Edging closer, half-afraid to touch him, Iris crouches beside the curled-up Henry and reaches out a hand.

He shivers once, a full-bodied thing. Something electric sweeps down her spine. Her hand hesitates, hovering over his back. "Iris," Eddie warns, dry-mouthed and astonished. She unfolds the cloak – his cloak – from her shoulders and drapes it over Henry's back.

"We have to get him back to the castle," she says in a low voice.

"It will be faster on hoof," Eddie remarks. "Shall I—?"

Iris nods distractedly. Eddie takes off at a loping run across the pebbled stones towards the stables at the very far end of the lane. Reaching out, she curves her hand to Henry's frozen back, splaying her fingers across it, thumb brushing back and forth rhythmically. "Henry?" she tries, and then, apologetically: "I don't actually know your name, or if you have one, but – it's going to be all right." She can feel the icy tinge to his skin even through the thick fur of Eddie's cloak, and it makes a lump harden in her throat. "Everything's going to be all right," she repeats, mostly to herself.

Eddie trots back down the way on horseback, guiding a second on a rein. Their hooves clack familiarly on the street, preceding them. Iris doesn't move from Henry's side until they are on top of her, Eddie commanding both steeds to halt while dismounting and holding their reins. "All right, my darling," Eddie says, rubbing the neck of his beloved mare, Jupiter, "I'll need your help with this one." He pats his knee once, instructively. Jupiter whickers and descends, kneeling on the hard cobbles without complaint. Standing next to her, Titan, a younger black stallion, clips a hoof against the pavement, silently voicing dissent. "I won't make you do it," Eddie tells the stallion, amused. To Iris, he says simply, "Take the reins a moment."

Iris rises on stiff knees to oblige, loathe though she is to leave Henry even for a moment. The cold is profound on its own, and she aches for Eddie's cloak. Distracting herself by stroking Titan's snout, she watches Eddie hook both hands under Henry's shoulders before heaving upward. He yelps suddenly in surprise and remarks, "Gods be good, his hands—"

Iris cannot see Henry's front, but she can hear the faint, animalistic growl and the tiny crumple of claws digging into fabric. Even without his cloak, Eddie is well-protected by his tunic. A deep-seated groan crackles in Henry's chest as Eddie drags him backwards a few paces. Titan throws his head in agitation, but Iris doesn't look away from her points of interest.

Eddie hauls him onto the saddle. Slumped forward, Henry barely twitches as Eddie lashes his legs down with the straps in the saddle. He loops a cord across Henry's back for good measure, connecting it to the front of the saddle. Then he says, "All right." Jupiter rights herself, and Henry huffs against her neck but doesn't move, frozen in position. Black-nailed fingers flex against her mane, and Iris feels that same electric shiver surge down her back.

"He may lose all ten fingers," Eddie admits, catching her gaze, "but we will hope for a miracle. Up you go," he adds, nodding at Titan.

Iris obeys, hooking a foot in the stirrup and hauling herself up onto the standing stallion's back. His neck is very warm, and she tangles a hand in his mane gratefully. Annapurna winters are fierce, and even with her own furs to protect her, it's killing cold.

She tries not to think about that as Eddie walks Jupiter, one hand at the ready to catch Henry if he begins to fall. Following them, she tries not to resent the little eternity that stands between them and the castle. The warm, pleasant buzz in her stomach is gone, sobered by the air and circumstances. She aches only for her bed, and her castle, and her companions, besides.

Near the castle, Eddie recruits a ruffled-haired, bleary-eyed Ronnie to help carry Henry inside, one man under each shoulder. It's only then that Iris realizes exactly how late it is, and a new sense of quiet urgency unfolds: don't wake anyone else. Ronnie doesn't say much, asking Eddie something that Iris cannot hear. Dismounting, she lets a pair of alert stable-hands take Jupiter's and Titan's reins, following her boys back to the castle.

At this hour of night, it's cool without the hearth fires, but it's still warmer than the unbroken wall of cold outside it. Their footsteps are loud in the big empty foyer, but no one else comes to greet them. Turning into a guest room, they half-carry, half-drag Henry over to the bed, setting him on it with a soft grunt of exertion. "What happened?" Ronnie asks.

