A/N: Happy day after St. Patrick's Day! One of the earliest fic ideas I toyed around with when I came back to AoS was about Dermott having to relearn how to be human again after being a hawk for so long, and I'm definitely feeling vibes from that plot bunny in this chapter.
The Gift
Pairing: Maeve/Sinbad
Rating: M
Setting: Just after Season 1
All standard disclaimers apply
Rongar lifts his head as the rain begins to ebb in the early predawn light. He's wet through, and tired and achy after spending the night mostly awake and penned in a cage, but at least he's not cold. He doubts he can say the same for the two souls across the path, slumped in a dark heap in their prison. He aches for them. Nessa shivers under the sodden mess of her blanket, whether from cold or the effects of the poison, he can't say. Her brother lies still beside her, but he's barely moved since Zorah's spell faded, the effects of the iron returning to his body. Rongar worries for them both. Nessa has been here longer and she's smaller than her brother, her body more thoroughly sickened by the iron, but Rongar remembers well the flash of fire in her dark eyes when she faced Rumina fearlessly on the deck of the Nomad. Her will is solid steel, and he has faith that she can hold on until he and his crew can get her out.
Even still, watching her suffer sends a storm of fury through him. This isn't fair. She doesn't deserve any of this. Leaving the safety of her home was foolish, yes, but he doesn't believe anyone deserves to pay for one desperate choice with her life. Antoine...he's a little iffy on, to be honest. All he really knows of the man is his explosion of temper at Maeve—an explosion of worry and love, yes, but still an unwarranted attack on a woman Rongar considers one of his closest friends. That he regrets his choice now doesn't erase what he did. Rongar wonders what Maeve herself thinks, or Sinbad for that matter, who had to witness the aftermath of that assault, unable to fix what Rumina and Antoine together broke.
But, just as the consequences of Doubar's attack on Maeve are not Rongar's to decide, so too is this. He isn't in any position to pass judgment or sentence on Doubar or Antoine. He was not the one harmed, nor is he an impartial judge. So he cannot abandon Antoine to this fate, though he has to admit a small part of him did consider it. He doubts Maeve would want him to, anyway. She's loyal as the sun to those she loves, and though she can be vindictive, she isn't cruel. She and Sinbad may choose to remove the men who wronged them from their lives, but she won't want them harmed. Especially not by Rumina.
The soft sounds of the menagerie shift as dawn nears and the rain finally ceases, daytime animals stirring, nighttime ones seeking sleep. Rongar braces for the coming day and what it might bring. Firouz and Talia sleep fitfully beside him in a huddled pile, much like Nessa and Antoine across the way. Down the row of cages he can hear Dermott clucking angrily to himself. Rongar wonders just what he's upset about. He has so many reasons, it's difficult to guess which has him stewing. His imprisonment? Nessa's faltering condition? The fact that he's been found, and his friends are now trapped, too? Rongar wishes he could understand the hawk, or at the very least call to him, tell him he's not alone. But they're trapped in this space where communication is impossible, both rendered voiceless by enemies now united against them.
A soft sound near Rongar's elbow makes him start. He draws back from the bars of his cage, only to calm when a familiar cloaked form emerges from the darkness. She holds no lantern this time, but even in the predawn shadows Rongar recognizes the pace of his sister's steps, the sway of her head as she moves. She glides to the side of his prison and slips her hand through the bars. Rongar takes it swiftly, squeezing tight. Her skin is cold against his palm, but she clutches him firmly and does not shiver.
"I brought what I could." She produces a small stack of flatbread from below her cloak. "They may feed you later in the morning, when they feed Antoine and Nessa. They may not."
Rongar doubts they will. Ali Rashid wants him dead, has no use for Firouz, and plans to sell Talia as quickly as he can. What reason would he feed them? He takes what Zorah offers, glancing at Firouz and Talia, who slumber on. He wishes he could sleep anywhere, as they seem able to, but sleep is impossible with Ali Rashid so near.
"Your giant went to scout the grounds," Zorah says softly. "He hasn't returned. I'm beginning to worry."
*He can take care of himself,* Rongar signs, though honestly, he's worried, too. Doubar is a loyal ally and a strong fighter, but his judgment isn't always reliable. He functions best as part of a team, not a solo act. Wandering the palace grounds alone isn't wise, especially considering today's date. Tonight is All Souls Night. Doubar knows it. Rumina knows it. Tonight, Scratch will attempt to claim Sinbad's soul, and Maeve must challenge for the right to keep him. Doubar knows everything depends on this one injured woman, a woman he nearly killed in misplaced anger. He shouldn't be alone today, if only to keep him from doing something rash in his distress.
Zorah leans her shoulder against the wet bars of Rongar's prison., and he can tell by the quick pace of her breath, the way she shifts from foot to foot, that she has something she wants to say, something she thinks he won't want to hear. He braces for it. Her gift is never wrong, but what it shows can be unwelcome. Rongar has never fought her visions, as some do. Seekers often curse her, as if she's somehow the cause of their coming strife, not a messenger they themselves sought. Rongar knows better. She sees what she sees. The only choice she has is whether to speak. He, for one, would rather hear than not.
"I try to explain to everyone who seeks my sight," Zorah says now, "but few understand me. I know some of my visions will inevitably come to pass. They are as certain as the dawn. But some are...otherwise. I see possibilities. Potential futures which may occur, depending on the choices we make, the paths we choose to tread." As the clouds overhead crack open like an eggshell, revealing paler sky, Rongar sees the liquid shine of her dark eyes. She stares at him, intent. "You must understand, brother."
*You have seen something about me.*
Her eyes are firm, but her nod falters. She glances at the cage where Nessa and Antoine lie still. "You. Her. The hawk. I struggled with whether to tell you."
