A/N: I posted the lastof my 1990's-era fics on my old account, since part of it was there already. It's complete now, titled Vital Stars under the username Cris. Take care of yourselves as the world opens up again!
The Gift
Pairing: Maeve/Sinbad
Rating: M (language, sex, violence)
Setting: Just after Season 1
All standard disclaimers apply
Maeve is on the Nomad when they return, just as Keely promised. She's pale even for a Celt, her sweet lips blistered and raw, dark circles under her eyes, but she's standing. She's alive. Sinbad aches to touch her. It's all he can do to stop himself; he busies his hands with the longboat to keep from pulling her against his chest and holding on tight. She's furious, he can see that for himself without Keely's warning. Honestly, he doesn't care how angry she is—she's alive. That's really all that matters. She can scream and rail at him if she wants, berate him for letting Keely whisk her away. He'll take it. He'll gladly endure her ire, because it means she's strong enough to stand there and throw it.
The strange chill he's felt all morning eases as he helps haul the longboat up to the deck. He watches the flames of her soft hair curl and twist in the warm Mediterranean wind, the ice in his veins slowly thawing as he works, her nearby presence a sweet, steady buoy to his nerves. She's wrapped in her brown woolen cloak and he wonders if she feels cold, too. Maybe it's a lingering side effect of the poison? He'll have to ask Firouz.
Firouz is the first to approach her, peering with suspicion at the mug cupped in her hands. "Should you be up? What's that you have?"
"I'm fine." She may be angry at Keely and Sinbad, but she's not mad at Firouz. She lets him take the cup and inspect its contents, sniffing and then tasting. "It's just broth. They sent me back with two big jugs of it."
Dark eyes narrow at Sinbad. Yeah, she's pissed that he let Keely take her. He helps Doubar lift the longboat back into place, unrepentant. She needed a good night's sleep, and needed to be under the watchful eye of a healer. Firouz already stated that he could do nothing else for her, and no one on the Nomad got any sleep last night, so Sinbad doesn't feel sorry for his choice. It was the right one, no matter how angry she is. He's not even sure exactly why she's upset. Keely said she doesn't like being moved without her consent, but what did she expect? She needed her sister.
"An excellent idea." Firouz hands her mug back. "You need to replenish the fluids you lost. How are you feeling?"
She shrugs. She probably feels fairly awful, but she'll never admit it. "I'll live." Her poor raw lips curve, the shadow of a wan smile painting her mouth. "Thanks to you and Rongar."
The inventor waves away her gratitude. "It's my pleasure. I really didn't do very much. You still might have died without magic."
Maeve's smile dies. "No. I'm tough. Tougher than some people think." Sinbad can feel the heat of her angry gaze on his back as he works. "But I probably wouldn't be standing right now," she acknowledges. It's a concession he doesn't expect, considering her anger at both him and Keely.
"Certainly not!" Firouz shakes his head vigorously. "I gave you medicinal charcoal, which works by...essentially soaking up the poison. Isolating it, so it can pass harmlessly. I tried to give you water, too, to flush the poison from your system, but you were non-responsive by that point. I'm wary of magical healing in general—there are too many quacks with no skill and less knowledge preying on believers. But without it, you would have faced a long and difficult recovery. If you recovered at all." Firouz's expression darkens.
"Well, I'm grateful to you all the same. And Rongar." She finds the Moor's eyes and inclines her head to him in thanks.
"Did you go to that library? Your sister said she was a librarian. Is that why you have access to it?" Firouz scratches his nose. "I'm still a little vague on what happened yesterday. Sinbad said he couldn't use your bracelet, but then suddenly your sister was here."
The soft expression on Maeve's tired face disappears as her impassive mask slams into place. Her raw lips tighten painfully. "Who said I had a sister?"
"Ah...Sinbad?" Firouz squints in confusion and blinks several times. He can tell he's made a mistake, but not what it was. He looks to his captain in appeal.
Sinbad braces himself. He has no idea how she'll react to news of their morning. "We went to ask the innkeeper some questions. Keely showed up to tell us you were safely back home." He stresses the final word. The Nomad is her home, its crew her family. Sending her to Breakwater for a night of healing doesn't change that. If that's what she's afraid of, she's worried for nothing.
What she thinks of her sister's appearance, Sinbad can't tell. She's hiding from him again, masking what she feels behind a stoic exterior. If he puts his hands on her skin he can break through, but he doesn't quite dare. Rumina could be watching and even if she isn't, Maeve might just be angry enough to slap him for touching her.
But, no matter what she thinks about Keely, she can't hide her curiosity about the man who poisoned her. "Did he tell you why he did it?" Her dark eyes search his. She's angry, but curiosity wins out over pique.
"We found him dead. I'm sorry, mo chailín." Sinbad takes two strides toward her. She looks so tired. He wants that lovely body in his arms, wants to cup her delicate cheek in his hand and urge her to rest against his shoulder. "Rumina bribed him to do it." He forces himself to stop moving. Rumina may be watching. Scratch may be watching. He has to keep his distance.
"I wonder how much she gave him?" Doubar scratches his beard lightly.
"Does it matter? He never got to use it," Firouz says.
"True enough. He got the bad end of that deal." Doubar finishes securing the longboat in place.
"So does everyone who deals with Rumina. She never plays fair." Sinbad rubs the brand on his chest. He wonders whether Scratch knows she means to betray him. Surely he must? He's a demon, and she's only human. He's stronger than her, isn't he? But they've had no sign from the demon yet, one way or another—no clue as to his thoughts on the matter. What is he waiting for?
Maeve frowns. Her cloak hides her from view, obscuring everything but her tired face, her pale hands gripping her mug tightly. "How do you know it was Rumina?"
"She told us. She was there, waiting."