Eddie shakes his head. "I truly don't know," he admits, looking to Iris for guidance. "Have you any idea—?"

Stepping forward without answering, she takes one of Henry's cold, black-nailed hands in her own, squeezing it gently.

"I'll get the fire started," Ronnie says through a yawn, nodding at the little hearth in the room before stepping back.

"We should soak his hands, see if we can't…" Eddie's voice trails off as Iris releases Henry's hand and turns to look at him. "Iris," he says in astonishment. "Look."

Redirecting her gaze, she stares: before her eyes, Henry's fingernails turn pink. A thin little groan works out of his chest. Almost reflexively, she takes his opposing hand in her own. Mystified, she holds it and watches the same transformation unfold, startling when his hand squeezes hers faintly.

"Wow," Eddie says.

Iris says nothing, brushing her thumb over a soft human thumbnail and wondering. Wondering.

What are you really like?

. o .

A beautiful sight greets Barry.

Snoring in a chair across from him, chin tucked to her chest, Princess Iris sleeps.

Someone had the kindness to drape a blanket over her shoulders, and he wonders who he should thank for covering the task in his own negligence. A Princess should not be treated so carelessly, he rebukes himself. He feels heavy and alive, rejuvenated and sore, and pushes himself upright carefully, dislodging a mountainous pile of blankets. Underneath him, the bed creaks. He tenses expectantly, but the Princess does not wake.

Grinning to himself and his own boyish bravado, he slides to his feet. Shoeless, they're silent on the floor. The Princess snores on. He grins, so charmed it hurts.

Forgetting himself, he takes a step forward, loses his balance, and trips forward with a yelp. The calamity immediately startles the Princess to wakefulness. He makes an apologetic noise; she chirps, "You're awake!"

Sorry, he thinks sheepishly, pushing himself up onto his knees.

"Are you okay?" Princess Iris asks anxiously, hands steadying him on either bare shoulder. He freezes like a statue, so startled he can't breathe at all. This is normal, he tells himself, and finally exhales. Straightening, he feels her hands slide down his sides to his waist. He towers over her. An irrational urge to fold her in his arms protectively nearly overcomes him, but he restrains himself, holding still until she releases him.

Looking down at himself, he cocks his head at the missing upper furskin. Hm. The modesty-preserving lower furskin is still intact, which, at least, offers him some reason not to bury himself in shame for accosting a Princess in such a state of undress. Lifting his gaze, he meets hers and finds himself frozen for a long moment, entranced. Do your people tell you that you are the most beautiful creature above or below the sea? he aches to ask, daring to hold out his hands, taking hers and squeezing them earnestly. She smiles a little, and he dares to hope that the spirit, if not the words, of the message has been received.

He brushes a thumb against the soft skin of her palm, marveling. Two days, he muses. Two happy days! Beaming, he flashes a smile with teeth. Her lack of surprise must mean they're as soft-pointed as they look, and he relaxes as he lets go of her hands.

Stepping towards the window, he squints at the land and shore beyond it. It's so cloudy outside that he can't see a thing. Squinting through the mist, he blinks in surprise when Princess Iris steps up beside him, reaching out and using part of a furskin to clear the window. Extraordinary, he muses, reaching out to touch the cloudy window and staring down at his damp fingertips. How does this even happen?

Idly, as a child, he remembers it – sitting on a windowsill, using his thumb to brush a line so that he might see out into the world, but – the fuzz of twenty years subtracts the tangibility of the thing. Perhaps it was only a dream. Gazing outward, he relaxes at the sight of the soft, silvered, morning light, familiar even from this side of the waves. I still have time.

Looking at Princess Iris, still ruffled and sweet, he smiles, close-mouthed but sincere. I still have time.

. o .

"Aren't they sweet?" Lisa coos, watching the Siren and the shorelander walk side-by-side down the quiet town. The eels sink back below the surface, visibly agitated, slinking over her shoulders.

Nep hisses, Adorable.

Tune sulks silently on her right shoulder, demanding after a beat, Is this to be our game? We had more fun with Eobard.

