A Pirate's Dream Page 9

  “Be safe, little pirate.”

  Rolling her eyes, she stepped out of his arms, wishing she didn’t have to but knowing she had no choice. “Aren’t I always, beluga?”

  He looked forlorn when she walked off, and even though she felt bad and desperately wanted to go see what his surprise for her was, she had no good reason to break her engagement with her great-mother.

  She was half down the stairs when Stygia came swimming up. Her hair was caught up in a twisted knot of cascading curls and threaded with miniature pearls of every color. Her eyes were painted with kohl, and her lips were a vivid pink.

  In short, she looked stunning. And today, she’d not placed hair across her breasts but bared them proudly. Her pink-tipped nipples stood out, bold and erect.

  And Nimue ached to slap the smirk off the mermaid’s face.

  “Legger,” Stygia sneered, “he may slack his lust with you, but you will never have him. You are a curiosity, a bauble. But you are not folk, and we do not fall in love with your kind.” Her gaze rolled down Nimue’s form with a mix of disgust and satisfaction.

  Notching her chin high, she turned her face to the side.

  Nimue was a pirate. Hook’s blood ran through her veins. There was nothing this fish could say to make Nimue think any less of who she was. Without even so much as a farethewell, she stepped to the side and walked toward her great-mother’s hut, smiling as she felt Stygia’s wrath beat at her backside.

  She might be making an enemy, but there was no good pirate without one.

  *

  Maiven handed her a goblet of sparkling cider then wiped her brow as she gazed at the day’s harvest. “You were a legger obsessed, Nimue. I do not think I’ve ever harvested more than three baskets’ worth in a day.”

  Laughing, she swallowed the crisp ale, sighing as its wet coolness settled in her empty stomach. “You needed help.”

  “Aye. And I appreciate it.” She flicked her orange-red tail against Nimue’s foot. “But I sense that it was much more than that.”

  She shrugged, smiling to herself. If she’d maybe pushed herself faster than normal so that she could return just a little earlier today, she certainly wouldn’t be telling her grandmother that.

  Just then, the squeal and chatter of mermaids erupted through Maiven’s hut.

  “Yes. She has cookies. Follow me!” Ariana’s voice was like the Pied Piper’s leading her little troop out toward the back garden.

  Groaning, her great-mother got up, wiping the dirt off her scales. “That girl.” She rolled her eyes, but her words were full of affection. Just as she got to the door, the band of at least five merchildren squealed with delight.

  Ariana clapped her hands, her beautiful green eyes wide with delight as she said, “I smelled coral cookies.”

  “Yes. Yes.” Maiven held up a finger in Nimue’s direction. “A moment, dear, while I deal with the rabble.”

  “Take your time.” Nimue dipped her head before taking another fortifying sip of her ale.

  The girls raced after Maiven, who’d headed inside, but Ariana glided over to where Nimue sat on the coral bench and plopped down beside her.

  “Hello, legger.” Ariana beamed proudly. “I went to the palace today to find you. You weren’t there. I am happy you are here.”

  “Ari.” She smiled back, thinking she liked the mermaid more and more each time they met. In just a few weeks, they’d grown close. Ariana was a refreshing change of pace from Stygia’s cruel surliness. “Are you going to be drawing today?”

  “What? Me? Nooo.” She shook her head, causing her white hair to flow like running waters down her exquisite shoulders. Leaning in, she whispered excitedly, “I spoke to my friend today.”

  Her grin was huge and full of excitement. Jerking, Nimue glanced over her shoulder to make sure Maiven hadn’t heard that.

  “Ari, you know you’re not supposed to be sneaking to the above.”

  “Pshaw, legger. Pshaw.” She shook her head. “It is perfectly safe, and they are my friends. They give me such lovely baubles.”

  Fishing an object out of the pouch at her hip, she cooed and lovingly fluttered her fingers along the pronged comb. It was lovely—a white marbled creation with images of stags and roses etched upon it.

  “See?” She tipped it forward. “Isn’t it just lovely?”