Sinbad studies Maeve. Her mask slips slightly—just a little. Just enough. He can see the anger in her, the disquiet she struggles to hide behind a stoic exterior. She's practiced this trick, but it doesn't come naturally to her. She's a passionate thing, her body the paper, her emotions the ink drawn across it. Somewhere, at some time, she learned to conceal her feelings, but it's an imperfect art, not a science, and right now he can see through the facade. She's glad to have an answer for why she was so ruthlessly poisoned, but the knowledge doesn't bring closure. He can read her discomfort in the pace of her soft breaths, the slant of her tense jaw, though her brown eyes shy from him, refusing to make contact, to give him that easy path inside her. She's frustrated and hurting, both physically and emotionally. He is, too. He's still furious that someone tried to kill her, tried to take her away from him, and furious at his own inability to stop it. Maeve's the toughest woman he knows—tougher than Talia, tougher than the female Adventurers—but she can't fistfight her way out of an overdose of poison. No one can. Without Rongar's quick feet, Firouz's medicine, and Keely's magic, she would have died. The child she bears would have died. He's desperately angry, but has nowhere to put that anger.
"Drink your broth," he says, his voice rough and uneven. He fully expects an angry answer to his request, but he can't stop himself from making it. If Keely gave it to her, that means she needs it. She probably shouldn't even be up, but that's a fight he knows he won't win so he doesn't bother trying.
To his surprise, she doesn't snap at him. "You should have some, too," she says, her impassive mask slipping just a little more. "Keely said you were affected."
"Just a little. Nothing like you." He might not have felt it at all, except that desperate trip to Breakwater made him sick, and Keel said the poison was worse coming up than it was going down. He'll remember that slight, metallic bitterness he tasted in her water, and be on the lookout for it from now on, though it's unlikely Rumina will try the same thing twice. "Do you remember much from yesterday?"
She shudders lightly. "Enough."
He doubts she remembers Firouz dosing her, or his own reckless use of her bracelet, but she clearly remembers the pain. He wishes he could ease those memories, could stop whatever pain she might still feel now. He closes the distance between them and places his hand at the bottom of her mug, pressing upward gently. "Drink."
She does. Maybe she's too tired to argue over something so small right now. He lets a curl of bright red hair wrap around his finger, softer than silk and warm from the sun. Her dark eyes watch him over the rim of her cup, speaking a warning anyone could read. He gathers his willpower and steps away.
"We have a tide to catch." The last thing he wants is to make her a bigger target than she already is. Continuing to keep away from her in the light is best. Rumina may know that he wants her, but for now she believes Maeve doesn't return his affection—or at least that she refuses to give him the child he needs to save his soul from Scratch. Keely gave Rumina more to think about, more to worry about, which he's grateful for, but she hasn't absolved them of the need for secrecy.
Doubar frowns. "Is the plan still the same, little brother?" His voice is laced with uncertainty. "That innkeeper's the one who told us Talia's been sighted to the north. What if he was lying?"
"I don't think he had any reason to lie," Sinbad says. "But Lefka would be the next logical stop, regardless. It's more populated, which means Rumina will have more trouble guessing our movements and who we might speak to. She can't bribe or enspell a whole city."
"Can't she?" Doubar says doubtfully. "Remember the City of Mist?"
"Those weren't real people. They were shadows. Reflections." Maeve's voice is hoarse. She clears her throat and sips her broth before Sinbad can nag her to do so.
He watches her drink, grateful that Keely sent her home with plenty of healing broth despite their spat. He hasn't decided what to do about Rumina's threat, but despite what Keely might think he takes it very seriously. How is he supposed to keep his crew fed, keep Maeve fed, when there's a very real possibility every bit of food they buy, every drop of water, could be tainted? They have enough on board to see them safely to the other side of the island, but after that they'll need to resupply.
They could forego buying food at all, instead keeping to uninhabited islands where they can gather fresh provisions for free. He, Doubar, and Firouz know enough between them to make this a possibility. But he can't guarantee that fruits and vegetables will be in season, game stocks plentiful enough to keep his crew fed reliably until Samhain. Ordinarily he'd be willing to take that risk, but not with Maeve. Not when she's with child. He can't guarantee what wild foods they'll find, and he can't gamble with her health, their child's health. Three souls hang in the balance. He could have someone taste everything before she eats, but he's not sure that will do any good. Rumina won't hesitate to poison his whole crew if they're in her way. He's not entirely sure she wouldn't poison him, even. She's willing to let Scratch take his soul if he doesn't agree to be hers, after all.
He needs time to think this problem through. There has to be a solution, something other than forcing Maeve to leave the Nomad. She doesn't want to go, and he doesn't want to make her. Not unless there's truly no other option. He's afraid of what it will do to them, to the bond they share. He's her captain and as such it's his right to order her away against her wishes, but as her céile such an act would be unforgivable. Not for the first time, he wishes he had Dim-Dim's wisdom to guide him. His mentor would know exactly what to do, and if the only answer is, in fact, parting for a time, he'd find a way to convince her that wouldn't cost Sinbad her love.
"I don't like the thought of Rumina always watching us," Doubar grumbles, gazing around him as if the evil sorceress might appear out of thin air. "It creeps me out."
"Join the club." Now his brother knows how he feels. Sinbad wants the witch dead. She's fucked with him and threatened Maeve's life too many times. This is beyond personal now.
Doubar squints in Maeve's direction. "I get that she thought you could be carrying Sinbad's son. You should be. But she's been after you longer than this. What's her problem with you, anyway?"
Not this again. Sinbad wants to scream. He spent the night easing the Nomad through a storm instead of sleeping with his sorceress in his arms, and he's tired and grouchy. All he wants is to set sail, to put this village behind them and start up the coast toward Lefka. "Knock it off," he says, grabbing a fistful of Doubar's shirt and hauling him toward the tiller. "We need to get going."
Doubar shakes him off. "No," he says, rounding on Maeve again. "Rumina conspired with Scratch to steal your soul, and has been after us all since that girl joined our crew. We're all in danger because of her, and I deserve to know why." The color in his cheeks deepens and his normally jovial face turns grim.
"Rumina's been after us since I killed her father—Maeve has nothing to do with it." Sinbad steps between them, close enough to smell his brother, old sweat and sour wine. "Rumina hates her because she's jealous of any woman near me. That's all."
"That's not all," Doubar insists. "You think I'm stupid, but I'm not. Everyone knows they have a past. I want to know what it is. I deserve to know what it is!"
"Easy, Doubar." Firouz puts a gentle hand on his arm. "Try taking a deep breath. You'll feel better."
