A/N: We're ALMOST done! One more chapter and an epilogue, I think. I'm really struggling to get this done because I'm going back to school really soon and I don't know what kind of time I'll have then.
The Gift
Pairing: Maeve/Sinbad
Rating: M
Setting: Just after Season 1
All standard disclaimers apply
Sinbad feels apprehension rising in him as he descends from the battlements of the palace, Talia close at his heels. He searched the ramparts thoroughly—twice—without finding any trace of Ali Rashid or Rongar, and between his own keen senses and Talia's, they should have found something. He feels tension prickle down the back of his neck like sweat, lifting the hair on the backs of his arms. Something feels wrong—off, somehow.
"You're sure he was up here?" he demands of Talia for at least the fifth time.
"Yes! I went back and forth between the palace and the battle all day, looking for him or that dickless rat bastard prince and fighting when I could, but then I heard him up here. Tongue or no, no one bellows like Rongar."
That's what Sinbad was afraid of. He has every faith that Rongar can hold his own in almost any situation, but if he and this prince have the fraught history Firouz alluded to, it might be enough to make Rongar act impulsively. With the sheer drop from the battlements exposed on every side, one misstep would spell death for Sinbad's silent brother and disaster for the rebellion below.
Sinbad considers their next move as he and Talia descend swiftly to the ground floor of the palace. Rongar was nowhere up above, and running blindly through a palace as huge as this will waste time and probably not result in finding him. Though Sinbad wants more than anything to help his crewmember, maybe the best course of action is to return to the battle instead of searching. He wrestles with this decision as he nears the courtyard.
Before he can choose, the soft whisper of very familiar magic washes over him, light and sweet as morning mist. He inhales sharply, his boots slamming to a halt on the stone walkway. Worry for Rongar is instantly replaced by warring fury and terror. He's going to kill her. If she's not in mortal peril when he finds her, he's going to kill her. She has no extra energy to expend right now, and she promised to remain in safety on his ship. This fight isn't going particularly well, but it's not worth risking her life.
The edges of the battle have bled into the palace courtyards, and Sinbad emerges into the melee with Talia beside him. She made no sign that she felt the delicate wash of magic and Sinbad isn't surprised. She's not a practitioner, nor is she tied to Maeve as he is. He may know little about magic but he loves a sorceress; she's the keeper of his soul now, having won that right from Scratch. He can sense her power, delicate and faltering as it is in this moment, and the flavor of it is unmistakable. She's nearby, and she's done something. She told him she wouldn't leave his ship, wouldn't enter this battle. They have a newborn to care for, and he has every right now to be furious.
A sudden cry of terror sounds from the fray. Sinbad's eyes grow wide as he watches a huge, lumbering tiger emerge from the crowd, fangs bared. It roars, and leaps for the throat of a gray-cloaked guard.
The crowd, both prisoners and mercenaries, scatter like rats. Men and women scream like frightened babies as more beasts stalk near: a second tiger, a small cluster of lions, something that looks vaguely like a monkey but is far too large to be anything of the sort. Despite himself, Sinbad drops back a step. He's not afraid of wild beasts, exactly, but he's also not interested in becoming tiger chow today.
"Oh, fucking brilliant!" Talia breathes beside him, and Sinbad honestly can't tell whether she's being sarcastic or sincere.
"Calm yourselves, friends!" a ragged man calls, stepping into the rapidly-growing clear space between the retreating humans and the stalking beasts. "Prince Rongar's friends promised us some new, unexpected allies!"
"And brought them!" Talia agrees, cupping her hands around her mouth and bellowing into the din of the frantic mob. "Sinbad's sorceress controls these beasts, not Ali Rashid's witch!"
The crowd wavers, no one sure whom to believe. Sinbad doesn't blame them. He knows Maeve's power, witnessed it firsthand earlier this night when she fought Scratch for his soul, and he still isn't sure what to believe. Can she truly press the animals of the prince's menagerie into service?
Yes, his gut tells him, with all the certainty his intuition has always given him. Other sorcerers might not have this power, but Maeve does. Animals listen to her. They obey her. If she told them to attack the men with gray cloaks, they'll attack. He steps aside, pulling Talia with him as a cluster of wildebeest ram through the mercenaries, braying their angry bellow. Blunt horns and sharp hooves slash and gore, and suddenly the night is awash in the reek of blood.
The mercenaries break like little dolls.
Sinbad smiles grimly, but he's torn with indecision. Maeve has all but alleviated the need for him to join this battle—between the prisoners and the formerly-captive beasts, this fight is now won. It's just a matter of time. But he needs to make sure she's well, and he also needs to find Rongar.
Worry for Maeve chokes him, but he also knows if he goes to her now, he'll say things he'll later regret. He's still furious, no matter how much her magic has turned the tide of this battle. She promised him she wouldn't intervene, promised she would stay safe on the Nomad with Fin. So, knowing better than to pick a fight with her when he's this angry, he turns to the city to seek Rongar instead. "I'll go this way," he tells Talia curtly. "You start down there. Search every street, every alley. Rongar needs us, and he has to be somewhere."
"Aye," she agrees grimly. "And when I find him, he has a few things to answer for."
Sinbad lets that cryptic comment stand unquestioned. He has no idea what's been going on in his absence, and right now he doesn't care. All he wants is to find his crewmate and make sure he's safe.
Rongar aches. He hurts more than he thinks he ever has before, and considering what Ali Rashid did to him when he took his throne, that's saying something. He limps through the darkened streets of his capital city, spilling blood as he goes. The Sword of Imra may make its bearer invincible, but that doesn't mean it makes him immune to harm. He's killed every mercenary he's met on his search for Ali Rashid today, but a few left their mark on him nonetheless. The worst was a dirk—something he should have seen coming, considering his own weapon of choice—thrown with deadly aim, centered on his heart. He ducked enough to elude the killing strike, the blade embedding itself in the meat of his shoulder instead. He knows he should have left it in place to stem the flow of blood, but the handle of the weapon was too heavy and it fell on its own as he moved, ripping him open further. Another gash low on his side trickles a hot red stream, too—a worse location, but not nearly so deep or so ragged, a shallower, cleaner slice.
Despite his wounds he continues on, pushing his exhausted body to the brink. Ali Rashid has been running and hiding from him all day like the rat he is. They clashed once in the palace courtyards before the would-be prince disappeared into the secret tunnels again, tunnels which he must have expanded in the years he's been on the throne, for they never used to extend beyond the palace before. But Rongar can give no other explanation for his inability to find the man now. He caught sight of him a handful of times, running furtively through alleys like a thief, but was never able to get close enough to engage.