*You know I won't like it.* Rongar steels himself for her words. He's positive she's going to tell him Nessa will die from Ali Rashid's treatment. What that will do to Dermott, he doesn't know. But he'll help the hawk get through it. They can mourn together. He can help his feathered brother, and Dermott never needs to know how he feels about the tall, winged girl Maeve calls her sister. Best that no one does, save himself and Zorah.
"You won't thank me for telling you," Zorah corrects. "But you may like what I have to say, nonetheless. I'm sorry, brother. But you need to know. You need to be able to make a choice."
*What choice?* he demands. The catch in Zorah's breath alarms him. Last time he was home, he was forced to make a choice between his own life and his sister's life on the one hand, and his throne on the other. He does not wish to be put in a similar situation this time. *Will she die?*
"I don't know. I cannot see the outcome of the coming fight. But I have seen a possibility. A future that may come to pass, and you need to know." She breaks eye contact, her gaze darting nervously around the menagerie. "The hawk. I cannot tell you the bright woman's fate, but I do not see her killing Rumina. And I do not know another way to break this curse unless Rumina willingly removes it herself."
*She will not.* Rongar doesn't even have to consider this before he signs. Rumina will never willingly remove the curse on Dermott. The wounds binding her, the hawk, and Maeve together are too twisted and deep, compounded by renewed rivalry between the two women over Sinbad. These old scars will never heal, as Maeve and Rumina both continue to rip them open over and over again, never putting old wounds to rest. Rumina took Maeve's brother from her, which Maeve will never forgive. Maeve took Sinbad, at least in Rumina's mind, leaving the dark sorceress with no one. That was never Maeve's fault, but Rumina doesn't see it that way.
"This curse was very well laid," Zorah says. She does not argue Rongar's assertion that Rumina will never willingly free Dermott. "Every day he remains ensnared, the hawk gains ground and the man retreats. If it isn't lifted soon, perhaps within the year, there will be no man left to save." She hesitates. Rongar feels his heart sink. She hasn't told the bad part yet. "It...may be for the best, brother."
He stares at her. Zorah's mind works in ways he doesn't always understand, but this utterance floors him. How could she, how could anyone, think that? There's a man inside that hawk; Rongar has known it for quite some time now. Dermott is a loyal member of Sinbad's crew, faithful to both his captain and his sister. Learning from Antoine that Dermott is in fact Maeve's brother explained so much. She willingly sacrificed the life she could have had when she vowed to free him, and Rongar refuses to let that sacrifice be in vain. Her brother's spirit inside the hawk can't be allowed to die.
"I know. I know," Zorah says gently. "He's been an ally. You told me. But you don't know what I've seen." She casts another glance at Nessa's cage. "She doesn't look it now, but she is a strong woman. Not physically, like your Maeve. But canny. Cunning. She can read people, knows how to speak to them. She is keenly intelligent, and has a natural knack for the art of diplomacy, a knack heretofore unexplored." An amused glint enters her eyes. "There's little need for it on an island where most people speak with their fists."
Rongar lets a small smile touch his mouth. Yes, that sounds exactly like a place he could imagine Maeve growing up. Her idea of diplomacy definitely involves fists. But Zorah says Nessa is different.
"Your people—our people—love you. They trust you. They made a mistake with Ali Rashid, and they will not do so again. They would not only accept, but embrace, a winged queen." Zorah refuses to look at him. She's very aware of the poison she's just handed him. "They would love her because you love her. They would love her beauty, her strength, her statecraft. They would view the scars Ali Rashid left on her as badges of honor, and view your marriage to one of his victims as a healing of our collective wounds. I have seen it." She swallows hard. "I do not know whether there would be children—an heir to your throne. I cannot promise you that. But you would both be happy, and the kingdom would prosper."
For a moment, Rongar wants desperately to say yes to this dream, lovely as the woman Zorah speaks of. He doesn't know her, not really. But he felt this tug on his heart the moment he laid eyes on her, and he can feel the truth of his sister's words. He would claim her today, if he could. Give her everything he has. Take back the throne he does not want, just to let her rule beside him. He saw the inner strength in her when she stood with Maeve on the deck of the Nomad, side by side with her sister, aligned firmly against Rumina and ready to fight though she is not a warrior and hasn't the training to win. He can feel once again the soft warmth of that body when he wrapped himself around her to hold her back, keep her from killing herself by lunging at the witch.
And he also remembers just why she wanted to scratch Rumina's eyes out. For Dermott. For the man she loves, and has always loved, since they were young. The man Rumina took from her, cursing him because he chose Nessa and his family, just as she cursed Sinbad for choosing Maeve. And he can't do that to her. To any of these people. He can't let the man trapped inside that hawk die just so he can take Nessa. He'd be as bad as Rumina if he did.
*That's my brother.*
"I know." Zorah's eyes shine with regret. "But I had to tell you. You deserve the choice. I told you, this gift is a blessing and a curse."
There is no choice. Not for him. No matter how much he might want that woman, no matter how good his sister says they could be together, he can't do it. Not to Dermott, and not to her. Having her would mean first willingly putting her through hell, letting her suffer the permanent loss of the man she's waited so long for. Many other men would happily do it, and never lose sleep over the choice. But Rongar can't. Not at that cost. If she someday, somehow, makes the choice to end things with Dermott, then he might consider offering. But he will not cause it to happen. Just because Zorah promises he and Nessa could grow to be happy together doesn't mean she would willingly choose that future for herself. She came south, leaving her home and protection, for Dermott's sake. She's in this mess, enslaved and dying, because she loves him. Her actions tell Rongar firmly that he needs to leave her be. Get her out of that cage, get Dermott out, and let fate progress as it will.