Doubar pushes the scientist roughly away, nearly unbalancing him. "I'll feel better when I have some answers." His pale, grey-blue eyes stare at Maeve, hot with accusation. "Well, girl? What did you do to her? How did you make her so mad?"
Maeve was poisoned near death yesterday, and Sinbad can see the dark circles under her eyes, the weary way she holds her head, proud but spent. She shifts her feet on the deck of his ship, planting herself firmly as if readying for a physical fight. She's exhausted but she refuses to back down. "What makes you think I did anything?" she demands.
"Because you act without thinking," Doubar snaps, as if he's not doing the same right now. "What did you do to her?"
"Nothing!" she roars back, but her abused throat can't take the shout. A coughing fit hits her hard and she doubles over, fighting for breath.
"That's enough!" Sinbad turns his back on his brother, hands reaching for his sorceress, but she pulls roughly away, striding toward the rail. She spits bloody phlegm into the sea, her face bright pink as she coughs.
"Drink," Firouz urges, moving swiftly to her side. He steadies the mug in her hands; she splutters but manages to swallow. "I know it's difficult, but try not to cough. It irritates the throat. Aconite eats away at the inner organs; they need time to heal."
"She can't shriek?" An unpleasant smile curls across Doubar's mouth. "Finally!"
"Quit it." Sinbad's about to lose it. She needs rest, not hounding. "Maeve, I want you to go below. You're off duty today."
Her fire-dark eyes explode with anger. She draws breath to argue, choking back the coughs in her throat.
"Will you for once follow orders without arguing?" He wants her hale and healthy, not gasping for air and coughing up blood.
"No. She's not capable of that." Doubar steps between her and the door. "And I want answers. Our lives are in danger because of her, and I have a right to know what she did to Rumina!"
"Nothing!" Maeve's hoarse voice sounds so painful. Sinbad wants her to stop talking, but he can't bear to tell her to be quiet. Her eyes shine, glassy and wet with tears brought on by coughing. He hopes only by coughing. "She wanted my brother!" The words explode out of her, rough and furious, rasping her abused throat. "Like she wants Sinbad. He refused her, and paid the price!"
"What price?" Doubar demands. He stumps closer to her. She doesn't back down. "What happened?"
"That's none of your goddamn business!"
"No—that's not going to work this time. Not on me." Doubar towers over her. She's used to looking most men in the eye, but she has to tilt her head up to meet Doubar's glare. "Sinbad lets you get away with it, but I'm not sweet on you like he is. You want to be part of this crew? You play by the same rules everybody else does. Sinbad's soul is at stake, our lives in danger, and I'm sick of all the lies!"
He's furious, bellowing. His face glows deep, livid red, his pupils tiny dots, nearly obscured by the grey. Sinbad doesn't know if he's ever seen his brother angrier.
Maeve's just as enraged, tall and fierce, uncowed by the giant man's anger, the way he looms over her. "What Rumina did to my family has nothing to do with you! It just means we have a common enemy." Her voice croaks out of her, a weak counterpoint to Doubar's roar. "And I am a member of this crew. I pull my own weight, and then some! You don't get to tell me any differently!"
Rongar appears at Sinbad's side, a silent, concerned presence. His eyes hold the questions he can't speak as he looks between the two snarling crewmembers, expecting Sinbad to intervene. Keely saved Maeve's life last night but her magic didn't alleviate all the aftereffects of the poison—Maeve is tired and hurting, and the last thing her throat needs right now is a shouting match.
"Enough!" Sinbad hates pulling rank on either of them, but he will when he has to. "Doubar, Maeve's right. She's proved herself many times over. She doesn't need to do it again."
His brother's eyes blaze. "No brother of mine would take a barbarian girl's side over mine!"
Sinbad steps close, close enough to smell his brother, to feel the fury vibrating through him. He holds his eyes, staring the bigger man down. "You hate being told to think, so don't make me say it." They're all guilty sometimes of saying things they'll later regret. When Doubar holds his nephew or niece for the first time, he'll wish this fight never happened.
But that day isn't today. Doubar growls with renewed anger. "No! You want to think I'm stupid, fine, think I'm stupid! But I'm not! Something's very wrong here, and she's the cause! She's been hiding and lying from the beginning, and I'm tired of it!" He shoulders Sinbad aside. "I want to know what happened to your brother, if you even have one. I want to know who that green woman is, and why she's so intent on you going north. I want to know what you were really doing when you said you were at a library, come to that."
Maeve blinks. Her brow furrows. "A moon ago? With Sinbad? We were at a library! What did you fucking think we were doing?"
They were at a library, yes. Technically. But not for books. Sinbad isn't sure why Doubar brought that up again, unless Keely calling herself a librarian triggered his memory.
"Tell me why I should believe anything that comes out of your mouth?" Doubar demands. "All you ever do is lie, and complain, and defy orders!"
"I'm not a liar!" She's not—not by inclination. She and Sinbad have been forced into this position by Scratch and Rumina, but it's not one they would have ever chosen on their own. His heart aches for her, for what this is doing to her. She adores Doubar, but Sinbad doesn't know if their relationship can survive this strain. "Tell me one time I've lied to you," she demands, putting Doubar on the spot. "Name one fucking time!"
It's a huge gamble—she's lied a lot recently, though not by choice. But does Doubar know it? He can sense it, can feel the tension and uncertainty that comes with deceit, but Sinbad doubts he can pinpoint any specific instance where Maeve has been untruthful.
"You said you didn't know anything about the Tam Lin Protocol, but you did!" Doubar accuses.
"I did not! I knew the fireside tale, and I told it to you. I didn't know the protocol."
Sinbad believes her. He suspects she guessed what the protocol might entail before they were told; she has a quick mind and a working knowledge of how magic functions. That doesn't mean she lied.
"What about that library?" Doubar returns uncomfortably close to the topic about which both Maeve and Sinbad have told the most untruths, hiding their trip to Breakwater for the teas behind an acceptable veneer. Rumina and Scratch already knew they would seek knowledge, any information that might help them break Scratch's hold on his soul. A trip to a library felt thoroughly plausible, and Doubar seemed to accept it at the time.