He hears a wholly inhuman roar behind him now and tenses. That was no man. That was a beast. Has the fighting spread as far as the menagerie? He shudders to think what some of the more dangerous beasts there might do to any human who accidentally falls in their path. The animals were penned securely from what he could see, but it's not beyond the realm of possibility that someone might open a cage or corral out of stupidity.
That's not his concern right now. He trudges forward, wishing he had his sister's gift of foresight or even Maeve's intuition—something to help him find his foe. Ali Rashid can't be permitted to round up his guards and counterattack, or to escape, though he doubts escape is on the man's mind. No, he's too bitter for that, too obsessed with bringing Rongar to heel. He won't accept defeat, which means he must die. Rongar has never taken killing lightly, but after all that's passed between them, he sees no other way.
Another roar sounds, and a cry rises from the distant crowd. The few scattered prisoners and guards on the streets falter, frightened at what sounds like a pride of lions in the palace courtyard. Rongar tries not to take notice. He limps forward, very aware of the blood coating his skin, wet and hot, flowing more with each step he takes. But he can't stop now. He can't.
He searches the well-known streets and alleys of his capital city until he reaches the end: the harbor. There are no streets left, nowhere for Ali Rashid to hide...except the ships.
And, as the first pale bands of predawn begin to paint the eastern sky with gray, he sees a horrifying sight.
Talia's little ship, the Silver Serpent. Its sails are raised, wind curving them sweetly as it slowly leaves the harbor. Ali Rashid laughs from the railing.
"Too late, dear prince! You may have won this day," he calls, cupping his hands around his mouth, "but I'll be back. No one steals from me what I rightfully stole first. You'll have no rest while we both live, and once I gather my forces I'll hunt you down like the dog you are!"
Pounding feet sound on the wooden dock. Rongar sways as first Sinbad and then Talia draw up sharply beside him.
"That's my ship!" she howls, and she looks ready to dive into the sea after the swiftly-moving craft. Sinbad snags the back of her collar, holding her still.
"Easy," he says, his eyes on Rongar. "Now isn't the time to drown yourself. They're moving too fast; you'd never reach them."
Rongar already knows. That's the only reason he didn't dive in after them in the first place. Ali Rashid has two mercenaries with him, and three men can easily sail a craft as small and swift as Talia's Serpent. That ship was built for speed. Even if they ran back to the Nomad right now, Sinbad's ship could never catch him.
He lost.
He staggers, dizzy with this realization. Even with the Sword of Imra at his side, he still lost, because Ali Rashid was a slippery bastard and never gave him the chance to use it.
"Easy," Sinbad says again, and this time the command is for Rongar, not Talia. He grabs his upper arm, steadying him. "Shit, you're covered in blood."
Yes, he is, and he doesn't care. Not when the whole reason he began this fight is right there—within sight, but out of his grasp. He feels as if this moment encapsulates their entire relationship: Ali Rashid always within sight, always mocking, but forever out of reach.
"Rongar, listen to me." Sinbad wheels to face him, setting firm hands on his shoulders, blocking out the sight of Talia's retreating ship. His eyes bore into his friend's. Rongar stares at him dully, not even questioning his captain's presence here. "We'll find him. We'll get him. I don't know what's going on here and I don't need to, because I know you. And I swear to you, we'll do this. Together."
Rongar drops his chin, allowing the exhaustion of the day to wash over him. He staggers slightly, but regains his balance. No injury has ever brought him down, and he refuses to let today's be the first.
"Sure we will," Talia agrees, steady at his side. "We have to, or else you boys owe me a ship. Again."
"Tonight is a night for endings, but also new beginnings," Sinbad says firmly. "Your people have just about won against the old prince's soldiers, and they'll need someone to guide them when dawn breaks. They'll be looking to you for leadership."
Yes, Rongar knows this. He has no desire to take the crown, but this transition will be a chaotic and frightening one for his people, and he'll need to be here to ease them through it.
"Maeve won against Scratch." Sinbad smiles and removes one hand from Rongar's shoulder long enough to pull aside the flap of his shirt, exposing the skin over his heart, now smooth and unblemished, no sign of Scratch's brand in sight. "Her quest has ended. We can help you now. Whatever you need."
More than one of Maeve's quests has ended. Dermott is human again, though whether she and Sinbad know this yet, Rongar doesn't know.
"And Scratch was furious at Rumina—he left the underworld to hunt her down. Something tells me she may not be long for this world. What would our lives be without an enemy to fight? You've actually done us a favor by providing one."
Sinbad is reaching now, trying to make Rongar feel better about failing to kill Ali Rashid. His argument is ridiculously weak, but Rongar appreciates the gesture. It doesn't make him feel any better, though. He failed. Once again, he failed. He swore to Zorah that he wouldn't this time, but he did anyway.
"You're safe—at least you will be once we get Firouz to patch you up—and your sister is safe. That's the most important thing," Sinbad says, squeezing his shoulders and then moving, ducking under Rongar's uninjured arm and using it to help prop him up. "I don't always get my man, either."
*You usually do,* Rongar signs.
"Aye. And so do you. But this one, I have a feeling, may be a foe that takes all of us working together to best."
Maybe so. Rongar doesn't really feel better, but he's able to turn, with Sinbad's urging, away from the sight of Talia's ship swiftly disappearing into the horizon, his mortal enemy aboard.
"My ship," Talia whines, ducking under his other arm. "After all I went through to get her back, he took my ship."
"What did you go through?" Sinbad argues as they begin their slow, limping trudge away from the harbor. "As I recall, all I asked you to do was sail under me for a while. I don't remember you even having to draw your sword once."
"I had to put up with your pregnant Celt," Talia snaps. "And be nice to her. That was more than enough."
Despite how he feels, Rongar can't quite hide a smile. That's Talia, through and through.
"Speaking of," Sinbad growls, "we need to find her. She's not supposed to be fighting today, but those animals are her doing, I know they are."
*Animals?* Rongar questions.
"Wait until you see; you'll love it. Payback for the minions of the prince who locked them up—locked us all up." Talia snickers gleefully.
