Page 128 of The Sun King's Noon

“I must go to her, Richard—Richard, please—she is waiting in the water, she cannot wait long?—”

“Really, Kaelen?” Richard snapped. “Must you always be so easily bewitched?”

It was, he supposed, an unfair thing to say, for the fault was hardly Kaelen’s. Flint, too, writhed against the rope, just a hand’s breadth from Kaelen, in a slack-jawed daze.

“Need her,” Flint moaned. “Need her, need her. Richard, untie me. Are you not a friend of mine?—”

Richard gave them both a withering look and strode to the railing.

The mermaid was still there. She had swum closer to the ship and floated on her back, her tail rolling in a hypnotic motion. Her song had taken on a shrill edge. As Richard rested his elbow on the bar and cupped his cheek, the mermaid tossed her hair over a shoulder. She warbled louder, the song pulsating within Richard, raising goosebumps along his arms.

He tilted his head. “You have a lovely voice. Please. Do go on.”

The song faltered. The mermaid glared. Her tail flicked, throwing up a splatter of foam.

“Come now.” Richard tutted. “There is no need for that.”

The mermaid hissed, baring her teeth—filed to sharp points—and narrowing her eyes. Another head broke the surface beside her. A male, with dark hair plastered to powerful shoulders and a tail of sapphire scales coiling beneath the waves. He smiled at Richard—akin to the portraits of the gods—and opened his mouth.

Out came a baritone that reminded Richard of honey. Rich and aching, a song that was older and slower, that made Richard’s chest tighten. The merman extended a long, muscled arm, water sluicing over his fingers.

Come with me,his smile said.

Richard smiled back.

No, these weren’t the eight-legged siren. These were merfolk, often confused with sirens on account of their beautiful, luring voices. He’d read of them, but there hadn’t been a sighting for centuries. Even Seola had scoffed when he’d asked.

And now, here they were. Singing to him. Soldiers, Richard realised on seeing the identical silver plates wound around their waists.

“You, too, are beautiful,” he said. “But though I yearn to see your home, I have no wish to discover the sharpness of your teeth.”

The song trailed off, and the merfolk exchanged a look.

Richard leaned over the rail and beamed at them.

“Forgive me,” he said, “but I have a great many questions, if you would not mind. Do you live hereabouts? Is your realm beneath these waters? Is that what you guard?”

The merfolk blinked up at him.

“I shall not lead anyone here,” Richard said. “Truly. We have come only for the siren upon that island, and once we have it, we shall return. My companions and I shall tell none of your presence. You have my word.”

For a moment, the merfolk simply stared. Then, with an imperious tilt of their chins, they dipped under the surface. The water closed over them, and they vanished into the depths.

Richard sighed and gave a belated wave before pushing off the rail. Rubbing the tender bump at the back of his head, he returned to the mast. There, Kaelen was wincing as blood dripped from his nose, and Flint squinted at Richard blearily.

“What,” Flint said, “in the unholy fuck.”

“Merfolk,” Richard said brightly. “Though I am not entirely certain as to their taxonomy. They ensnared you with their song, and I had to stop you both from plunging into the sea.”

Kaelen gaped, his eyes brown again, and a look of horror dawning upon his face. “I am sorry. I don’t—I don’t recall—I knew something was wrong, I felt it, and yet I could not—” His voice cracked. “I think I struck you. Did I strike you?”

“It is forgiven.” Richard folded his arms. “I may have broken your nose.”

Kaelen hung his head, glimpsed his exposed smallclothes and squawked.

“And why did you not get ensnared?” Flint demanded, a flush rising up his cheeks.

Richard shrugged. “I thought the song beautiful, but felt no compulsion.”