"What about it?" Maeve snaps, cautious as Doubar treads far too close to tender subjects. She keeps Breakwater secret to protect the sìthichean, Antoine and Nessa and the little girls, and also to protect the precious books, the work her people do piecing together the remnants of their shattered history. This is absolutely her right, and Sinbad tenses, prepared to step in again if necessary.
"You never explained why you have access to a magical library when Dim-Dim didn't."
How Doubar remembers that argument, Sinbad doesn't know. He tends to be forgetful, and doesn't hold on to past gripes. For some reason this one stuck, and he wishes it hadn't. Maeve doesn't deal well with direct questions, doesn't like being forced to give parts of herself she doesn't willingly offer.
"It doesn't matter," Sinbad says, trying to regain control of the situation, or at least to pull Doubar's focus from Maeve to him.
"It does!" Doubar insists. "She's lying. I know it. And you're not stupid. You're either willingly blind or playing along. Which is it?"
Sinbad opens his mouth, though he's not sure how to answer that question. He's not blind at all, willingly or otherwise, nor is he playing along. He simply knows more than his brother does, and it's a conundrum without a remedy because they can't discuss the Protocol openly. Maeve's life depends on secrecy.
"No one is lying!" Maeve's had it. She throws her mug, which flies dangerously close to Doubar's head. It shatters against the mast, the shards falling to the deck with a musical crash. "Scratch and Rumina are making you crazy! You're seeing danger where there is none!"
"Paranoia," Firouz says quietly.
"I don't need a vocabulary lesson!" she snaps at him. He shuts his mouth quickly.
"There's every danger!" Doubar insists. "If there wasn't, you'd be honest!"
She is honest, one of the most honest people Sinbad has ever met. That's one of the things he treasures about her, and one of the things that makes her life so difficult. Hiding what she thinks and how she feels doesn't come naturally to her. She lacks the tactful filter people expect, especially from women, and most don't know how to handle that. Sinbad loves it. Others do not.
She breathes deep, inhaling a slow lungful of warm air, fiery eyes considering the big, bulky man before her. "What do you want to know?" she says finally.
Her question catches Doubar off guard. Momentarily speechless, he looks to Firouz for help.
"Brí Leith," Firouz says, though he sounds like he expects a fireball to the face for speaking. "It was the finest library in the west."
Maeve's face darkens. "I know that. And you're about a dozen years out of date if you think it still stands."
He ducks his head. "The green woman. Your sister? She got upset when I mentioned it. Like you." He swallows, but his eyes are bright beneath his characteristic scholarly squint. He's wanted these answers for a while. "There was a massacre, I know. But not everything burned, did it?"
Maeve breathes. Her throat moves as she swallows, and she can't quite conceal the flash of pain it causes. Sinbad wants to stop this, to make her lie down and rest, but he doesn't quite dare. Maybe, just maybe, if she gives Doubar a little information, the fighting will stop. Trust can be rebuilt. He'll never demand it of her, but if she's willing he won't stop her.
"Not everything burned," she agrees finally, her hoarse voice barely more than a whisper.
Whether this interests Doubar at all, Sinbad doesn't know, but Firouz's eyes gleam with pleasure and he inhales a quick, excited breath. "I knew it! But nothing purported to come from the wreckage ever made it to market."
"Brí Leith was massacred by the pope's men, not Vikings. They weren't interested in plunder. Only carnage." There's a cold darkness in her eyes Sinbad's thoroughly unused to. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. He steps toward her. She steps away.
Sinbad wouldn't dare ask more. Not with the way Maeve looks, the warning in her eyes. But Firouz takes no notice. He's lost on a scholarly hunt for information.
"How much of the collection was saved? Where is it?" He pushes his curly hair out of his face with an impatient hand. "It's in this library you went to, yes. But where?"
"I can't tell you."
"Why not?"
"I told you before that it was restricted, and I meant it. Nobody wants what happened at Brí Leith to happen again." She's absolutely firm in this, as Sinbad knew she would be.
"If it's so exclusive, why do you have access?" Doubar demands. "You're just a student! Dim-Dim ought to be admitted, but not you. That's what you refuse to answer, and that's what I want to know!"
The skin around Maeve's eyes tightens as she scowls. She's furious, and for a moment Sinbad's afraid she might physically attack. She's never done so before, but Doubar has never pushed her like this. Her cheeks burn vividly pink, as hot as the fire in her eyes. "Because I was there, you fucking asshole! Only two children came out of that massacre alive. You think the ruling council would deny me anything now?"
She shoves Doubar hard, pushing him out of her way as she storms below, the door slamming behind her.
Silence reigns. Sinbad breathes slowly. One breath, two. Three. He counts to ten, and then does it again for good measure. When he's sure he has control of his temper, he turns to his brother. "You will never do that to her again. Do you hear me? If you can't be civil, leave her alone." His voice is low and even, but there's steel behind it. He'll put Doubar ashore without a second thought if his brother tries that again. Doubar wants information, and there's an argument to be made that he deserves it, but not at the cost Maeve pays to give it. She may not believe that stress will hurt the child inside her, but Sinbad does. She's already been through too much in the past day, and she doesn't need Doubar making it worse. He was wrong. Giving up this information did nothing to soothe Doubar, only upset Maeve. It's not an experiment he'll condone again.
"But Brí Leith, Sinbad," Firouz says, his eyes still bright.
"I don't care!" He rounds on his best friend. "We're not scholars, we're sailors. Remember? Let her be."
Firouz pauses. Then, as if he can't help himself, he asks, "Do you really think she was there?"
Sinbad already knew she was. She didn't have to tell him. He's seen the books with his own eyes, smelled the lingering scent of old smoke. He knows who the other survivor was without asking. "She was there," he says, struggling not to snap at Firouz. He gets engrossed in the quest for knowledge and everything else fades away, and Sinbad knows this. He can't fault him for who he is.
"I heard it was a bloodbath," Firouz says. He's pale below his suntan. "Brí Leith was like a small city, except instead of commerce it ran on knowledge. But there were no soldiers, no warriors or guards to protect the scholars when invaders came."