They make their slow, laborious way back up the main street of the city, and as they move Rongar can't help but notice that the fighting has all but ceased. Ragged people, both prisoners and citizens, begin to fall in behind him and his compatriots, following in silence, some with weapons at their sides, some empty-handed. They trail behind, not too close, their eyes glazed with both fear and the first glimmerings of…
Hope. He sees hope in the eyes of his people, hope which had all but died before this fight. Tears well in his own eyes, though they do not spill over, tears borne of both bitter regret and a small but growing corner of peace. Sinbad is right, as usual. He may not have won, but that was not due to his own inadequacy as a leader or a warrior. When push came to shove, Ali Rashid ran like the rat he is. Rongar could never have controlled that, not with all the magical swords in the world. Finding him and bringing him to justice may take time, and the combined skills of the Nomad crew. And Sinbad wasn't wrong—with Scratch defeated and Rumina not long for this world, they're running dangerously low on desperate quests at the moment. He's still not pleased at this outcome, but it could be worse. It could be so much worse.
Sinbad tolerates the growing procession tagging along after him only because he knows it's not him they're after—it's Rongar. These people desperately need a leader, and they're looking to their former prince, the prince they abandoned, with both fragile hope and overwhelming fear. Were Rongar a different sort of man he might exact terrible retribution for their previous lack of loyalty, but Rongar has never been that sort of man and Sinbad does not believe he ever will be. He'll deal gently with his subjects. Sinbad can see for himself the state of their hungry bodies, their decrepit city. They've paid for their disloyalty already.
Sinbad's eyes scan the crowd as it grows thicker the nearer they get to the palace. Rongar badly needs Firouz's expertise to tend to his wounds, or at the very least a local healer to stop the bleeding until they locate Firouz. And Sinbad himself desperately needs to find Maeve. He felt her magic, and he knows she's no longer on the Nomad as she promised. He's going to rip her a new one—or possibly just sic Keely on her and let her sister deal with it. Keel's threatened to haul her back to Breakwater and take that fucking opal away permanently, and right now Sinbad doesn't think that sounds like such a bad idea. Not if she can't lie still for two fucking minutes, even when she's lost more blood than Rongar.
He aches for his crewmate, truly. He has no clue what's been going on here, but he can tell by the set of Rongar's face, the anguish in his eyes, that he feels he's failed massively. Sinbad doesn't agree, but he acknowledges he'd likely feel the same if a longstanding enemy got the slip on him despite his best efforts. The gods know he's fumed at himself enough over Rumina's continued escapes, though he hides it well from the rest of his crew. Even Maeve doesn't know how much it affects him when the evil sorceress flits off without consequences for her actions. He comforts his Celt when she voices her own frustrations, knowing better than to fuel her anger with his. The last thing Maeve's sense of vengeance needs is more fuel.
And the last thing Maeve herself needs is to be out here in the midst of a battle, using her magic. She doesn't even have her sword to protect her, and Sinbad seriously doubts she could wield it in her current condition anyway. Just lifting that heavy blade high enough to swing would probably make her black out. He's seen men brought low by blood loss before, and it turns even the brawniest warriors into weak, fumbling little kittens.
"Just so you know," Talia says, poking Rongar's uninjured side lightly, "I'm still mad at you. Both for kissing me without getting me drunk first and for running off to fight without me."
Sinbad eyes his crewmate. Rongar just shrugs helplessly, a gesture that says it all without words: it seemed like a good idea at the time.
Yeah, Sinbad knows that feeling. He knows it all too well.
The huge stone courtyard just beyond the palace gates is full of people, the press of bodies oppressive. Sinbad studies the shift and flow of the crowd, then decides the direct approach is best. He cups his hands around his mouth. "Make way for the prince!" he bellows.
"Simple. Direct. I like it," Talia approves, hitching Rongar's arm up higher over her shoulders.
The crowd melts to the sides, a pathway opening before them like magic. Rongar chuckles quietly despite the obvious pain he must be in, and the three of them start forward again. Wide eyes and hushed voices follow their approach, and the men wearing hats even remove them as Rongar passes. Sinbad watches as his silent brother's chin lifts, the quiet dignity always within him now shining bright. Though he limps slowly, spilling blood with each step, he's every inch the triumphant monarch returned.
The crowd continues to melt away as they pass, until suddenly some very familiar faces appear before them. Firouz sucks in a deep breath as he sees his wounded friend. Doubar's eyes fix on Sinbad, assessing him for injury first before turning to Rongar.
A heartbeat passes.
Doubar inhales slowly, then rests a hand on Firouz's forearm, tugging the inventor with him as he kneels.
Doubar's gesture is the first, but like a crossbow trigger loosing an arrow, suddenly the crowd sighs and sinks to their knees, almost as one. Sinbad finds it extremely uncomfortable, even though it's not him they're bowing to.
"I could learn to like this," Talia murmurs on Rongar's other side. The prince glances at her knowingly, his eyes clearly saying what his tongue never will: don't get used to it.
As the crowd kneels, a figure is revealed, standing on an upturned crate in the courtyard. He's a small man, ragged and thin, with a mustache beginning to turn grey.
"Your highness!" He jumps from the crate and stumbles to Doubar's side, falling to his knees. "Oh, your highness!"
At this, Rongar steps forward. He removes his arms from Sinbad and Talia's shoulders and shakes his head slowly, lifting the man from his obeisance. *Not you,* he signs firmly, and draws Doubar and Firouz up as well. *Never you.*
"I am Nasir," the little man says, bowing his head courteously at Sinbad and Talia. "Prince Rongar's advisor. I was thrown in the dungeon when Ali Rashid seized power and have been there ever since."
Rongar looks horrified. Sinbad thinks the man is lucky to still be alive.
"I was just attempting to coordinate the removal of Ali Rashid's mercenary guards to the dungeons," Nasir says. "Our...uh...unexpected allies have proven most useful in keeping them in line."
Sinbad looks over the courtyard and sees a mob of men in grey cloaks, huddled together in fear. Several lionesses and…yes, that's a large crocodile...ring the huddle. The animals are not poised for attack, the lionesses' tails curled neatly around their feet, but their bloodied paws and muzzles tell a very clear tale of why those soldiers look so afraid. The crocodile almost looks as if he could be sunbathing, but the open mouth of dragonlike teeth and the vicious hiss he gives when any of the soldiers move give the lie to his motionless body.
It's terrifying. It's magnificent. And Sinbad is still mad as hell at her for it. Yes, these people need help, but he refuses to lose his love now, after all they've overcome.
"Where is she?" he asks, his voice low.
Nasir stares at him blankly.
"With her brothers," Doubar says, fiddling nervously with his hands. "It wasn't my call, I swear it."
Sinbad scowls at the giant. Of course he had a hand in Maeve leaving the Nomad. He's had a hand in all the desperate choices she's made these past moons, so why not this one, too? "Take me to her. Now. And you," he gestures to Firouz, "patch up the prince before he bleeds out."