*Maeve is strong,* he signs, firmly closing the door on the possibility offered by his sister. *You don't know that she won't free him.*
"I don't," Zorah agrees. "I do not see her lifting this curse, but you are correct. Absence of proof is not proof of absence." She leans the side of her head against the bars of his cage as the sky lightens around them. The menagerie is a sea of mud, and everything drips quietly in the gentle morning. "I worry for you, my brother. You will need a good queen at your side. Someone you can trust to aid you as you pick up these pieces and set things right again. The sworn sister of your sworn sister would seem a reasonable choice."
Rongar shakes his head firmly. He wants no more talk on this subject, and anyway, he has no plans to sit on the throne he's about to reclaim. He points at Zorah.
"I'll do what I can. You know I will. But my trustworthiness was compromised the moment I met Ali Rashid. Everyone knows it. You forgave me readily, but I don't think our people will. Nor should they."
*You're wrong.* Rongar has always found it amusing that his far-seeing sister has such difficulty seeing herself clearly. Today, though, it's anything but funny. It could mean disaster for their future. *It's you who don't forgive yourself.*
Zorah stares at him for a handful of moments, as if weighing his words, judging how serious he is. Then she scowls. He can only see a small portion of her face, but her eyes narrow and her eyebrows draw together in a way he knows very well.
*Forgive is wrong,* he signs, wishing for paper or slate, some way to express his thoughts more clearly. *You don't trust yourself. That's what I mean.*
Her scowl deepens and for a moment she looks like she wants to contradict him, but no sound emerges from beneath her veil. Rongar wonders whether she's going to bother arguing with him on this. He's right, and he knew he was right the first time he heard her speak yesterday. She hasn't been as successful at putting the past to rest as she wants to believe, and she never will be until she learns to trust herself again.
Instead of arguing, though, she shakes her head a little and drops her eyes. "It doesn't matter. I will help you, brother, but I can't be what you most need. I can't rule beside you."
*Not beside. Instead.*
The gentle noises of the breaking morning hum softly around them: little songbirds in the trees, the drip of water from leaves and rooftops, gathering and rushing in little rivulets toward the sea. A soft breeze flickers by, spattering the cages with water from the treetops. Dermott mutters grumpily to himself and ruffles his feathers, sending a shower of spray into the air.
"You aren't serious."
*I am.*
Omniscience is not Zorah's gift, and Rongar has always been amused when he's able to surprise her. She's good at reading him, and her farsight gives her an advantage, which means he rarely wins. Today, though, her inability to grasp his meaning isn't funny. Just sad.
"You can't be serious. The throne belongs to you. Not Ali Rashid, and not me. Besides, a woman cannot rule."
*I can change the law with a penstroke.*
"Our people would never trust me!"
*Only if you cannot trust yourself.* Rongar knows this intrinsically. He and Nessa could be good together, but he will never seize this opportunity, and he could be a good ruler, but he will never again take up that title. He's not the man he was when Ali Rashid deposed him. He wants to help his people, but he never wanted to reign in the first place and he wants it even less now. There are other options—better options that will leave everyone better off. He's going to get out of this cage and kill Ali Rashid, and then he's going to change the law so that Zorah, his older sister, may take the throne he's always believed was rightly hers, not his. He'll help clean up the mess the despot made of their homeland and aid her as she begins her rule, but then he must chart his own course.
Rongar has learned many lessons since leaving Bollnah—most from Sinbad. This may be the most important one. He can't continue to let the past haunt his days. Sinbad has a fractured past, too, but he doesn't let it rule him. He's master of his own destiny, and that's what Rongar wants for himself. He wants the freedom to choose his path, to remain with his crew, his chosen kin, permanently. That will only come, he realizes now, after he puts the past to rest. Restores his homeland and turns the throne over to someone better suited to it. Zorah is capable. She's grown, and learned from her mistakes, and will see the next threat for what it is, as she did not see Ali Rashid. Rongar has faith in her. She only needs to find it in herself.
"It's been a long night, my brother. You are tired, and overwrought. You must reconsider—" She breaks off abruptly, her head jerking suddenly to the side. "Someone is near. I have to go." She presses his hand, one tight, swift clasp before disengaging. "I will try to find Doubar, and return as soon as I can."
He motions for her to flee. She can't be captured now; he needs her. Swift as the retreating night, she disappears.
Firouz stirs slowly, groaning as he wakes. Rongar hides the food Zorah brought under his cloak, in case whoever might be approaching notices. He watches, tense, as the heavy, swirling morning mist parts, revealing not a guard or a servant come to feed the animals, but Rumina.
Rongar tenses. The dark sorceress is one of the last people he expected to appear. He didn't take her for an early riser. Morning has barely broken across the island, early sun gilding the evaporating water from last night's downpour with glitters and streamers of gold. He supposes it's possible Rumina never went to bed in the first place, waiting for the news that Sinbad was captured. He wouldn't put it past her. But Sinbad isn't here, so he guesses it doesn't matter how Rumina spent her night. She didn't get what she wanted.
She halts in front of him now, as Talia and Firouz stir, her face a marble mask of displeasure. The chain around her throat has tightened still further, digging into her pampered skin, constricting her airflow enough that he can see the struggle. Part of him feels the beginning of sympathy for her. This will be a terrible death, her airway slowly restricted, a little more each day, her body desperate for the breath slowly denied her, until, likely, the metal chain breaks through her skin and digs deep enough to pierce her jugular. Rumina deserves to die and he's untroubled by the thought of her passing, but no one deserves this sort of slow torture. The fact that she put the necklace on herself, and activated the punishment through willing betrayal, doesn't change how Rongar feels.
Rumina stares at him without speaking for what feels like a long time. Rongar lets her. She's an exceptionally beautiful woman, in her own way, but that beauty has been twisted and deformed into something that repels rather than attracts. Her skin is pale, not with northern blood, but with living always in darkness. Maeve and Talia are living sparks of heat and light; Rumina, for all her power, is not. There's a deep, uneasy malevolence to her, powerful but dark, like the tales of giant sea monsters living below in the deep. And there's a tense desperation to her now he can read as easily as words on a page, though she does not pace, does not fidget, and her breaths come slowly through the constriction along her throat. It's nothing physical he can point to, but he senses her disquiet nonetheless.