  Nimue covered the girl’s hand. “Yes, it is, Ari. But you shouldn’t wave it about. You know how the others would feel if they knew you are sneaking out of the gates.”

  She had no idea how the mermaid escaped being noticed by Brutus and Sirius, the beasts guarding the entrance separating the above from the under. But somehow, the wily mermaid always managed to get past them, only to return later with her little treasures from the above.

  “Who are these friends?” she asked, always curious as to who would be giving away such valuables. Maybe it was because of her dealings with pirates, but Nimue suspected the maid couldn’t just be getting something for nothing.

  “Friends,” Ari said, enraptured all over again by the hair comb.

  Nimue had learned a while ago that it was useless to try to get Ariana to talk when she didn’t want to. So instead, Nimue held out her hand.

  “Would you like me to show you how to use that properly?”

  Blinking, Ari looked between Nimue and her prize. “You know how to use this?”

  “Yes. It is a comb for a woman’s hair. Give me.”

  Looking skittish, but trusting all the same, Ariana handed it over.

  “Now turn around,” Nimue commanded. The moment Ari did, Nimue slid the comb from the root down to the tips of her friend’s silky hair.

  Ariana let out a muffled yelp then giggled. “That tickles.”

  Smiling, shaking her head, Nimue continued to brush down Ariana’s hair until she’d gotten rid of each snarl.

  “There,” she said, just as she heard the girls inside groan and beg for just ‘one more.’ “Perfect. Look in a mirror, and you’ll see what I’m saying is true.”

  “A mirror?” Ariana asked as she took the comb from Nimue.

  She frowned. “You don’t know what a mirror is?”

  Ariana shook her head quickly as she tucked the comb back into her pouch.

  Nimue had no doubt that the maiden knew what it was, or at one point must have known, but maybe it was a result of the knock to the head that she no longer remembered.

  “It is a looking glass. Very smooth and shines. You can see your reflection in it.”

  “Like a puddle?” she asked excitedly.

  “Kind of. But better. More clear. Maybe if I can get my hands on one, I’ll bring it to you next time I come.”

  “I would like that.” Ariana clapped her hands.

  Maiven came out, looking frazzled and exhausted as she held a platter above her heads. “Calm down, the lot of you, or there will be no more cookies for the sharks.”

  “Argh!” One little girl curled her fingers and growled, thrashing her head from side to side and causing her bright-orange curls to swirl about dangerously. “I am Brutus!”

  That name caused all the other girls to squeal, including Ariana, who got up and swam away from the menacing shark girl. Several laughs and mock bites later, the tiny creatures finally settled back down, thanks to Maiven’s timely intervention.

  “Who wants cookies!” Was all she’d had to say, and back they came, settling in a semi-circle around Nimue’s feet, munching happily on their bright-green kelp and coral cookies.

  Suddenly, one of the girls, a dark-haired blue-tailed one, leaned over to the orange-haired girl and whispered something in her ear, which caused the girl to titter, lean over and whisper into the next girl’s ear, like a daisy chain. Soon enough, they were all tittering.

  “By the Goddess”—Maiven clutched at her skull—“it is enough to drive one half mad. Please, children, do share just what is so humorous with the rest of us.”

  None of the little ones spoke up, but Ariana did. “They said her
legs are strange, and they wondered what it felt like.”

  She munched idly on her cookie, staring over Nimue’s shoulder with a vacant, happy smile.

  Maiven tutted. “Apologize now, Frisee.”

  The orange-haired child tipped her head forward, but Nimue held up her hand.

  “No worries. My vanity is far from wounded. I half expected this conversation to happen much sooner. Would you like to touch?” she asked the girls.

  As one, they all grew excited.

  Frisee and Ariana clapped their hands. “Could I?” they said in unison.

  “Get in line.”

  “Thank you,” Maiven mouthed, and Nimue nodded then tossed back her skirt, thinking how very serendipitous it’d been that she’d worn one with such a long slit.

  “Ohhh,” Frisee mumbled. “How soft. My legger’s is hairy.”