"Yes, of course," Firouz stammers. "I'll need supplies from the Nomad. Or perhaps there's something in the palace—"
"We've got it," a weary female voice says, a voice Sinbad knows all too well. "Out of the way!" Keely barks, and he watches the crowd across the courtyard shift as she shoves impatiently through the mass of people. "Women and children coming through, back the fuck up! Seriously, do we need weapons to clear this crowd? I'm not a fighter; where's Maeve when I need her?"
The people near her gape; they may never have seen a Celt before, or heard their tongue spoken with such a thick, unfamiliar accent. They certainly have never seen anything like Keely, with her pale skin and that unnatural, bright green forelock falling in her eyes. She carries a large gunnysack over one shoulder. Once she reaches the clear space in the middle of the courtyard, she heaves it off her back and holds it out to Firouz.
"Supplies to get us started. Looks like cleanup is going to take a while." She surveys the staring crowd and wild beasts with the same critical eye, looking neither pleased nor shocked at anything.
Behind her come the rest of the people Sinbad left safe on the Nomad, though he supposes with the fighting over and Maeve's beasts rounding up the mercenary guards, it's reasonably safe now. He's still not thrilled at seeing them, particularly Mia, who presses close to her mother's side, holding the hand of a child he does not know.
"Abi!" the strange girl cries, and she drops Mia's hand, darting from Keely's side. She makes for Nasir, swift and sure as an arrow. "Abi! Abi!"
The ragged man drops to his knees, opening his arms to catch the child as she plows into him. "My girl," he says, and though Sinbad can't see his face from this angle, he knows the man is crying. "My brave girl."
"Is that daidí in Arabic?" an amused female voice asks from behind Sinbad. A wave of relief rushes over him and he turns on his heels, arms reaching for her even before his eyes catch sight of her. What he finds gives him pause for only a moment—she sits sidesaddle on the back of a placid zebra, though he knows full well zebras cannot be broken to ride. That part doesn't surprise him, because she's Maeve. What does surprise him is the man standing protectively beside the beast. He's as ragged as the prisoners, but Sinbad swears he knows that face. He can't place it, but he swears he knows it.
"That's what it means," he tells Maeve, struggling to put the pieces together in his mind, the identity of the unknown man who does not give up his place beside her. "And you, firebrand, are in so much trouble."
She grins playfully at him. "Bring it on. You know you love me. And I think I like it. Abi." She rolls the word around in her mouth, trying it out. "Abi. What's mama?"
"Umi." He stares daggers at the filthy man beside her. If the guy doesn't get out of the way, he's going to get decked.
"I don't know if I like that as well. I guess we'll have to see what Fin thinks." She strokes the zebra's neck.
"Speaking of, what terrible excuse for a babysitter did you leave my kid with now?" Sinbad demands, losing patience. He shoves the man aside, circling his arms around Maeve's waist. She looks terrible, but no worse than she did when he left her earlier in the night. Keely must have succeeded in stopping the bleeding, at the very least. She's still too cool in his arms, but she's conscious and sitting upright. For the moment, she's fine.
"I would be very careful casting aspersions if I were you," Cairpra says blandly, appearing at his side with Finleigh in her arms. "I am a perfectly qualified babysitter, as is your brother. You won't thank me for pointing it out, but no harm came to the child while under his care."
No, in fact, Sinbad does not appreciate her pointing that out. He's still furious that Doubar got anywhere near Fin, let alone held her, and he will not permit it to happen again. He takes his daughter from Cairpra, assessing her critically. She's awake and peaceful, big blue eyes blinking as dawn begins to break over the city—a new day. A new beginning. Her skin is rosy-warm when he strokes her cheek, and she grips his finger firmly when he offers it. She's not crying, and while she's wrapped in what looks like an old shirt he was about to turn into rags, at least she's warm. She's fine.
"How did you get past Keely?" he demands of Maeve, watching out of the corner of his eye as Firouz begins to clean Rongar's wounds. "There's no way she'd have let you off my ship in your condition."
"They," Keely bites out, coming up on Cairpra's other side, "ganged up on me." She glares poison at the old sorceress. "Cast a sleep on me. People have been doing that a lot lately when they want to sneak away, and it's going to stop now." Her glare transfers to her sister. "Couldn't stand missing the action, huh? Or did you just want a pony ride? That is the strangest little horse I've ever seen."
"Whatever. They needed help, so I helped." Maeve reaches for Fin, but Sinbad steps out of her reach.
"No way. You've put my kid in enough danger for one lifetime. She's staying with me," he says firmly, pulling her to his chest. She burbles softly and rests her cheek against his skin and fuck, that melts him.
Maeve shrugs. "Have it your way. You plan to feed her yourself, too?"
He scowls, but before he can open his mouth a startled cry sounds from the strange man he shoved. He lurches across the open space toward the crowd on the other side. "What are you doing up?" he demands, his voice thickly accented.
Nessa, who absolutely should not be up, staggers when his fingers close around her forearm, just above her bandaged wrist. "Making sure you were unhurt and coming back to me!" she snaps back with more strength than she looks like she holds.
Maeve snorts. "Looks like you and Dermott have something in common—a really annoying tendency to overreact."
Sinbad stares, first at the man now helping to support Nessa as she stands with Wren holding her up on her other side, then at Maeve. Then at the man again. He's filthy, and it's really hard to tell what he might look like under all that grime, but something about the way he shakes his head, the tilt of his chin as he argues with the sìthiche woman….
"That's Dermott?"
The smile that breaks like the growing dawn over Maeve's face is beautifully bright. "That's Dermott."
Sinbad looks at his sorceress again. Looks at the man across the courtyard. Looks at his baby. "I changed my mind. Take Fin. I'm going to kill him."
Maeve winds her fist in the shoulder of his shirt. "You will not. If anyone's going to kill him, it'll be me. I haven't made up my mind yet, and I'm too tired to decide today."
"No more bloodshed," Firouz says quietly from Rongar's side. "Please. There's been too much already." His open, honest request as he stitches Rongar closed touches something in Sinbad's heart.
Maeve's, too, it seems. Her tired eyes gentle and she releases Sinbad, stroking her zebra's shoulder again. "Fair enough."
"We're here to help," Keely says. "We just need Nessa settled somewhere before she collapses, and we need some order. There are too many people who need healers, too much chaos."
Rongar beckons Nasir with his free arm. *Set up queues,* he orders.
Firouz sighs with impatience as Rongar uses his hands to speak, forcing him to pause his stitches and dab at the wound in his shoulder again.