Around them, the sounds of the menagerie continue. Here, in this pocket of space, silence reigns. Talia and Firouz, awake now, do not speak. Dermott's angry mutters have ceased. Antoine stirs, his head shifting against the wet wooden floor of his cage. He watches Rumina warily, but he utters no sound. Nessa doesn't move. Only her dark curls are visible, a trace of red glimmering in their depths as the sun hits them just right.
Rumina inhales a slow breath. She meets Rongar's eyes with a show of fearlessness he wonders whether he believes.
"He's not coming, is he." It's not a question. She knows.
He shakes his head wordlessly. No, Sinbad isn't coming. He doesn't know his crew is in danger, and Rongar would demand he remain up north if he did know. Maeve needs him more.
"Today is his last day on earth." Rumina looks away, breaking eye contact. Her voice sounds like a confused child's. She doesn't understand his actions, and doesn't even understand why she doesn't understand. "I offered him his soul. His life. But he refused. He preferred to let Scratch take everything from him, by his own choice."
Rongar doesn't respond; he doubts she means for him to. She's not even really speaking to him, and she sounds so confused. He's never seen Rumina like this. Has she ever encountered a situation she couldn't slither out of before? He doubts it. Her reality must not be a very pleasant one today. That necklace isn't getting any looser, and Sinbad isn't here. Her gambles failed. Ali Rashid might yet decide to have mercy on her and use the sword of Imra to free her, but he also might not. Either way, Sinbad will never capitulate to her, and that was what she wanted to begin with.
Her hand rises, tracing the path of a water droplet as it snakes its way down an iron bar. "You're in cages. I won. Ali Rashid will dispose of you as he sees fit, and I don't care." She still sounds like a small child. Yes, by that measure she won, but she didn't get what she wanted, and she knows it. "Where is he?" she asks finally.
"Caring for his pregnant Celt, as he should," Talia responds when it's clear Rongar has no intention to. "She's got to be as big as a whale by now." She snorts. "Better her than me."
"That was never supposed to happen!" Rumina grips two bars tightly in her hands, and Rongar can see the tension in her jaw as she rails at the pirate. "I knew he had a soft spot for that filthy little heathen, but she never reciprocated! I watched! I watched constantly! She pushed him away every time he got close, like those prickly rodents with quills."
Maeve can indeed act like a porcupine when she chooses, but Rongar knows better. He's always known better. *You saw what she wanted you to see,* he signs as gently as he can. Rumina saw the same thing Doubar did: a woman focused on her own quest, uninterested in her captain's love for her, his need. Maeve is not a particularly good actress, but Doubar is easy to deceive and Rumina saw what she wanted to see. For them, her skills were enough. Not for Rongar. She didn't have him fooled for a moment.
"I am no idiot like your miserable giant!" Rumina whirls back toward him. As she turns her head, the chain around her neck digs in further. Her movements halt instantly and her hand lifts to tug at the necklace. There's no slack, though, and no relief to be found. "I had everything planned! A spell to ensure conception, Ali Rashid to dispose of the rest of you. He could keep the Celt for his harem for all I care, though I'd rather watch her die." Her mouth twists unpleasantly. "Sinbad abandoned you to a terrible fate, you know. Took the peasant whore and I guess his brother, too, and left the rest of you. So much for loyalty."
*You don't know the meaning of the word.* Rongar doesn't blame Sinbad for anything. He didn't abandon them. Doubar forced him to make an unthinkable choice, and of the two options, he chose correctly. Maeve needs him, and she needs to be away from the Nomad, safe in a refuge where Scratch and Rumina can't harm her. Doubar, either. Sinbad didn't betray his crew by leaving the Nomad; he protected his child and remained loyal to his family. Rongar would never blame him for that.
"I know more than you think, mute. I know your sister betrayed you and put Ali Rashid on your throne, so don't act so superior. You trust far too easily."
Maybe he does. But he'd rather trust too easily than live his life as Rumina does, trusting no one. He ignores her sneer, and after a moment she turns away.
"You! Peasant." She paces toward Dermott's cage. "I didn't remember you or your filthy sister. I might never have, except then that insect showed up." She casts a disparaging glance toward Nessa, collapsed in a heap on the floor of her cage. "A beast like that is difficult to forget. Once I saw her, I remembered. When I was young and foolish, I let your pretty face distract me. You were poor, vagrant trash, and daddy never would have accepted you, but I offered you everything anyway. An easy life at my side—riches, power, a beautiful wife, everything a man could want. Yet you refused."
Rongar heard this story last night from Antoine before Zorah's spell faded, but hearing Rumina confirm it sends uneasy prickles down his spine. Dermott refused her, and she cursed him. He may be the first in the long line of men Rumina has punished for slighting her, and hopefully Sinbad will be the last. Scratch doesn't seem to be playing around with that chain around her throat.
Rumina's words break off abruptly. Her stance shifts, her proud posture melting, and for a moment, just a moment, she looks...so young. So perplexed. "Why? You had nothing, and I would have given you everything. Yet you chose the curse."
Dermott screeches shrilly. His wings flap with agitation. At the sound, Rumina snaps back into herself. She's once more the proud, haughty sorceress Rongar and the rest of the crew have battled since signing on with Sinbad.
"You can't even answer a simple question," she mocks him as the hawk's head darts toward her like a cobra's, swift and dangerous. Thick iron bars lie between them and he's too far away to strike, but the feint speaks to his anger. "Do you regret your choice now, beastie?"
Dermott's fierce cry tells Rongar that no, he doesn't regret his choice. He never will, just as Sinbad will never regret the choice to put his soul in Maeve's hands, not Rumina's. Maeve will never abuse that power. Rumina would in an instant.