Sinbad doesn't want to hear any more. Not from Firouz. Maeve will tell him when she's ready. How long that will be, he doesn't know—Doubar and Firouz may have made things worse today in that respect, not better. He can't do anything about that now. When she's upset she wants to be left alone, so he'll do his best to oblige. They'll set sail, and he'll bring her some more broth in a while. Once she's had a chance to cool down.
Sinbad isn't really surprised when Antoine shows up late in the afternoon. Doubar curses in surprise and drops the rope in his hand as a strange man appears on deck. Rongar grabs it, steadying the sail.
Ant wears a heavy, loose linen shirt over his wings and a beaded headband of green and brown that covers the points of his ears. His style of dress is distinctly northern, but other than that, he wouldn't arouse any suspicion in a southern city. Sinbad clasps his hand in greeting, ignoring the stares of his crew. He's still furious with Doubar and he owes no one any explanations.
"She okay?" the sìthiche asks.
"I could ask you the same thing."
Ant shrugs. "They fight. They get over it. Eventually."
"I think Keely was even more upset that I wouldn't fight with her."
"That's what I do. You can't win when she gets like that, so there's no point in trying." He glances at the pounding sun. "That's hot. I don't know how you stand it."
"I don't know how you stand the cold." Sinbad feels his mouth smile out of habit, though he's not happy at all. "Come down below. It's stuffy, but there's no glare."
They clatter down to the galley. No one follows them. Sinbad would order back up anyone who tried. He waves at Maeve's closed door. "She's there. You can poke your head in if you want, but she's not in a good mood."
"I'll pass." Ant takes the mug of ale Sinbad offers. "Neither of them were ready to talk sense when Maeve left. But I worry."
"You've every right to." Sinbad sits heavily at one side of the galley table, leaning his arms on its rough surface. "Doubar went at her again when we got back to the ship. He means well, but he's only making everything worse."
Ant drinks his ale. "Dermott still gone?"
Sinbad nods.
The sìthiche sighs. "I hate this."
"You and me both."
Antoine clears his throat. "I came with a proposition." He watches Sinbad in the shadowy galley.
"About?" Sinbad isn't surprised. Antoine wouldn't show himself to the rest of the crew if he just came to chat. He doesn't worry about being seen as much as Maeve worries for him, but he's not heedless of the danger.
"Keel isn't the only one worried about Maeve. We all are." Antoine drinks and stretches his legs out under the table. "Have you figured out how to keep her safely fed, now that Rumina's made her threat?"
"No." Admitting this isn't easy, but it's easier with Ant than Keely. Antoine demands nothing, insists on nothing. "We could gather wild food until Samhain, but I can't guarantee we'll find enough. The best plan I can think of is to only resupply in large cities, where there are multiple vendors and Rumina can't so easily guess our next moves."
"It's better than nothing," Ant allows. Black eyes consider Sinbad cautiously. "What would you say to us keeping you supplied for a while? Just until Samhain. Until this fight with Scratch is resolved."
Sinbad forces himself to consider the offer instead of discarding it outright. He doesn't like it. They're not destitute—he's always been able to feed his crew, and he hates the thought of accepting what feels like a handout. That the offer comes from Maeve's family, people committed to keeping her safe, doesn't really make him feel any better.
"I know," Ant says, even before Sinbad can voice his concerns. "You don't like it."
"No man would." Sinbad has always worked for everything he's ever had. He always pays his debts, whether through barter, service, or coin. The thought of letting others provide for his crew doesn't sit right with him.
"I know." Ant drinks, then cups his mug between his hands. "It grates. But try to think about it from our perspective. That's my baby sister Rumina just tried to kill. She may not live with us anymore, but that doesn't make her any less ours. I don't know what we'd do if we lost her."
Sinbad knows. He does. She's precious to them, just as she's precious to him. They love her. They want to do whatever they can to protect her. "It's my fault she's a target. She and Rumina have always been at odds, I know, but right now it's because of the Tam Lin Protocol." He chooses his words carefully, more aware than ever that Rumina could be eavesdropping. Ant knows Maeve is with child. Rumina can't. "It's because Rumina wants me." Because Maeve is carrying his child. "That makes taking care of her more my job than ever."
Ant releases his cup and watches Sinbad with knowing black eyes. "You feel guilty."
"I am guilty." It's not about how he feels, it's about facts. "This is my fault."
"This is Rumina's fault. Scratch's fault. Not yours."
Sinbad acknowledges this with a dip of his head, but it doesn't make him feel any better. "But without me, Maeve wouldn't be a target for Rumina right now."
"Without you, Maeve would probably be dead right now," Ant says frankly. "She's headstrong and angry. You and Dim-Dim are the only two people who've ever managed to cool that fire. I never met the old man, but she spoke of him often enough. She has a hard time trusting people, respecting people. Not him. And not you." One side of his mouth crooks upward. "She loves Keel and Dermott like mad, but the three of them are like lit sparks, each fueling the other. With you it's different."
He's not sure he ever thought of it that way before. To him, Maeve isn't a wild horse that needs to be broken. She's perfect just the way she is. He had to learn how to handle her, how to approach her in a way that wouldn't cause rebellion, but he never had to learn to appreciate her. That was automatic—instantaneous. He can't say he loved her from the start, but he knew immediately that she was going to change his world.
"I get it. I do. You're the captain. The protector. The provider. We've gone over this before." Ant's grin warms slightly. "She's yours, and so is—" He cuts himself off just in time, scowling at the air. "Fuck, I hate this."
"Try constantly living with it."
Ant grimaces. "No thanks." He drinks. "They're yours, in any case—all these people. They depend on you. Rely on you."
"Exactly. A captain's job isn't just to yell at everyone. It's my duty to keep them alive. Keep them safe."
"And we rely on Maeve." Ant drops his head to stare at his hands. "I know it sounds strange. She's the youngest. She's your crewmember. But so much is riding on her, captain." He raises his eyes, shadowed and dark in the gloom below deck. "We're not complete without Dermott, and she's the only one who has a chance at freeing him. Niall and Wren aren't fighters, even if they didn't have all those kids to worry about. They just aren't. Ness and I can't travel openly in the south. Keel could have gone, but she has children now."
"I know." Sinbad hates the necessity of Maeve leaving home alone as much as Ant does, but he understands it. She's the only one who can do this.