*People need healers. Food. Clean water. The last of the mercenaries need rounding up.*
"We will see to it." Nasir sounds overjoyed with this task. He lifts his daughter, though she's really too old to be carried, holding her tightly.
"Doubar said he'd bring you to me," she says, beaming as she hugs him. "He promised."
"And he came through," Nasir agrees. "He helped me get free."
"He's my hero."
Doubar turns red and drops his head bashfully. Sinbad scowls, but he holds his tongue. Now isn't the time to argue with strangers. He cups Fin's warm, silky head in a gentle palm. She's alive. She's alive and healthy, and that's what he needs to remember right now. He holds her, his shoulder pressed gently to Maeve's leg, watching as Niall detaches from the crowd and crosses to Wren, kissing her softly. He looks sweaty and disheveled but uninjured, and she wraps her arms around him, holding him close.
"I guess this is yours," Niall says when she finally releases him, holding Maeve's sheathed sword out to Dermott. He winces. "I never want to swing something so heavy and sharp over my own head again."
Sinbad doesn't blame him. He remembers when he first started training with a blade, how his arm ached so badly he could barely hold a spoon.
Dermott looks at the weapon for a long moment, then slowly shakes his head. "It's not mine. It hasn't been mine for years. And anyway, I'm not the one who needs it. What would I use it for, living on an enchanted island where evil cannot land?" His eyes find Maeve and he nods solemnly at her.
She returns his nod, her eyes suspiciously bright.
"He's not sailing with us anymore, is he?" Sinbad slips an arm around her, holding Fin securely with the other. The zebra doesn't like him so near but holds its ground.
"No," she whispers as the first tear falls. She brushes impatiently at it, swallowing the rest back. Sinbad loves her for her strength, though he'll never require it of her. "All he wants to do is go home."
"And you?"
Her eyes find his. They're brown, yes, but bright as any gemstone. "I am home."
It's the best answer he could hope for.
Niall brings the sword to her. "I had to ask," he says as Sinbad accepts it on her behalf. She doesn't need that huge hunk of steel weighing her down right now. "But I knew what he'd say. It's always been yours. And you were always better with it than he was, anyway."
She laughs. "I was, and I always will be."
"Now this is interesting."
Sinbad turns at the sound of an unfamiliar female voice with a Celt accent. A young woman with red hair bound back by a leather headband strolls up beside Maeve's mount. The zebra snorts and almost breaks, but Maeve holds it steady with just a soft murmur and a gentle touch.
"What are you doing here?" She eyes the newcomer with something like suspicion.
The girl grins. Fuck, she's pretty. But there's something not quite right about her, something that puts Sinbad on his guard. Her eyes glow with unnatural light, just like the handsome blond man who helped Maeve challenge Scratch. He never did get an explanation about that man, and now he regrets not asking earlier.
"I came to watch the show," the girl says. She's dressed in Celt hunting leather, as tall and proud as Maeve, very beautiful and very barbarian. The citizens slowly forming into ragged queues for food and healers draw back from her. Her keen eyes rake over the crowd, the wild animals lounging among them, the blood smeared liberally on the paving stones. "Seems I missed at least part of it."
Maeve tips her head to the side. "Didn't your father specifically forbid you from coming with us?"
The other woman gives her a pitying look. "He forbade me to join you in hell. Does this look like hell? Plus, Samhain is over. Dawn is here." She nods her head at the golden eastern sky. "There's no need to guard the veil between worlds anymore."
"Maeve?" Sinbad asks cautiously, his arm tightening around her. He's not sure he likes this newcomer. Her eyes scare him, and she sounds way too much like the other mouthy Celt women he knows for his comfort. Maeve can usually take care of herself, but she can also easily be goaded into taking on more than she can handle, and that's a threat they do not need today.
Maeve grins at him. "Sinbad, meet Princess Messei, Midir and Étaín's daughter."
Because of course a legend out of a fireside tale would just randomly show up today. Of course. His teeth clench, but he bows his head to the princess anyway. This is no time to be rude. All he wants in the world is to get Maeve and Fin somewhere quiet where they can rest—yet again—but he knows better than to be rude to a mystical royal. That's the sort of thing that gets people like him cursed.
"So you're what all the fuss was about?" Her bright blue eyes study him for a moment. "I guess I can see it. Even if you are a foreigner."
"I'm sorry you came all this way for nothing," Maeve says, hiding a smile, "but the battle here is basically over. I'm sure there's more soldiers to round up, but—"
"Oh, I'm not here for that." The princess, who is undeniably beautiful but looks and acts nothing like a princess, waves this away impatiently. "If you've seen one human bloodbath, you've seen them all. No, I'm here for the real show."
A crash of thunder suddenly sounds, and Sinbad's arm tightens compulsively around his daughter. She squalls, the loud sound painful to her new ears. Sinbad wraps her in his arms, holding her as tightly as he dares, rocking his body gently to soothe her. Ordinarily his first instinct would be to reach for his sword but he can't do both. His eyes search the terrified crowd, seeking the source of the dark magic he now feels unfolding before him.
Maeve's beasts tense, the prey animals quivering, ready to break and run, the predators crouching low, searching for danger just as Sinbad does. "Get off that thing!" he snaps. That zebra's ready to bolt at any moment. Maeve ignores him.
"Aaand there it is!" the princess crows, pointing. Sinbad doesn't need the guide—he can see the danger now, plain as the dawning sun. Scratch wasn't here a moment ago, but now he strides through the crowd, scattering people and wild animals like gravel. He looms huge, larger than Sinbad swears he was last night, a solid man-and-a-half in height. Full of terror, the crowd breaks and runs.
Maeve's control over the animals is good, but not good enough for this. They bolt. Sinbad's stomach lurches as the zebra beneath her scrambles and darts away. He can't reach for her with Fin in his arms, and Messei doesn't bother to try.
It's Doubar, to Sinbad's everlasting irritation, who catches her when she jumps free of the panicking animal, slowing her fall and preventing what could have been a catastrophic injury. Falling from a horse is one thing, but falling from an animal crazed with fear in her condition could have killed her. Doubar's heavy bulk shields her from the unforgiving stone, and he sets her bare feet down gently.
"Easy, girl," he says, his voice rough as he stares at the approaching demon.
Her knees buckle and she grabs at the first mate's arm for balance. He wraps a bulky arm around her and lets her lean on him. "I don't think running's going to do us much good right now. What do you think?" His gray eyes widen as Scratch nears.
"Oh, he's not looking for you," Messei says, looking like she's watching the best sport she's seen all year. "He can't attack you mortals openly in this world, or did you forget?"