Rumina moves as if to leave, but she hesitates. Her head turns, and she regards Dermott once more. "I just…" She stares at the hawk she created out of a man, the animal forever silenced save to those, like Maeve, with the gift of comprehension. "Plenty of men come when I beckon. You saw my beastly collection. But they all disappointed me sooner or later. They wanted the things I could provide: the money, the power. The chance to live like kings. They were not interested in obeying me, despite the fact that I held all the power."
Rongar considers her as she hesitates before Dermott's cage. She's a beautiful young woman, intelligent and bold, but that isn't enough to keep the sort of man she wants. There's no warmth to her, and in this area, opposites do not attract. Warmth calls to warmth. If she wants a vibrant, vital man like Dermott or Sinbad, her search may be doomed to perpetual failure.
Dermott screeches shrilly and his head darts forward again, the tip of his beak nipping close to Rumina's fingers.
"Behave, beastie. I could do far worse to you than this," she hisses. "I took away your humanity, but I was kind. I gave you a lovely, noble form in return. The men who came after you weren't so lucky." Her head tips to the side as she considers him, but the chain around her throat doesn't let her tilt far. "You were my first love, Sinbad my latest. Maybe it should surprise me that you ended up as crewmates, but it doesn't. You were both too good." She sneers the word. "He's a hero, committed to saving others. You were obsessed with protecting your family—a couple of loudmouthed little girls and a few insects. I'll never understand why."
"Can't you?" Firouz asks softly.
Rumina whirls. The darkness in her eyes sparks dangerously. Firouz shrinks back against Talia, who shoves him roughly away. "Don't hide behind me! You opened your big mouth and did this to yourself."
Instead of cowering, Firouz takes a breath. He squares his shoulders and rises, standing at the bars of the cage. He's white as a ghost, but Rongar thinks he's never done anything quite so brave. Or so foolish. "You loved your father, didn't you?" he asks, wrapping his hands loosely around two iron bars. "Isn't that why you came after Sinbad? For revenge? Wouldn't you do anything for him? How is that any different than Dermott trying to protect his family, wanting to remain with his people?"
Rumina's lip curls. "What does a tinkerer know about love? Can you take apart a human heart and put it back together again? Repair it when it breaks?"
"Well, no, but—"
"Then hold your tongue, unless you want to lose it." Rumina glares at him. "My father was everything to me. He was my world. But make no mistake, I would never have sacrificed myself for him, nor he for me."
"You don't know that," Firouz protests. "You can't know what anyone else would do in a given situation. You can't even know what you might do until you face it."
A smile blooms across Rumina's beautiful face. Her full lips curl like a tiger's snarl, so incredibly lovely and so incredibly deadly. That smile is very, very dangerous, and Rongar puts a hand on Firouz's arm in warning. That's his best friend. He knows the man doesn't mean to taunt or test the sorceress, but even a well-meaning nudge isn't wise. Not with Rumina. Not today. She knows that, unless she does something drastic, she's going to lose Sinbad permanently today, either to Maeve or to Scratch. Seizing the Nomad and capturing its crew got her nowhere, and Rongar's a little afraid of what she might try next.
"I did face it, tinkerer," Rumina says, and the chill in her smile freezes Rongar to the core. "When that menace," she points behind her at Dermott, "dropped the Gryphon's Egg stone into my fortress. You didn't know what was happening in there, did you? Of course not. You were too intent on winning a fight for good to question anything. I was finalizing a deal with the devil. He brought daddy back to life in return for my aid. But then you all had to go and ruin everything." Her smile drains from her face, melting into a furious scowl. "I had time to do one thing, and one thing only, when you destroyed Skull Mountain. I had to choose—to save myself, or my father." She gestures to herself. "You can see what I chose."
Firouz sucks a slow breath through his teeth and, this time, wisely remains silent. Rongar does, too. He doesn't dare move his hands right now. He knew Rumina was cold, but he didn't comprehend quite how cold. She let her father, the person who means everything to her, die in the collapse of Skull Mountain, choosing to save herself instead. The choice itself doesn't shock him—plenty of people would do the same, motivated by terror for their lives—as much as her expressionless face now, the impassive flatness of her voice. There's no guilt in her. No remorse. Anger at Dermott for forcing her to make that choice, perhaps, but no anger at herself.
"Honestly? I don't blame you, sister." Talia slouches against the bars of the cage. "I mean, don't get me wrong. I think you're a horrible person and you deserve that chain around your neck. It totally serves you right. But I would have done the same."
Rongar doesn't doubt her. Talia's very good at looking after herself, which is why she's still alive. But he knows her. She would live with regret for the rest of her days, no matter how much she may deny it. Rumina does not. When he looks in her eyes, she's just...empty. Not for the first time, he wonders what exactly she sees in Sinbad. Why does this cold shell of pettiness and spite want his captain? Is there something in her, some small spark of humanity buried deep, that still responds to the human warmth of him? Or is she merely set on taking what she wants, to prove that she can?
Rumina's cold eyes settle on Talia. "You say that now."
The pirate shrugs. "He was a bad man and a worse father, and I barely knew him. Why shouldn't I save myself?"
"There's where we differ." Rumina's expression shifts, but, though Rongar is good at reading people, he can't identify that look. She could be furious. She could be about to cry. Does Rumina cry? He wouldn't have bet money on it before, but now he's suddenly not so sure. "Daddy was everything to me. He was my world—and he made sure of it. My mother tried to leave when I was small. He would have let her run, but she was fool enough to try to take me with her. She couldn't bear more children so she was useless to him, but when she crossed him by taking me, she sealed her fate." Her mouth flickers. It could be a trembling lip. It could be the hint of a smile. Rongar has no idea, and the dissonance sets off all his internal alarms.
