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Arcorlan is a terrible dancer. I fight back the urge to laugh as he careens into the adjoining line of dancers and throws off their pattern. It doesn’t help that he keeps staring at me instead of watching where he’s going. His face doesn’t bear the hungry look of a man stalking a mate. Instead, his golden eyes look bewildered. He’s out of his element. Is he trying to please me by dancing?
My heart softens just a little. Handsome as he is, he doesn’t stir my desire, but at least he doesn’t spout stupid boasts or play into petty rivalries like the others. Maybe I can reconcile myself to the thought of having him as a mate.
“You’ll keep up with me easier if you look where you’re going.” I shout to him over the din. “Don’t you dance in the Fethan Islands?”
“We haven’t had much use for dancing these last years,” he says simply. “The human seafarers who swarm my home waters are growing in power and have little love for the merroc. These patterns have left my mind in favor of battle tactics.”
“Does that bother you?”
He looks at me. For the first time I see a spark of emotion in his eyes. “I find pleasure in battle. But I think ... I once found pleasure in dancing too. I can’t quite remember.”
Pity and horror grip my heart. My mind flashes back to sunset, when I pleaded in vain with the ocean to remember something besides battle. If nothing else, Arcorlan and I have one thing in common.
I pull him out of the fray of dancers and into a quieter corner of the hall. He follows without question, his broad shoulders relaxing as we make our escape.
“You are not what I expected.” I don’t have the time or energy for niceties right now, and I have the feeling Arcorlan can live without them too. I need to know now whether I can sway him as an ally.
“You expected a bloodthirsty monster who drowns land-dwelling children for the fun of it, I assume.” He doesn’t look the least bit surprised. “I expected much the same of you.”
I cringe, but he doesn’t react. “What do you think of me now that you’re here?”
“I think you are weary of war. And I think you do not want this mate challenge to take place.”
“War has a way of swallowing other desires.”
Another strain of Keliveth’s song echoes within me, this time feeling closer and more urgent. A strange shiver runs through me.
I’ve been lying to myself. I still have plenty of desires.
To be loved. To be touched, caressed, caught up in passion. To give myself fully to a man I love, knowing he will give the same in return.
To live in peace, and to sing and dance without fear.
The realizations well up from forgotten dreams, and tears spring to my eyes. I blink them away angrily. I can’t afford them.
“If you know I’m reluctant, why do you want to be my mate?” I snap, a little sharper than I mean to.
“I don’t ask you to love me,” he says flatly.
“Good.” I take a deep breath, trying to force down the fury that has sprung to life within me. I need to try to win him over as an ally, not bite his head off. “I only seek a mate out of necessity.”
“As do I.” He looks relieved, and I start to understand the reason for his stares. I don’t think the sight of me stirs any warmth in him, but he’s been sizing me up. “The Atathari and the Fethani have not always been friends, but we cannot afford to be at odds when enemies lurk on our shores. You and I would be powerful allies. Also, perhaps you could remind me how to dance.”
“Perhaps. If we end the war once and for all.” I pause. “My mother’s desire for vengeance will make that difficult.”
His stern features crease into a frown. “From what I hear, your mother has a talent for making things difficult. I only want the oceans to be free of their turmoil, whatever it takes to accomplish that. It would honor me to do so at your side.”
I blink. Could it really be this simple? Arcorlan’s impassive face stirs nothing within me, but I’ve already accepted that passion and love are too much to hope for. He’s pleasing to look at. He’s not a monster—at least no more than I am. His magic is powerful, and if I gave him a good reason to go against the Seamother, he might do it.
He’s a practical choice. I already know I can’t expect more than that.
I open my mouth to say yes. But the word doesn’t come.
Cold spreads through my body as I try to force out my answer. I feel as if someone has handed me a knife and told me to drive it into my own heart. All my carefully constructed arguments crumble away in my mind. I only stare at Arcorlan like he’s death itself—and maybe he is. He’s made of war as much as I am. If he can’t even remember how to dance, will he be able to help me restore any sort of life and peace to the seas?
“Arcorlan,” I say, my voice catching, “do you remember the sound of the ocean’s laughter at sunset in the spring? Do you remember how the wind danced with joy when the summer storms blew in?”
He stares at me, as if I’ve asked him the most impossible riddle.