Sinbad scowls fiercely as his daughter wails into his skin. She has a right to be terrified, and he can't calm her. Grown men wail, too, as they struggle to get out of the demon's path. This is why he wanted Fin and Maeve and all the other vulnerable members of this clan safe on the Nomad. This is exactly why. He didn't know Scratch was going to just show up uninvited, but he's learned by now always to expect the unexpected. Now he has his vulnerable newborn in his arms, he can't hold both her and Maeve at the same time, and he can't protect either of them because he can't draw his sword.
But Scratch doesn't seem to even notice he's here. "Rumina!" the demon bellows. "You insufferable, slithering little sorceress, I command you to appear!"
To Sinbad's surprise, she does.
And she doesn't look good.
She stands upright, alone amid the cowering crowd, dressed in black that shows how sickly-pale her skin has grown. A delicate chain digs painfully into her neck, squeezing tight, the red stone Scratch gifted her glowing malevolently at the hollow of her throat.
"I thought he had no power in this world?" Sinbad hisses at the princess. "How can he command her?"
She rolls her eyes. "A bargain was struck. That gives him power over this one. Shut up! I want to watch."
Sinbad curses under his breath and moves to Doubar's side. "Take her," he snaps at Maeve, pushing their wailing daughter into her arms and slipping his around her instead. He lifts her carefully, holding his family like the most precious cargo he's ever been entrusted with—because they are. No piles of silk or gold or jewels can compare. "Don't touch her," he growls at Doubar. "Don't ever touch her."
Maeve exhales a displeased breath, but Sinbad really, really doesn't care at the moment. She seems to have conveniently forgotten what Doubar did to her, did to Fin, but he has not. Nor will he ever. He holds her close, cradling her sharp body against him as she holds their daughter. Nestled between her mother's breasts, comforted by the scent of the body she's known since conception, the baby begins to calm.
Sinbad returns his attention to the dark sorceress standing alone before Scratch. She's been a thorn in his side ever since he killed her father. Turok needed to die and Sinbad stands by his actions, but he also acknowledges, as he has from the beginning, that in killing Turok he created this enemy. She might have pursued him on a whim otherwise, intrigued by his looks and his swagger, as so many women are. But she wouldn't have sought to alternately dominate and destroy him. At least, he doesn't think so. It's hard to be sure with Rumina, he admits. Turok was evil, pure and simple, cold and calculating, analytical and ruthless and very, very dangerous. Rumina is not. She has a spark of whimsy to her that, while dark, makes her harder to understand and harder to defeat.
Her hatred for Maeve, however, is something he understands very clearly, and this is the thing he cannot tolerate. Rumina could pursue him to the end of their days for all he cares, but the moment she lifted her hand against his firebrand, she went too far and became not just a thorn in his side but an enemy he had to eradicate. Selling his soul to Scratch was evil, but targeting Maeve was unforgivable.
He watches Rumina now as he holds his family tucked close against his heart. Maeve and Fin are his, safe in his arms, and Rumina stands alone. Were it not for all he's suffered these past moons—past two years, really—he might feel sorry for her. But honestly, he doesn't. He just wants an end.
The dark sorceress lifts her chin defiantly, outwardly fearless as she faces down the arch-demon. She doesn't look well at all, her lips an odd purplish color, her body visibly shaking as she fights for each breath, but she does not beg for mercy, does not back down.
"You!" Scratch's bellow shakes the ground so badly Sinbad glances at the paving stones, expecting to find cracks. "Dark little treacherous demonspawn that you are. I warned you very clearly. Lie and cheat all you want, but not to me!"
"I never cheated you," she spits back, her voice wheezing from lungs unable to support it. Her inhaled gasp is ragged, like the tattered rags of a spent sail.
"We struck a bargain, little witch." The demon's voice drops. He sounds no less angry, but a little quieter. Fin nestles against Maeve's skin, seeking comfort. Her hands are so gentle as she holds her. Sinbad feels his body release the last lingering strings of tension left over from Maeve's initial rejection of her daughter. This is something they have not talked about and need to, but he no longer fears for his daughter's relationship with her mother. The bond is there, crystal-clear even to his oblivious male eyes, his newborn seeking comfort and her mother giving what she can. She cannot stop Scratch's furious bellows, but she can hold and comfort the child and she does so with aching tenderness.
"I want you back on the Nomad," Sinbad says, frowning at Fin's distress.
"You want to cross that courtyard right now? No way. One or the other of them would try to incinerate us. Besides, I'm not missing this. I've waited way too long to see Rumina get hers."
The redheaded princess grins at them. "You and me both, sister. I don't even know who she is, but this is already the best fun I've had in decades."
Sinbad decides that, whoever that princess is, he doesn't want her and Maeve becoming friends. Keely's bad enough. This one, he suspects, is capable of far worse than a little mouthiness.
"You," Scratch accuses, pointing a long, clawed finger at Rumina, "sold me that sailor's soul for the price of my continued magic in that stone you wear, and to stop me from seeking retribution for the way you ran when your precious Skull Mountain collapsed."
Rumina blinks slowly at him, then turns her head, looking at the cowering forms of the citizens, Maeve's gathered family and the Nomad crew standing their ground. Her icy gaze finds Sinbad, Maeve held in his arms, and her mouth thins, nearly disappearing into a line as sharp as a knife's edge. "If you couldn't claim his soul, that's your problem. It has nothing to do with me." Her hand rises as if she wants to tug at the chain digging into her throat, but she forces it back down.
"It has everything to do with you," Scratch growls. "You attempted to double-cross me, offering yourself as his champion, the vessel to carry a child and break my claim on his soul. For that betrayal, your soul is now forfeit to me. You know it as well as I do. The moment you double-crossed me, that chain began tightening around your throat. Death is the only end. There is no other option." Scratch snarls. "You didn't know, though—and how could you, foolish human that you are?—that the Tam Lin Protocol is a sham, a deception. A trap. You could never have freed him, not if you bore him a hundred little brats."
"I can vouch for that," Messei calls happily into the silence. "My aunt Oicnis created the trap, and it's a good one." She grins as Rumina scowls furiously at her.
"If the Protocol does not exist," the witch wheezes, struggling for enough breath to voice each word, "then why is he still among the living? Why could you not claim him?"
"Because," Scratch spits, scowling bitterly at Sinbad and Maeve, "that cursed Celt is strong and fearless—far stronger than you. Stronger than I gave her credit for. It is a mistake I will not make again."