  Nimue had learned that though leggers had fathered the girl maids down here, none of them actually referred to the males as Father. They were leggers, pure and simple.

  “Yours is so soft, like silk. Come feel, Namid.”

  The dark-haired child came forward next. And then she laughed the moment her tiny palm touched Nim’s knee.

  “So knobby. Eww.” She shuddered then squealed when another one remarked how odd and ugly legs were.

  Nimue just grinned. “Oh, I don’t know about that. They’re wonderful for kicking.”

  And so saying, she demonstrated by bobbing her leg, causing Namid to tumble back.

  Hysterical laughter whipped up then, and Nimue spent the rest of the afternoon showing the girls how functional and fun legs could be. Taking off her boots at one point, she wiggled her toes.

  “And if I’m being really lazy and don’t want to bend over, I can just do this.” Spying a pebble by her foot, she gripped it between her toes and lifted it high enough for her to snatch it up with her hand.

  Ariana squealed. “How perverse! I love it! Show me again.”

  One by one, the girls—sans Ariana, as that would have been too awkward—took turns riding her knees, remarking that it was simply not natural that one leg could remain behind while the other wiggled and waggled about in such a manner.

  By the time Maiven finally called a quit to the game, Nimue was coated in sweat and exhausted, but she was content.

  It’d been a wonderful afternoon, and for a time at least, it had taken her mind off the male back at the palace. After replacing her boots, she stood and wrapped the shawl around her; the waters were definitely growing cooler. It seemed even in the under, fall had come on with a vengeance.

  *

  Sircco had just listened to the final petition of the day, and now, he was hidden back in his study, glowering at the crystal flames in the hearth.

  “My word, what clawfish nibbled on your rear, brother?” Sirenade asked as she thumped a stack of ledgers down on the desk.

  Taking a sip of his brandy, he let the burn filter down his throat before answering. “Just the standard fare.”

  “Standard fare? Right. And that is why you’re sitting there, staring at the fire as though you wished to strangle it with your bare hands. Whatever has that fire done to you?” There was a shiver of laughter in her words.

  Her hair hung long and loose down her back. He wished he could share in his sister’s good humor. Taking a seat herself, she stared at him for a solid minute before saying, “Sircco, tell me. What is wrong?”

  This time, he heard the sincerity and the trouble, and he sighed, feeling suddenly exhausted. He wanted to get away from the palace, at least for a day, but there was still much he needed to do. Knowing that, he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about the ride to the moors with Nimue and how relaxed he’d felt upon their return.

  Bunching his shoulders, he took another sip. “It is nothing. Taxes. Land squabbles. The typical.”

  “And the legger, Daniel, released from his ties to Flotsam—I heard of that.”

  He frowned. The legger had stood before him, severing all ties with his mate of the past year, looking not only relieved, but also elated by the prospect of returning to the above.

  Clenching his jaw, Sircco tried to understand why he’d felt so empty, so... angered by the request that was all too common in Seren. No one down here mated for love. No one expected it. Flotsam had seemed as relieved to see him go as Daniel had been to go.

  How could two beings spend such close quarters together and not feel at least something for on another, especially when they shared bodies for a time?

  “He asked to go. I relieved him of his duties. He should be landing in the above anytime now, I’d imagine,” he rumbled, staring broodily at the flames once more, watching as the white crystal fire shimmered with differing colors as it snapped and curled.

  Fire should not burn in water; none did, except for white crystal. Shards extracted from within magma pools, hot enough to burn indefinitely and harvested by only the bravest souls.

  Fall’s chill had settled upon his waters, and soon, every room within the palace would be aglow with crystal flame. He’d need to tell Nimue’s staff to send up enough to last her through to the winter.

  “So why don’t you sound happy about this? Flotsam is finally with fry. This is a good thing, no?”

  Looking at his sister with new eyes, Sircco shook his head. “Do you not wish to mate, Sirenade?”

  Her hair began to twirl and curl around her shoulders with mirth. “Me? Mate? I should think not. I’ve no desire to rub fin with—”

  “A legger,” he supplied.