"We all told Ness to move on, to try to find someone else. Dermott told her to move on. But she won't. She wants him or no one. If we lost Maeve, she'd forever lose the hope to get him back."
Sinbad can't imagine how that must feel. He worries about Doubar sometimes, whether his brother will ever find a good woman who loves him, but Doubar has never been in love. He doesn't know what he's missing, and he doesn't seem to care most of the time. Nessa's different. She had Dermott. She loves him—the young man he once was. It must be beyond difficult for Ant to see that, to know she's hurting while he's unable to help.
"I don't know what it would do to Keel if she lost Maeve." Ant spins his mug in his hands with a restless, uneasy motion. "And Mia adores her. She was born into her hands."
"Not yours?" That surprises Sinbad. He's never known a father to be present at the birth of his child, but the men of Breakwater seem to do things differently.
Ant snorts. "I told you—women don't like us butting in. Ness and Wren wouldn't let me near. Once I heard Keel yelling I figured maybe it was for the best." He winces at the memory. "Niall and I got blackout drunk. The next thing I remember, there was a tiny, wrinkly new little person in my arms and I was bawling louder than she was." He grins.
Will they do that for him, too, when Maeve's time comes? Sinbad doesn't know how he feels, what he'll want. By the time she bears, he'll be able to be honest with his crew again. He has no way of knowing what that will change.
"My point is, we depend on Maeve, just like she depends on you. We're all interconnected, whether you like it or not."
"I know you are. We are," Sinbad corrects himself quickly. Maeve is his family, no matter what Doubar says, and the people of Breakwater are hers. That makes Antoine his brother just as much as Firouz or Rongar.
"Families help each other. That's what they're for." Ant glances at Maeve's closed door. No sound comes from behind it. The walls of the Nomad are thin; if she's awake, she can hear them perfectly well. Sinbad hopes she's not. Her body needs rest. "For all the screaming they do at each other, I don't know that Keel would survive that loss, Sinbad."
Sinbad struggles. He can't let Maeve come to harm—that's the bottom line, and he knows it. But accepting handouts goes against everything he believes. He's her céile—would be her husband in an instant if she ever agreed. It's his job to provide for her, not Antoine's.
Antoine gets it; he knows the man does. He understands male pride, and though Sinbad doesn't know the details, he knows he's been dirt-poor before. The mention of sleeping outdoors in a northern winter says enough. Sinbad's not poor, and if his fortunes suddenly changed he could call in favors from wealthy friends like Omar of Basra if need be. That's not charity, it's just what he's owed, and it doesn't feel the same as letting Maeve's people feed her through a pregnancy she didn't want in the first place, a pregnancy she's only undertaking for his sake.
"Look," Ant says softly, "it's not my place. It's not my place at all, and I shouldn't do this. But...do you know what Breakwater is? Why we're there?"
Sinbad looks at the man warily. If Maeve's awake, she can hear them. He hopes Ant knows that. "It's a library. There was a fire. You're picking up the pieces."
"That's it? That's all you know?"
Sinbad hesitates. Maeve won't like this at all, and the last thing he wants to do right now is upset her again. "The old library was called Brí Leith. Firouz tried to get Maeve to talk about it, but she refused. All she said was that she was there."
Ant glances at her door again. There's no sound from her little cabin. "Aye, she was there. And she's the reason we're at Breakwater." He rubs sweat from his forehead. "You weren't kidding when you said it was stuffy down here."
"We're below the waterline. Hard to have windows."
Ant grimaces. "That's...kind of disturbing. Clearly I wasn't meant to sail."
Sinbad chuckles. "You get used to it. No landlocked comfort is worth giving up a sunset on the open sea. Or waking up somewhere new every morning."
"I'll take your word for it." Antoine taps his callused fingers on the side of his mug. "Maeve won't like this. I know that. But you need to know."
Part of Sinbad wants to argue. He wants to know, but the last thing he wants is to hurt Maeve. He looks at her door. She's either asleep or choosing not to interfere. He wonders which. "Know what?" he says finally.
He holds his breath, unsure he's ready to hear what Ant has to tell him. The man has the answers he's been waiting for, but he wanted them from Maeve. Not her brother. He wants her to trust him with her secrets, wants her to feel secure enough to share the parts of herself she still hides away. There are gaps in her history, things he doesn't yet understand. Dermott took her from their violent father when she was extremely young. At some point they acquired Keely. Maeve and her brothers have all made mention of living rough—wandering, essentially homeless. But whatever hardships they faced are clearly behind them now. Breakwater isn't opulent, isn't a palace, but it's big and beautiful and must have cost a fortune to build. They have a seemingly unlimited supply of fresh food at their fingertips, and the wealth of books and scribing materials upstairs. It doesn't make sense.
The sìthiche closes his eyes and exhales a deep breath. He pauses for a long moment before speaking. "When Dermott took Maeve away from their father, she was just a tiny thing. Younger than Mia. He tried, but without a home, without anything but the clothes on their backs, he couldn't care for her. So he took her to Brí Leith. They were well known for taking orphan students, children with magical talent or an aptitude for learning. Maeve was younger than they usually accept, but she already showed impressive ability. They agreed to foster her, and Dermott apprenticed himself with a horse trainer nearby."
Sinbad is currently mad as hell at Dermott for deserting his sister, but he can't help feeling bad for the boy he once was. That was a canny move for a boy so young, and despite his anger Sinbad's respect for Maeve's brother grows. Doubar had Dim-Dim and a safe home to return to after the storm that killed their parents, but Dermott had a baby sister barely more than a toddler and nothing to fall back on. Accepting that he could not care for her, and placing her with people who could, must have been one of the most difficult decisions of his young life. And he stayed close, choosing to apprentice himself nearby, where he could remain part of her life. He didn't abandon her, though no one would have faulted him for doing so.
"For hundreds of years the sanctity of Brí Leith was respected. People have been waging war on our islands for time out of mind, but no one touched the library." Antoine grips his empty mug. "For a time after Maeve was placed there, things were quiet. She won't talk about it, but Dermott says she thrived. She learned quickly, and she didn't mind dormitory life. The scholars at Brí Leith didn't live at the extremes religious monks do, depriving themselves of all earthly pleasures, but they led a spare life, particularly the students. Maeve never minded. Dermott said she was always happy when he visited—happy to see him, but also happy to be where she was." He smiles wistfully. "I wonder sometimes what she would have become, had she been allowed to finish growing up there. Educated. Safe."