"Oh, but don't you love a little challenge?" Lisa asks, stroking Tune's crackling head. The electricity doesn't hurt her – one of the many perks of being a Sea Witch. "Eobard would never have fallen into such a simple trap. He would have seen the danger."

Nep snarls. I'm hungry, it says. I'm not accustomed to clams and squid. They rot my teeth.

Lisa scratches its chin. "You know I can't lure humans to the waters," she reminds it. "My powers are limited to the ocean. The humans must come of their own accord."

Nep hisses lowly. They don't come to the waters in the winter, it snaps.

Lisa's hand closes around its head, warningly tight. "Patience," she says coolly. "If he isn't completely charmed by her, we'll gain a formidable adversary if we push too hard."

We're formidable adversaries, Tune points out, swelling to its full size.

Releasing Nep, Lisa glides forward, facing off with the eels and saying simply, "I gave you immortality because you're more entertaining than urchins. Don't make me rescind it."

Tune lowers its head. Nep makes a disgusted sound before turning away, swimming off. We can kill humans on our own.

Rolling her eyes, Lisa snaps her fingers. Nep freezes in place, utterly paralyzed. Drawing it back towards her, she waits until both eels are facing her again before speaking. "First option," she says, all good humor gone, "I string you both up on the shore with a sweet note for our Siren boy about the nuisances that I have graciously removed for him." Neither eel twitches. They can't. "Second option. You get to harass anything that moves, and when the time is ripe, you will not only have a feast, but a Siren who is only too happy to give it to you."

She snaps her fingers again. Both eels visibly relax, released from the enchantment, but their body language is still agitated. He won't kill, Nep says in disgust. It's been

Twenty years, Tune finishes. He's allergic to his own nature.

"Finally," Lisa says in dry exasperation, "something we agree on."

The eels are silent, regarding each other before turning to face her. What do you mean? Nep asks warily.

"He's allergic to his own nature," Lisa parrots. "He won't ever be happy as a human or a Siren. At least one provides peace. The other will simply drive him mad." When neither eel responds, she smiles. "We've waited twenty years. What is two days to an immortal?"

Tune exhales a low hiss. Nothing, it says.

Nep refuses to say it, but it doesn't lash out, either.

Cradling the pretty blue stone on a string around her neck, Lisa assures, "Tonight, we seek a more … rewarding payment."

. o .

Properly garbed in magnificent purple, Henry ambles alongside Iris, letting her hold onto his arm.

Ostensibly, she does so in the sort of casual air of friends, but inwardly she worries he might face-plant a fourth time if left to his own devices. At least he understands shoes – more or less. He already cuts a striking figure, taller than the average man, and bare-footed he draws the wrong sort of attention. All but the youngest children wear shoes, especially on the rough cobbles, but – well, she can't suppose she'd know the etiquette of his kind, if presented to it.

A merman, she muses, beaming privately at the knowledge that she is perhaps the only human on Earth escorting such an unusual creature. Her curiosity burns – she fashions whole Mer-kingdoms in her mind, full of fantastic architecture and even more fantastic people, fit to rival anything human – before recalling his solitary response to that burning question:

Are you alone?

Looking right at her, he hadn't needed to say it, but the nod was enough.

She revises the fantastical image, depopulating the halls of those grand coral structures and seaweed forests, removing the laughter of children and the idle chatter of peers, the musings of elders, even the softest whisper of dissent, until the entire kingdom is empty. The ache of a silent catastrophe burns in her chest, and she leans against him a little without meaning to.

His ambiguous answer to the simple question – Are there others like you? – makes something hurt in her chest.

There were, she realizes, and holds onto him all the tighter.

Looking at her, surprised but flushed with warmth, he smiles lazily, looking back out at the town and exhaling deeply. She understands – on foot, it would take the better part of a month just to visit every shop, let alone dally over every trinket, as he is wont to do – but there is a sadness in his eyes that she aches to remove. So she doesn't take him to any of the innumerable market goods, even though there's a divine scent radiating from the bakery – she is certain her family intended to build close to it, or simply ordained that one must be built near the castle – but to the square.