"Or, as daddy tells it, I sealed her fate. I didn't want to go, and I threw a fit loud enough to get his attention." The ice in her eyes grows colder. "He killed her in front of me. No one was going to take his only child from him. But make no mistake—had he been the one with the power when the Gryphon's Egg landed, he would have saved himself and not me."
Dermott screeches loudly in his cage. Rongar wishes he could understand the bird as easily as Maeve does. Rumina's dispassionate delivery grates his soul. Her father was her world—the Nomad crew knew that. But Rongar didn't know the rest. That the man killed her mother for trying to take her away, and told the child she was complicit in her mother's death simply for crying. Does Rumina believe it? He has no idea, but he suspects so. Was this the first step on the path that turned an innocent child into the vessel for evil which stands before him? It seems plausible. And if Turok told her that, what else has he been filling her mind and heart with? Not love; that's more than clear. If Rumina knows her father would willingly sacrifice her to save himself, she must know he never truly loved her. That's not how parenthood is supposed to work.
"I'm sorry," Firouz says quietly.
Rumina rocks back slightly on her heels, and Rongar watches as her hackles rise like a stray dog that's just been kicked. "That," she seethes, "was not the point."
"I know. But I am. And I have to thank you for the gift of that knowledge. I understand a little better why Dermott's and Sinbad's loyalty confuses you so much."
"I'm not confused!" She grasps the bars of the cage and presses close, her eyes glittering malevolently.
"You are. Why wouldn't you be?" Firouz is using his scholar's voice, warm not with pity but with his own happiness at solving this riddle. "Sinbad helps people, not out of self-interest, but out of kindness. It doesn't matter to him whether they can return the favor. And Dermott wanted more than anything, when you showed up, to protect his family. These are things you don't understand, do you?"
"I understand enough," she says bitterly.
Rongar doubts this. If she truly understood the ways of the human heart, she wouldn't be out here demanding answers of a hawk who cannot give them. She's hurt, and cannot comprehend why the men she wants keep rejecting her. She's beautiful and wealthy and powerful, and if she wanted an alliance purely of wealth and power, she could easily find one. Ali Rashid himself might be willing. But she doesn't want that. She wants a man she can trust—possibly even one she can attempt to love. She can't trust a man like Ali Rashid.
But, if this is what she truly wants, he's afraid she's doomed to remain alone. Even if she gets that necklace off and lives another hundred years, she won't find what she's looking for. Rongar knows it, and he will never tell her so, because he doesn't want to die a painful death. The kind of man she could trust to be her helpmeet in this world is the kind of man she will never attract, no matter her beauty. Loyalty and a warm heart cannot flourish where hate lives, just as jungle seeds will die if planted in the desert. Rumina has no warmth to give. Whether she chose this path or Turok chose it for her, Rongar doesn't think she can change it now.
From his cage, Dermott warbles softly. The sound of his little clucking chirps is wistful. Rongar feels the same. He doesn't know that he feels any empathy for the witch who has harmed them all so much, but he can see that she's trapped herself as surely as she's trapped them. He wonders whether she can see it, whether she can admit that, ultimately, she did this to herself. Turok set her on the path, but Turok is dead. She chose to continue.
"Shut up!" Rumina whirls, striding back to Dermott's cage. "You think this is still some little game? Even after all this time? You thought you bested me by destroying my home, killing my father a second time?" Power gathers in her hand, a blue so dark it's nearly black, raising the fine hairs at the back of Rongar's neck at the intense wrongness of the magic. "You want your human form back? Fine. Take it." She speaks a sentence that crackles with malevolent purpose, and the power in her hand connects with the little hawk's body like a bolt of dark lightning. His raptor screech turns swiftly into the agonized cry of a human man.
"You were the first to deny me. And that means you'll be the last to die." Rumina sounds incredibly satisfied with herself. Rongar blinks the sparkles from his eyes, pressing close to the bars, worry for his feathered brother beating through him. And yes, that's a human man now sprawled on the wooden floor of Dermott's cage, dressed in filthy tatters of clothing, writhing in agony.
"Oh, don't be so dramatic. I don't remember how long you were a hawk, but coming back can't be that bad."
At the sound of Dermott's cry, both Antoine and Nessa stir. The man fights to a seated position. Nessa struggles, but she can't make it upright. Her brother scoops her against his chest, his face tense as he watches their enemy taunt Dermott.
"The pirate will die quickly, and the tinkerer will either follow or be sold off, as Ali Rashid pleases. He'll likely prefer a slower death for the Moor. You, though—I'll tell him to wait with you. Let you watch with human eyes, cry with a human tongue, as he slowly kills your lady-love with that cage. Only after your human heart has broken will you die." She laughs, the high, trilling giggle of a small child. "You wanted your human form back. Be careful what you wish for. The family that dies together...well, dies together."
"Your comment lacks symmetry," Firouz says. "And if you're looking for a good match, Ali Rashid may be just the husband you deserve. You both lack all semblance of humanity."
"And you lack all grasp of reality." Rumina turns from the man writhing on the floor of his cage. "Heroes like Sinbad are a dying breed. The future belongs to people like me. People like Ali Rashid. People who see things as they are, not as they wish." Her cold eyes linger on Rongar for a final moment. "Humanity cost you your throne, and will cost you your life. How do you like playing the hero now, dear prince?" With a final dark chuckle, she saunters back along the white quartz path toward the palace.
In the overfull kitchen at Breakwater, Sinbad cries out suddenly. He buckles, slamming an arm down on the work table, holding himself upright with his upper body strength as his knees falter.
"Look!" Bran points at the bracelet on his wrist. The colors flash brightly, pulsing far too swiftly. A moment later a lancing pain shudders through Sinbad's body, like the flat slap of the most painful bellyflop. The light fades, and does not return. His bracelet sits dark, as it has not since Keely tied its magic to Maeve, binding them together in power and life.