Sinbad holds Maeve tighter. Scratch can't touch them. He holds tight to the assurance that Scratch can't touch them in this world. He and Maeve and Fin are safe. The demon may want to exterminate them, but he can't. Maeve won their safety.
Rumina glares, her eyes cold and baleful. She takes in the woman Sinbad holds against his chest, the newborn nestled between them. By all rights, Sinbad thinks, Maeve should have a snarky remark for her enemy in this moment as she holds everything Rumina does not. Her céile. Her brother, assuming she decides to forgive him. The child she never wanted but willingly bore out of love, for the sake of Sinbad's soul. She's battered and bloody, but he has faith she'll survive this day. Rumina will not. Maeve has won, but she has mercy enough that, though she deserves a moment to gloat, she does not. She watches her longtime enemy in silence, holding Fin and saying nothing. That, Sinbad thinks, is perhaps the epitome of grace.
"Scratch really doesn't like you," Messei observes, looking Maeve up and down. "Maybe you are my descendant after all. You're fierce enough. It wouldn't surprise me." She grins.
Maeve smiles back. Oh, gods help him. The last thing Sinbad needs is Maeve making friends with an immortal ancestor like this one.
"That peasant whore's ability to wiggle out of trouble has nothing to do with our deal," Rumina insists, ignoring the princess. "If the Tam Lin Protocol doesn't exist, then my attempt to use it means nothing. I did nothing wrong!"
"Oh, but you did. A broken vow is a broken vow, no matter what comes of it—or fails to." Scratch smiles grimly. "Your soul now belongs to me, and I have come to collect. Playing these games with you was fun, my dear. Your heart is a twisted, black delight. But I do not tolerate betrayal from anyone, even one so deliciously evil as you."
Maeve presses close to Sinbad, inhaling a sharp breath. He kisses her temple, his eyes never leaving their two enemies. This is it. The moment they've been praying for. Sinbad never expected that Scratch would be the one to remove Rumina from their lives, and yet it seems oddly fitting somehow. Evil and loyalty cannot exist together, so this was always going to be the outcome of their alliance, one evil destroying the other. Sinbad feels no remorse. Rumina tried to double-cross the arch-demon, a devil far stronger than any human sorcerer. She had to know that wouldn't end well.
Scratch extends an arm slowly toward Rumina and turns his palm up. Mockingly, he beckons with one filthy, clawed finger. Rumina sucks in one last, stuttering gasp and her body jerks, just once. Then she disappears, the necklace with its glowing stone falling to the paving stones with a metallic chime. All that remains is a little golden light hovering in the air, pulsing like a firefly. Scratch folds his fingers around it, claiming its delicate brilliance.
"Wait!"
The voice tears from a rough throat unused to human speech, and to Sinbad's shock, he sees Dermott leave Nessa's side, stumbling toward the demon.
"Who is this fool?" Scratch scowls at him. "Run, boy, before I claim your soul, too."
"You have no right to it, so you can't," Dermott says. He stares at the demon's fist, the light from the soul trapped inside still visible as it flickers. "Stop," he implores. "This isn't right."
"She double-crossed the original double-crosser," Scratch says blandly. "No god of any realm would argue my right to exact payment in this manner, so get out of my way."
"You may have the right, but that doesn't make it just," Dermott insists.
"Hi, demigod here, and I see nothing wrong with it," Messei speaks up. "It was over a bit too quickly for my taste—I wanted a good chase with some explosions or something like that, maybe someone siccing those lions on one or the other. But the demon's right, no matter how disgusting he is. If the witch promised him a soul he could not collect, hers is forfeit."
Dermott drops awkwardly to his knees at Messei's booted feet. She folds her arms over her chest and arches her delicate eyebrows. "Now this is interesting. I'm listening, stranger."
He stares up at her in supplication. "I have every right to hate that witch and want her dead," he says. "Eight years ago she cursed me for choosing my family over life as her plaything. She turned me into a beast, an animal without speech, unable to communicate with anyone but my baby sister." He nods at Maeve in Sinbad's arms, a deeply respectful lowering of his head. "I remained that way until yesterday, despite my sister's vow to return me to myself. She did the best she could, more than any man could fairly expect of anyone, but Rumina's magic and hate are strong, and despite what the fireside tales say, love alone does not conquer all." He clears his throat. "Rumina turned me back not as an act of mercy but of torture, wishing me to watch with human eyes and listen with human ears as my chéile died slowly, poisoned by iron." He glances swiftly behind him, where Nessa stands propped between Wren and Cairpra. She does not look well, but she's on her feet. "Through the witch's scheming with Scratch, a wedge was hammered between myself and my sister—all my family, really. They threatened to drive us apart, and they nearly succeeded. By all rights, I should be first in line to applaud at Rumina's damnation."
Messei tips her head to the side, considering Dermott's story. "Then why are you not, gentle warrior? Does her death not bring you the closure you desire?"
"No, it doesn't," Dermott says quietly. "Because my closure does not require her death. I have it already. My sister is safe. My chéile is safe. That's all I need. Maeve may never forgive me for the wrongs I have done her—that remains to be seen. But damning that soul to everlasting torment won't solve anything." He casts a swift glance at Maeve, his face guarded, as if he suspects she will not like what he's about to say. "Rumina and my sister—they're two sides of the same coin. Complete opposites, but forged by the same hand."
Maeve stiffens in Sinbad's arms. No, she does not like that at all. Sinbad rests his mouth against her temple, willing her to calm. Dermott deserves to have his say. He's currently mad as hell at her brother, but the man deserves this much.
"Your sister does not agree with you," Messei observes.
"No." Dermott drops his head. "She wouldn't. But she doesn't know what I know."
"Enough of this!" Scratch snarls, tightening his hand around the flickering light.
"No," Messei says simply. "I choose to hear him out, so you will stay."
Sinbad doesn't know what sort of power this woman might have, how much control a demigod, if that's what she truly is, can wield over Scratch, but for now the demon growls angrily without disappearing.
"When my sister was barely out of swaddling clothes, she watched as our father beat and killed our mother. She held her and spoke to her, comforting her in her final moments, I like to believe, until I discovered them and pulled Maeve from the house. He would have killed her, too, with no more regret than a man swatting a gnat. Rumina, I learned recently, shares this wound. Her mother was caught trying to escape her father's clutches, and the witch also watched her die. But she had no brother, no one to protect her. She was left with the man who murdered her mother, and she became what he wished her to become." He shakes his head slowly. "No soul is born into this world evil. I cannot believe that. Maeve grew strong with resilience, partially intrinsic to her being, partially learned from the people around her. We had very little else, but we had each other. She was never alone. Rumina grew without that support, nothing but a black-hearted sorcerer who trained and used her according to his own whims. She had no chance." He nods at Scratch's hand closed tightly around the flickering light. "That soul had no chance."