Even at this early hour, traders are out, embracing the cold to sharpen their wits. Taking a seat on the central fountain, idle and empty, now, Iris smiles as Henry spends a moment negotiating the same effortless motion before relaxing. She leans against him, still extraordinarily warm, bouncing back from the cold in a way that only makes her more conscious of how very alive he is. The stone underneath them is cold, and her legs go numb nearly instantaneously, but she doesn't mind, enjoying the sheer liveliness of Annapurna.

She hears bickering nearby and turns to see an unfamiliar man warning a familiar first mate, "The salt truly has addled your brain if you believe in those stories."

"Keep your voice down," first mate Cisco Ramon warns, and Henry goes rigid at her side.

Instantly curious, Iris lifts her voice in greeting: "Aren't you supposed to be on a beautiful island this time of year, Mr. Ramon?"

Both men turn to her – brothers, she instantly surmises – and Cisco grins at the sight of her. "What on Earth are you—" His gaze slides inexorably to her left, where Henry is still seated, and his voice trails off. He opens his mouth to speak, shuts it, and the other Ramon finally thumps him on the back. Coughing, he waves a hand, assuring, "I'm not – I'm fine, I'm fine, leave me be," he adds, playfully swatting his brother's hand as it gives him a second thump for good measure. "I just – my God, you look familiar."

He steps forward. Henry holds very still. Iris wants to ask Henry what has him so on edge, but he has no way to fully explain it, so she refrains. "I'm afraid all of the beautiful islands are already full of lazy sailors," Cisco introduces, bowing. "I have a stronger appetite for adventure."

"And a head full of fantasies," the second Ramon adds dryly, clasping him on the shoulder. "To hear him tell it, you'd think mermaids were simply lying in wait."

Henry doesn't move. Iris approves; she's fairly sure any gesture would be a tell, even though she also knows he'd roll his eyes at 'mermaid.' Maybe it's ubiquitous, she chides herself, amused at the thought that she'd been unnecessarily correcting the term. Cisco clears his throat like he's embarrassed, but he looks past her at Henry with sudden conviction. "Forgive my brute of a brother," he says, "he was leaving. Weren't you, Dante?"

Dante bows, taking her hand and kissing it. "Pleasure to meet you, Princess," he says sincerely. Tipping his head idly at Henry, he adds, "And – friend. Forgive me if I don't kiss your hand."

Henry blinks once in bewilderment, then looks down at his hand like he's just noticed it for the first time. Amused, Dante departs, leaving the three of them clustered around the fountain.

As soon as he's out of hearing range, Cisco says in a heated whisper, "We need to talk."

Henry actually shakes his head, but Iris says firmly, "We do."

Reaching up to rub the back of his neck, Henry makes an aggrieved sound. After a long moment, he nods, rising to his feet. He towers over Cisco, and it seems to put something in his mind at ease, just the same as it puts something in Cisco's shoulders on edge. Reflexively, Iris steps between them, and the tension instantly levels out: Henry seems to hunch inward shyly, and Cisco straightens to his full height, reducing the sheer disparity.

She wants to lead, but Henry won't follow, keeping his gaze firmly on Cisco. So she suggests to Cisco, "Why don't you lead the way?" She lays a calming hand on Henry's arm. He relaxes. Cisco finally nods and obeys, swallowing once.

His reaction – his overreaction – to Henry makes her wary, suddenly, and she wonders what bad blood exists between them, how on Earth Cisco Ramon knows him, but she's so conscious of Henry's tension that she barely notices the time slip by until the town melts into the forest.

At the edge, Henry plants his feet, and Cisco turns back at the sound. "All right," he concedes, reclaiming the distance between them and folding his arms over his chest. "There shouldn't be any eavesdroppers around here." Looking at Iris, he asks seriously, "Do you know this man?"

No, Iris thinks honestly.

Henry's lip curls for an instant like he wants to snarl, but he retracts it before she can confirm it. Cisco holds his ground.

"Yes," she says aloud, and Cisco arches both eyebrows.

"How?" he demands. "I mean – how did you two meet?"