"Sit," Cairpra says, pushing a stool behind him.
Unable to argue, he does. "What does that mean?" he demands, eyes wild. He stares at the cuff on his wrist, willing it to spring back to life. This is the only way he's managed to leave Maeve's side. The bracelet breathes with her, its light pulsing with her breaths, giving him visible proof of her life when he cannot be beside her. Now it lies dormant, as it hasn't in ages.
"Calm down," Cairpra says softly. "You'll bring everyone in the house here, and they need to work today. The house isn't safe for the little ones with all the broken glass and pottery everywhere." She takes his hand and examines the bracelet gently.
The sound of thudding bare feet on wooden floorboards presages Keely's arrival. Small and round, she hustles into the kitchen just as Cairpra warned. "What did you do?" she demands of them both.
"Nothing!" Sinbad thrusts his arm in her face. "What does this mean? Maeve—" He's terrified, and doesn't care who knows. The children cuddled around the hearth watch with quiet, solemn faces.
"My spell broke," Keely says, examining his bracelet with her uncanny green eyes. "Fuck."
"Fuck," Con repeats, very clearly, and smiles beautifully.
Cairpra casts a reproving glance at Keely, who shrugs it off. "What? That was Mia's first word, too. It's sort of inevitable around here." She scowls furiously at Sinbad's bracelet.
He doesn't care how much the babies here curse. That can be Fin's first word, too, for all he cares in this moment. "What does that mean for Maeve? Is she all right? The spell—" His first terrified thought, when the light went out, was that she was dead. What else was he supposed to think?
"I guess she went too far away and broke the link," Keely says uncertainly. "Fuck if I know how. It didn't break when you went to visit your crew. Where were they?"
"I don't know." He didn't ask. He didn't really care then, and he cares less now. "Somewhere south—still hot. You're saying she went further than that?" Why? For what purpose? He has no idea what's going on in that beautiful, conniving head of hers, and the implications of that terrify him. She has Fin with her, and her track record of traveling without her opal isn't exactly the best.
"I have no idea where she went. I told you that when you first told me she disappeared." Every inch of Keely's little frame drips irritation. "And I told you the spell would be unpredictable. I'm not a sorceress, and I have no idea what that bracelet is. I was winging it. Why it broke now, I can't tell you. But I can say that it worries me."
It worries Sinbad, too. Maeve needs the strength he's been feeding her, his own and the bracelet's. She wasn't ready to give birth but she was forced to do so anyway, and now she's run off somewhere he can't follow—and the spell binding them together has broken.
"What good is magic if it can't follow where she went?" He slams his fist down on the table. The pain that seared through him when their bond was severed has passed, but in its wake he feels a yawning emptiness that may be even worse. Maeve is gone. Fin is gone. He needs his girls back, needs them safe. "What good is magic if it can't stop her?"
"Stop a hero?" Cairpra blinks slowly at him. "Come now, Sinbad. Do you really mean to tell me that's what you believe magic is for?"
"To save her life! To save Fin! Yes, that's exactly what I think magic is for." He shoves himself off the stool and away from the table.
Keely and Cairpra exchange a glance, united, for once, in this moment. "That's not what magic is for, Sinbad," Maeve's sister says, curling her arm under the mound of her pregnant belly. "That's what heroes are for. Let her do what she does. You think I wasn't mad as hell, and terrified too, when she walked away from me? Left to hunt Rumina, to save Dermott? I refused to talk to her the first time she returned. She'd got in a scrape with some brigands and was beat up and bloody, and I refused to heal her, I was so angry at her for leaving. Eventually I had to face facts: she's a hero. This is what she does. She'll never be happy sitting at home, tending a fire and a pack of kids. That's not her. You can throw a tantrum like I did if you want, but it won't change who she is."
"If saving lives is what heroes are for," he growls, "then help me figure out where she went, so I can follow her. I'll save them myself."
Cairpra turns back to the fire, stirring it gently and adding more wood. "This isn't your fight, Sinbad. It never was. The moment you named Maeve your champion, it became hers."
"I should never have agreed to the fucking Protocol in the first place." He digs a hand through his hair, pulling hard. "I knew it would put Maeve in danger. I knew it would put Fin in danger. But I didn't realize—" His words break off abruptly, and he's unable to continue. He loathes himself in this moment. For agreeing to this. For putting Maeve in danger. He's felt this way for moons, but never so sharply. Cairpra may say this isn't his fight, but he could have tried harder to find a different answer.
"I know," Cairpra says gently. "You didn't know how holding that child in your arms, looking in her eyes, would change you. How could you?"
"Everything is different now," he agrees. He's always been willing to let Maeve lead the life she chooses. She works and fights alongside the rest of his crew, as strong as any man, and he's never tried to hold her back. But this is different. She's physically delicate, Fin just born, and that child needs her. She's risking everything for his soul, and to Sinbad, the risk just isn't worth it. Not now that he's held his daughter in his arms, quieted her tears. The thought of putting that newborn in danger sickens him, and so does the thought of Maeve in danger now that they have a child who needs her. Risk has always been part of their lives, but the level of risk Maeve is taking today isn't acceptable to him.
"Fin was conceived for this purpose." Keely rubs her own belly gently. "I know it's not easy for you to let go of command, but there's nothing any of us can do at this point but trust Maeve. I can't promise she knows what she's doing, but you know she'll give her all."
He knows. And that's exactly what he's afraid of.
Rongar paces the confines of their small cell uneasily. He's been unable to sit still since Rumina left them a short while ago, strolling back to the palace as if wholly unconcerned with the mess she left behind. Doubar is missing, Zorah not yet returned, and Dermott lies on the floor of his cage, sprawled where he fell from his perch when the witch transformed him. The constant writhing has ceased, but he shifts and twitches every now and then, groaning softly from time to time, proof that the lifting of the curse was not without pain. How it compares to his first transformation, Rongar can't say. He watches his newly-freed brother, incredibly concerned.