Sinbad knows where this is going, and he hates it. "But there was a massacre."
Antoine nods. "Aye. No one touched Brí Leith for centuries. It was understood to be sacrosanct. Then the pope's men came." He stares into the shadows beyond Sinbad's shoulder, his eyes unfocused. "Maeve was seven or eight when it happened, I don't know. Something like that. She won't talk about it. Keely will. They met that night." His short, clipped sentences tell Sinbad that, despite the story being secondhand, telling it bothers him. "Keel was with her mother, a traveling midwife. They smelled the smoke, saw the flames early on, before most of the scholars probably knew what was happening. They went to help. The children's barracks had been set on fire, and soldiers had blocked the doors so no one could escape. Maeve and an older boy climbed up and broke through the roof. Keel says they were hauling other kids up when she first spied them, trying to get away from the flames. Keely and her mother stood below with an outstretched cloak to catch the kids who jumped. Maeve can't be burned by normal fire and she was up and down the rafters like a cat, Keel says, bringing others up. But then the archers came."
Sinbad feels sick. His mind remembers the smell of fire on the books at Breakwater. It's old now, but the pages remember. Maeve remembers.
"Keely's mother was killed quickly. Then they started aiming for the children." Ant's shoulders hitch. "She says she doesn't remember very clearly—it was chaos. Flames everywhere, all the buildings on fire. People screaming. Arrows flying. Then the roof of the children's barracks caved in. She says sometimes at night she can still hear those kids scream."
Sinbad feels cold despite the warmth of the room. If Keely still hears those screams, Maeve does, too.
"Maeve fell with the rest of them. She was the only one to walk out." Antoine's tall form is still, his restless movements quieted for once. "She and Keely ran for the nearby woods. Keel says they found an old fox den and hid for several days. I don't blame them. Maeve was maybe as old as Niall's eldest. Maybe. Keel was a couple of years older. When they finally came out, they refused to part."
Antoine once told Sinbad the girls had been through hell together. He meant it. Anyone who claims they're not sisters doesn't understand trial by fire.
"Dermott was there, in the wreckage. He thought Maeve was dead; he was looking for her body. Most of the children were unrecognizable, and probably didn't have families to mourn them anyway. The fires had mostly burned out by the time the girls emerged, but their worlds had changed forever. Almost everyone from Brí Leith was dead. They were academics and children, you understand. Artists. Scribes. Tinkerers. Not warriors. Not soldiers. People like Keely's mother and Dermott's master, neighbors who saw the flames and came to help, were mostly dead, too."
Sinbad isn't stupid. This is how war works. It's brutal and crushing and unfair, but not unusual. What happened at Maeve's home was textbook. But he's sick with the thought that his sorceress endured something so brutal so young. Twice she had her home ripped away from her—once by a violent, brutal father, and then again by invaders to her land. He's not surprised that she swore she'd never bear children of her own. After everything she witnessed, everything she went through, it makes perfect sense.
"Dermott took both girls away with him. Keel and Maeve refused to be parted, and he didn't trust anyone else with his sister anymore. He came so close to losing her, and while it wasn't really anyone at Brí Leith's fault, he wasn't willing to trust them again."
Sinbad doesn't blame him. Doubar would have done the same. He struggles to imagine how Dermott must have felt when he saw the flames, knowing his sister was there. Sinbad has seen some terrible things in his time, but he's never combed the wreckage of a massacre, searching for the body of a loved one. He's given orders that led to the deaths of crewmembers before, but that can't compare to how Dermott must have felt, knowing he placed his baby sister somewhere that turned out to be her grave.
Except she didn't die. Her magical gift kept her alive. She walked out of the flames—hurt, probably, but alive. She and Keely fled, frightened little girls hiding from real monsters, the kind with human faces. And when they emerged, tired and hungry and scared, Dermott was there. He took them both, and together they learned how to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives.
"After the fire, Maeve wanted nothing more to do with learning. She swore she was done. Keely was the opposite." One corner of Ant's mouth flickers. "She said that if the pope's men wanted to take away their knowledge, she was going to do everything she could to keep it. Maeve took quickly to a wandering life, living outdoors, learning how to feed herself and the others, how to defend herself, how to fight. Keely attached herself to everyone they met, particularly healers and midwives, pestering them until they taught her what they knew. Dermott says Maeve never spoke of Brí Leith again, or the massacre. Keely did. She used it as a bargaining chip, told people she'd been there, lost her mother there. It was true, of course, but it was also a calculated move. Everyone knew what happened at Brí Leith, and no healer would deny knowledge to a child who'd been there." Ant chuckles softly. "For all that they're so alike, they're very different, too."
Sinbad can absolutely imagine this—he knows his Maeve well enough by now to understand how she would feel. Like him, she seeks control. Not over other people, but over her world. She doesn't want to be a ruler, but she craves the safety that lies in confidence and security, security that was ripped away from her too young when her world went up in flame. He doesn't doubt that she shied away from all reminders of what she'd lost, refusing to continue her studies, refusing the pain of memory that came with it. He did the same when he lost Leah, refusing to love, to open his heart to other people for fear of losing them, too. Both of them were wrong, he knows now. But he doesn't blame the children that they were for those choices.
"She kept that promise," he says, feeling one side of his mouth curl in a sad, wistful smile. "Didn't she? Until she couldn't anymore."
Antoine nods. "Yeah. Dim-Dim found her near Baghdad. She was intent on hunting Rumina—killing the witch. He stopped her. Convinced her that, without restarting her training, she could never hope to win. She has a lot of lost time to make up, but she's a fast learner."
Why did Dim-Dim do it? Sinbad wishes he knew. Magical ability is rare, but not so rare that those with it are sought out, cajoled to train and lauded for doing so. Dim-Dim can sometimes see the future, and Sinbad wonders if this is one of those times, if his old master saw something that made him decide to intervene.
