to flare the vase’s bottom, run my thumbs along the rim.
For the longest time, my fingers shake. When it’s really bad, I use the base of my palms, and that works. Other times, the focus I’m exerting seems to keep my hands steady.