"What if he needs medical attention?" Firouz protests, kicking at the door once more, as they have countless times since being locked in.
Yes, that's Rongar's fear, too. He glances at the cage across the way. Antoine's body trembles. He's propped up on an elbow, fighting the pull of exhaustion as he keeps watch over Dermott, the only help any of them can be to him now. Nessa lies still. Rongar hopes she's unconscious. She doesn't need to witness this.
Dermott is too far away to observe clearly, but from this angle he looks like a big man, the tatters of his clothing revealing powerful shoulders and arms. This doesn't really surprise Rongar—flying has to require a great deal of upper-body strength, or whatever the avian equivalent is. He yanks at the door again as he passes, but once more it does not budge. Frustrated, he slams his fist against the bars. He needs Doubar to break them out. They can't wait any longer. Nessa is dying, and Dermott may need Firouz's professional aid to get through the immediate aftermath of this transformation.
"I have to say," Firouz says quietly, "I was almost feeling sorry for Rumina for a minute there. Until she did that." He nods to the cage.
Yes, Rongar agrees. They have no plans to stick around for the fate she promised, but she doesn't know that. She didn't lift the curse on Dermott as an act of mercy. It was meant as torture.
"Stuck up little bitch," Talia mutters. "If I were her mother, I would have left her with her tyrant of a father and said good riddance."
"How can you say that?" Firouz stares at her. "She was just a child. Young enough to cry when her mother tried to leave. She didn't know any better."
"I said it. I stand by it." Talia folds her arms over her chest. "I refuse to feel sorry for someone who does something like that," she points to Dermott, "and that," she points to Nessa, "to other people. I'll rob just about anyone blind. But I'm not cruel for cruelty's sake."
Talia isn't cruel at all, though her reputation as the Black Rose often paints her so. Rongar knows better. Her moral compass is slightly warped, but there's no actual evil in her. Not like Rumina. And he knows she would never do what Rumina just did.
"That's what Dim-Dim meant."
Rongar jerks to the corner of the cage where he can best see Dermott. The man's voice is rough, hoarse with disuse, and his accent is thicker than Antoine's, thicker than the accent Maeve purposefully banished from her lips. He turns his head painfully slowly, and their eyes meet.
"What did Dim-Dim mean?" Firouz asks, shoving close beside Rongar.
"In the garden." Dermott groans. "Oh, hell, that hurts. He...kept going on about Maeve and that witch being so much alike." An attack of coughing seizes him, his body jerking harshly.
"Try to breathe deeply," Firouz calls. "I'd bring you water if I could." He scowls at the bars before him.
Finally the spasms calm. Dermott breathes slowly for a minute, before passing his hand awkwardly over his face. He stares at his fingers as if he's never seen them before.
"What about the witch?" Talia prompts, losing patience. "She's nothing like your hothead sister. What was the old man thinking?"
"She's not," Dermott agrees, groaning a little. "But she is. Our father killed our mother in front of Maeve, too. Different story, different outcome. Different souls. But the wound may be the same." He exhales roughly. "How does air hurt?"
"What do you mean? What sort of pain?" Firouz presses.
"No feathers. Too sensitive." He huddles in a little ball, hiding as much of his skin as he can. "Nessa, leannán, can you hear me?"
After a pause, Antoine answers. "I don't think so, brother. Need to get her out." She's dying; he doesn't have to say it.
"Tá brón orm, deartháir."
"Mise freisin, deartháir."
Rongar feels a renewed upwelling of anger. This isn't how this reunion is supposed to play out. Dermott's transformation was supposed to be a gift from Maeve, not a further curse from Rumina. He presses hard on the door of the cage as Antoine slumps again, too ill to continue watching over his brother.
And, like an avenging angel sent to answer his wishes, he sees Zorah running swiftly through the mud and cages, intent on reaching him. She holds something clasped tightly in her hands, and he goes completely still when he realizes what it is.
The sword of Imra. The sword of flame that makes its bearer invincible. She was its protector until she gave Ali Rashid the secret incantation to retrieve it, and Ali Rashid used the blade to cut out Rongar's tongue and scar his sister's face. Now she holds the sheathed weapon tightly in her hands as she rushes toward him.
"Boy, does that girl not know how to handle a sword." Talia chuckles as she watches Zorah approach. "Didn't you give your sister a lesson or two when you were kids?"
Rongar doesn't bother responding. No, Zorah never learned to carry a blade. No one ever dreamed that she would need to. She was supposed to live a pampered life of refinement, use her gift for the betterment of her people, and marry into another royal family that would honor her. No one foresaw Ali Rashid.
*Where did you get that?* he demands of her as she nears, panting.
"Doubar stole it," she says swiftly.
*Where is he?*
"Gone with the bright woman. Your Maeve." She breathes deeply, panting for air. "The line has been cut, just as I foresaw. I felt it sunder. She and Doubar are truly on their own now."
Rongar doesn't understand any of this, but he lets it pass. Now is not the time. Doubar is the last person he expected Maeve to ever want to help her today, but that isn't his choice to make. *Get Nessa out. Now.* Plan or no plan, she needs to be out of that cage. It's killing her, and she can't wait any longer.
"All of you." Zorah passes the sheathed sword through the bars to Rongar. He's hesitant to take it. He's never touched the sword before—it wasn't his to wield. It was Zorah's to protect. But their places are reversed now—he's giving her his throne, so he supposes it's his right to take the sword Ali Rashid used against them. "Shirez has given the signal to the prisoners. They're in the armory as we speak. Cut yourselves free, brother. It's time."
Back to Maeve and Doubar next time, I promise. We're almost done! Thanks for sticking with me this long!