Antoine clears his throat. "Meanwhile," he says, shaking himself lightly as if to wake up, "the few scholars from Brí Leith who escaped the flames formed a council. Some had been away at the time of the massacre. A handful survived it. How they saved so many books, I still don't know. The sorcerers must have had something to do with it."
Sinbad refills their mugs, though he's not thirsty. There's still no noise from Maeve's cabin. He hopes she's sleeping.
"They decided that what was left of Brí Leith was too precious to trust to fate, and so they founded the first of the Breakwaters. Putting all our knowledge in one place again was too dangerous. They divided the remains of the library seven ways, and picked seven far-flung places in Eire to put them. They called for the most powerful sorcerers and mages willing to help, sìthiche and human alike, and spent several years crafting the protective spells that keep us safe from invasion now."
Sinbad blinks. "Dim-Dim helped. Didn't he? I remember he journeyed north with the caliph's leave. Aiden, my captain at the time, took him as far as the Pillars of Hercules, where he switched ships."
"Could be." Ant sips the warm ale. "That was before my time. Ness and I grew up like most sìthiche children, hiding in the shadows. Celts who follow the old ways are friendly to us, but it's not always easy to tell followers of the old ways from followers of the pope until it's too late." He looks tired. Sinbad feels the same. "Our parents were killed by indagators—hunters sent by the pope. We were on our own until we met Dermott and the girls. It may sound ridiculous, but it felt like I'd known Dermott all my life. We were brothers from the start."
"Even though he liked Nessa?" Sinbad asks knowingly.
Ant grins. "That girl. She's always been a beauty, and men have always watched her, since long before they had any business looking at her like that. Then we met Dermott, and he was like me, except he had two of them to worry about. Joining up seemed like the most natural thing to do. I saw the way he looked at her, but I trusted him. He wouldn't have laid a finger on her without her consent." His smile turns sheepish. "I touched Keely first. Well, she tackled me, but I didn't stop her. I probably should have—I didn't know just how young she was. She wouldn't tell me."
"Is that why Dermott beat you?"
Ant shrugs. "He beat me because that was his job. I didn't take it personally. Later I found him with Ness and I figured we were even." He drinks his ale. "Maeve was just a kid, like I said before, and she was very much against falling in love. Sex, babies—all of it. She had a hard time trusting anyone, even Ness and me at first."
"Can you blame her?"
"No. I never blame anyone for what they are. We're all shaped by circumstance, whether we choose to believe it or not. Maeve can't help being wary any more than you can help that brand you wear."
It's true, and it's why Sinbad doesn't get frustrated with her as Doubar so often does. She is what her world has made her. Her story is one of loss and heartache, but also triumph. Despite the odds, she built a family with Keely, with Ant and Nessa, Niall and Wren and their children. She did so again when she joined Sinbad's crew. She may be wary and mistrustful, but her heart still functions. She still loves deeply, if not so fearlessly as someone who's never been hurt.
"Anyway, the Breakwaters were founded and slowly built and staffed, one at a time. Most of the people in Eire with the proper training either died at Brí Leith or belonged to the pope, so it took time to find people both willing and able to run the Breakwaters. Preference was given to survivors."
Sinbad looks up from his mug. "Like Maeve."
Ant nods. "Like Maeve. We went to the council after Dermott was cursed. It was practically the first place we went, seeking knowledge. They couldn't help us free Dermott, but they hadn't known any children survived the massacre. When they realized who Maeve was, and Keely, too, the council offered them the seventh and final Breakwater. They were appalled that two survivors were living like vagrants, though it suited Maeve just fine. Niall and Wren were with us by then, and Niall had defected from Lindisfarne, so he had the necessary knowledge to run a library."
Sinbad settles back slowly on the bench. This is the missing piece to the puzzle, the key that unlocks the mystery. Maeve is the linchpin. The house at Breakwater is hers, by law and by blood right. She survived the burning of Brí Leith, and her reward, Keely's reward, is the safety and security of a tiny islet off the coast of Eire, blanketed by protective spells, a comfortable and quiet rest of her life. A real breakwater protects a harbor from storms. These hidden repositories protect Maeve's people just as much. They keep and store her people's culture, their heritage, from the wrath of invaders. They're aptly named.
Except Maeve doesn't want that quiet, sheltered life—not for herself. Whether by birth or circumstance, something in her refuses to be tamed, refuses to settle down. The child-scholar Dermott used to visit at Brí Leith might have been happy with that sort of life, but not the woman Maeve has become. She needs a bigger sky, a further horizon.
"We work hard," Antoine says quietly. "But it's nothing like how we used to live. Summers were heaven, but the rest of the year was hell. We were always wet. Always cold. Always hungry—and I don't mean just hungry. I mean starving. Wren would have lost more than one of those boys if her pregnancies were earlier or later by a few moons, just because we couldn't have kept her fed. One illness would have wiped us all out, even with Keely's magic. Life is brutal when you have nothing, and have no way to fix that." Hard lines appear around his mouth, lines Sinbad has never seen before. "I felt like a failure as a man, but I'd do anything to keep my children from living that way. When the seventh Breakwater was offered to Maeve and Keely, it was everything I wanted to give my sisters but never could. A roof over their heads. A surfeit of food. Safety—maybe that more than anything else. A task and a purpose." He raises his dark eyes to Sinbad. "What I'm trying to say, I guess, is that I get it. I do. We work for everything we have, but we only got the chance because of Maeve. Not me. Not Dermott. We owe that girl everything. If you let us help you now, you're giving us a chance to repay that debt."
Sinbad has no words. He knew he was going to give in—Maeve's safety depends on it, and he refuses to gamble with that. But he didn't know how much Ant understood this struggle, the pressure of male pride, of what he wants versus what circumstance demands. Dermott couldn't provide for Maeve when they were children, so he gave her into the care of people who could. Ant and Niall made a similar decision when they accepted Breakwater. They were living before, but they weren't thriving, and they wanted better for their family. For their children. They couldn't provide, but Maeve could. For the sake of everyone involved, Ant and Niall let her. Sinbad has to do the same. For Maeve's sake. For his child's sake. His crew's sake.
He reaches across the table. Antoine clasps his hand.