  “No.” She frowned. “Legger or otherwise, matters not to me.”

  “Then?”

  A sea dragon circled her head before swimming in a rhythmic bob toward her outstretched hand, rubbing itself lovingly against her pinky claw.

  “I simply do not desire a male, period. Hard as it may be for you to believe, brother, I’m quite content without one.”

  He narrowed his eyes. Unlike his sister, he’d never been happy being alone. For the longest time, he’d only ever wanted Talia. But even when his desire for her waned, his desire for more never had.

  He wasn’t sure he would call it a need for love. Love seemed a foolish notion. But companionship. Closeness. He craved them and from someone other than his strong-willed sister.

  “I want a mate.” The moment he said it, he knew it to be true to the very depth of his core. Sirenade lifted a porcupine fish quill off her desk and dipped it into a well of squid ink.

  After opening the book, she scratched a few notations down.

  At first, he thought she intended to ignore his proclamation, but after a moment, and still without looking up, she said, “A mate. Or Nimue?”

  Jerking, he sat up straighter as the glass in his hand bobbed, spilling some of the amber liquid onto his tail. With a growl, he swiped at it. “I never mentioned the pirate’s name, and no, I wasn’t thinking of her.”

  Or had he been?

  In fact, he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about her lately. The way her neck curved like a swan’s, how perfectly rounded her breasts were, and how he wished he knew what color they were tipped. But beyond her looks, he looked forward to their private, shared moments.

  Even when surrounded by groups of people, when she spoke to him, it was like the rest of the noise just faded away. She had a quick wit about her—and a wicked tongue. She knew she was different from the rest of them and yet never seemed fazed by that difference.

  Where most leggers were constantly aware of the disdain the folk felt for their form, she flaunted her legs. Her gowns had grown progressively more revealing, sometimes hinting at peeks of ankles when she wore flat slippers. Or other times, like this morning, she’d worn a gown with long vertical slits down each side.

  Her creamy flesh on full display and what he’d always found so repulsive now seemed less and less so.

  “Mm-hmm.” Sirenade cleared her throat.

  He glanced up only to see a knowing twinkle in her wave-swept eyes.


  “Would you like me to repeat that, brother, as I’m fairly certain you didn’t hear me?”

  “What?” He tossed back the remainder of his drink then set the glass aside on the floor.

  “I said—” She grinned like a catfish that’d just swallowed a parrotfish. “That you were always built differently than I. It is not wrong to want. Or even to want a legger. Nimue is sweet. She is the daughter of Hook, which in my eyes, makes her all the better.”

  Growling, he riffled his fingers through his hair. “I do not want her.”

  “And so you keep saying, and yet, I hear you pacing the waters of your room every night. I see you watch her. See the way you study her. The way she studies you back.”

  Studies him back? Did she study him back? Was she as perplexed by him as he was by her?

  “She does not seem so lonely anymore. Have you noticed?” she asked.

  “But what if...” He stopped speaking, not sure how to word his thoughts.

  Cocking her head, she asked, “What?”

  Her hair, which just moments ago had relaxed, was now curling tightly at the tips.

  “I am not in love with her.” He said it slowly, for it was fact. He was intrigued—he could not deny that—but he did not feel a burning of lust in the way most leggers’ poems professed love should feel.

  He wanted to be around her and wondered what she did during her days away from him, but he did not wish to ravish and possess her. But then he imagined laying her down on his bed and taking her lips as his palms cupped her breasts as she moaned and writhed beneath him and his body tightened down low.

  Coughing, he shook his head to clear the strange thought.

  “You were saying?” She asked with a hint of a smile, as though she’d been privy to his thoughts.

  “Only that I worry she might confuse my interest in her as an interest in Talia.”

  The smile faded. “How often do you speak with her of Talia?”

  “Often. Daily.”

  Gods, was that wrong? Should he not have? She seemed to enjoy his stories. But he lacked such a basic knowledge of the fairer sex that he was unsure now whether his desire to please her had backfired.