It's a gamble. If she tells him more than he already knows, she's potentially putting Henry in danger – a fact he seems very cognizant of, the tension radiating from him – but there's a keenness to his question, to his flat expression, that says he already knows the right answer. And he already used the word, however idly: mermaid. "At the shore," she says at last.

Henry takes half a step forward, surreptitiously putting himself partially in front of her. Even without words, the message is very clear. Don't push this. She says firmly, "Henry." He ignores her, advancing another step. Cisco holds his ground absolutely, and for a moment Iris is genuinely afraid Henry could and would kill him before she could intervene.

It's hard to reconcile the curious, towel-ruffling creature with the growling, heavy creature planted in front of her. At least he's in front of her, she thinks, a little ashamed for her gratitude; being protected by him does not mean she should be less wary if he strikes.

Henry takes another step forward. Gravel crunches underfoot. Iris doesn't intervene, but her breath catches in her chest as he extends a hand, closing it around Cisco's shoulder. Calmly, Cisco unfolds his arms, untucks his shirt, and pulls a good-sized knife off his belt. "What happened to your claws?" he asks calmly, revealing his own hand. Henry doesn't move. Unless he has hitherto unknown godly speed, he wouldn't be able to escape a fatal stab, and he knows it. He doesn't let go of Cisco's shoulder.

Growling low, sounding more frustrated than afraid, Henry squeezes his shoulder hard, and the knife's pointy tip presses against his abdomen. Iris says warningly, "Don't hurt him."

"I won't," Cisco says steadily. He waits a beat, and Iris is struck by how utterly trapped Henry seems, despite having the visible adventure. One sharp little point, and it's all over, and he knows it. He lets go of Cisco's shoulder. When Cisco doesn't remove the knife, he presses forward.

Cisco keeps it level with his navel, ready to gut him if it comes to it. "I gave you one of these," he says, and Henry doesn't move, doesn't respond. "Remember?" he asks, flipping the knife around, blade in his palm, holding it out to Henry. Iris' stomach hurts, because she hasn't seen the knife, but – well, if Henry – that's not his name, you don't know his name – if he had it, then why hadn't she seen it yet?

A darker thought enters her mind, but she pushes it aside. If he wanted to kill me … She trails off, because there is no justifiable explanation for why he wouldn't. A coldness sweeps over her. She feels suddenly, desperately out of her depth in this whole affair, watching the two men stand off. Henry takes the knife, and holds it for a long moment, deciding.

Then he steps back from Cisco, looking between the two of them, three points on an invisible triangle. He looks at the knife, at the regal purple across his chest, and a sour smile crosses his face. And though Iris has seen it before, half a dozen times, sailors never have enough hands – it still startles her when he calmly, casually puts it between his teeth.

Human teeth, human jaw, human nose, human –

No.

Those eyes aren't human. And looking right at her, Iris realizes just how deeply erroneous it is to assume he is.

Cisco whistles. Henry removes the knife and throws it on the ground, like he can't bear to touch it, and sinks to the ground, hands burying themselves in his hair. Low and hunched inward, he's harder to strike, and still more vulnerable for it. Iris can't move, staring at the two of them.

Slowly, Cisco crouches next to the hunched over Henry. He rests a hand on Henry's shoulder, mirroring his earlier gesture, and gives it a little squeeze. "I don't know what you are," he admits, and it's like some tension is released between them, an unknown anxiety evaporating, "but I'm willing to trust that you mean us no harm."

Henry looks up, finally, before glancing back down. Cisco rights himself, holding out a hand to help Henry up. Henry ignores him. "Hey," Cisco says firmly, giving his shoulder a pat. "Come on. We'll figure this out. Whatever this is." He retrieves and belts the knife, but Henry just stays in place, hunching inward. A thin noise hiccups in his chest, like he's trying not to make a sound.

Then a tear drips down his cheek. Crushing a hand against his mouth, he sobs silently. Heart breaking, Iris kneels next to him, hugging him from the side.

"It's okay," she says. He shakes his head gently and she squeezes him, insisting, "It's okay. It's okay."

And holding him together as he falls apart, she realizes that there is no way this emotion is not human, and only holds him tighter for it.