"An interesting argument." Messei watches Dermott, her big blue eyes sharp and intelligent. "What would you have, then, traveler? What would you see me do?"
"I don't know," he confesses. "I only know that condemning a soul to everlasting damnation for the actions of one lifetime, a lifetime twisted and deformed from its earliest years, isn't fair. It's not right. That soul is still a soul."
"It is," Messei confirms. "I don't myself remember what it is to have a soul; I was born with one, but residing permanently beyond the veil means it was forfeit." She glances at Maeve. "That is why you would not allow my mother to take the child, wasn't it?" she says with a dry smile.
"In part," Maeve acknowledges, stroking Fin's soft cheek. "She belongs with her father, as I said. But that was also a decision I couldn't in good conscience make for her."
Now Sinbad is furious. What's this about giving Fin to a goddess or demi-goddess? Sending her to another world? He's going to have to demand every bit of this story once Maeve is feeling better.
Messei turns back to Dermott. "Not having a soul myself, I do not know what it feels like. But I do understand the basics of how they function. You are correct; the soul itself is not at fault. But what would you have me do? What Scratch wishes may not be right, in your estimation, but it is fair. A soul for a soul."
"No," Dermott says, and determination gleams in his eyes. "No. That's the wrong equation. This isn't about a soul for a soul, Scratch seizing something else because he could not claim what he was promised."
"Then what is it about? It seems very clear to me."
"Mercy." Dermott's voice breaks and he coughs. "A chance at redemption. I do not deserve my sister's forgiveness, but she may give it anyway. I can't answer that for her. Rumina doesn't deserve another chance any more than I do, and for myself I do not forgive her, but I forgive that soul. I cannot look at that light and wish for it to go out."
The breaking dawn promises a clear, bright day, not a cloud in the sky. But suddenly, through even the pink and golden rays of morning, a clearer, gleaming light shines down, encasing Messei and Dermott in its blinding radiance.
"Not the creepy light again," Doubar moans from just behind Sinbad.
Messei grins. "Looks like granddad agrees with you, gentle one." She cocks her head to the side as if listening to something Sinbad cannot hear. After a moment, she nods. "He's willing to offer you a deal."
"He can't!" Scratch clenches his hand hard around the tiny golden light and surges forward, toward Dermott and the princess. "No trifling barbarian god from a tiny, distant realm has power over me!"
"No?" Messei grins. "Tell him that." Her eyes shift to Dermott. "My grandfather, the Dagda, will agree to give this soul the mercy you request—a new chance. A fresh start. But only on one condition. You and yours must take responsibility for this thing you wish. Safeguard it. Ensure what happened before does not happen again. If you do not agree, Scratch is free to take that soul back to his underworld with him, damned for all eternity."
"A fresh start—you mean a child?" Dermott questions carefully.
The princess nods. "Yours to raise. Yours to guide. Your charge and duty for the rest of your lives. That is the agreement."
With wide eyes, Dermott turns to Nessa. Wordlessly, she nods.
"Hold it!" Keely barks, Mia held tight to her side. "This charge falls on our entire clan, not just you, and I don't like it. Rumina's tortured us all for eight long years."
"But that's not Rumina anymore," Nessa says quietly, her voice hoarse.
"Correct," Messei confirms. "The slate has been wiped clean. What will exist now is entirely up to you."
"She was what Turok made her, Keel," Dermott says, his eyes imploring his sister.
"She had choices," Keely argues. "She chose wrong every time!"
"What if that were Maeve? There but for fortune, little sister. What if our sister were the one with no guiding hand but Turok's?"
Keely scowls. "We live under protective spells that do not permit evil near. What will you do if you're wrong? If you suddenly learn in five years, or ten, that the root remains rotten and has poisoned the tree? If this is a blight you cannot cure? What will you do then?" Her hand strokes Mia's dark curls. "I will not have my children endangered because you felt the need to play the hero!"
"I can't predict what will happen," Dermott says quietly. "I don't think even Zorah can. But I don't believe souls, or children, work that way."
Sinbad watches this exchange, fear simmering deep in his gut and high in his throat. Maeve has not weighed in yet, and he suspects she'll side with Keely, not Dermott. He's scared that doing so may finally break this clan apart. What happens if Dermott and Nessa decide to take this chance, raise this child, but Keely and Maeve do not permit them to do so at Breakwater? Will Antoine leave with his sister again, forsaking his woman and children?
Maeve exhales a slow, ragged breath, shoving her cold nose into Sinbad's cheek, seeking the steady comfort of his skin. He kisses her gently. Wet brown eyes meet his. He sees so many questions in them. She wants to side with Keely. Too many years of hurt, too much damage, lie between her and forgiveness. But she does not want her family shattered.
"Mercy, firebrand," he says softly. Her eyes flick between his, searching, seeking an answer he's not sure he can give. He can feel the rising panic in her, the jagged feathers of a deep terror that runs as long as her travels, as old as her birth. Betrayal and blood, loyalty and perseverance. "Mercy," is all he can say. "For Dermott, if not for Rumina. For Nessa, if not for Dermott."
"What if she hurts Mia? Or the boys? Or Fin?"
He closes his eyes for a long moment, steeling himself for what he has to say no matter how much he hates pointing it out to her. "Doubar already hurt Fin. He nearly killed her. She may never walk right; Keely says we'll have to wait and see. Yet you forgave him."
"You didn't," she says, but the argument lacks her usual conviction. Her voice wavers as she holds her baby and stares at Dermott.
"Mercy," is all Sinbad can say. No, he hasn't forgiven Doubar and he doesn't want his brother near his child. But Maeve may be capable of more ruth than he.
"We'll protect her?" Her voice trembles in a way he's wholly unused to, the first tear spilling from her eye as she blinks down at the newborn in her arms.
"We'll protect them all," he confirms. "But, in this case, I don't believe we'll have to. I'm with Dermott on this one, no matter how much I want to beat the shit out of him."
She nods jerkily, then presses her mouth to his for a brief, sweet moment. She tastes like tears. Like the ocean. He watches her inhale an unsteady breath. "Mercy, Keel," she tells her sister. Niall and Wren silently nod.
Faced with the unanimous opinion of her siblings, Keely unwillingly accepts defeat. "I don't like it," she says. "And I want that made very clear. But we're a clan, and we stand united. If you intend to do this," she tells Dermott and Nessa, "then we do it together."
With her acquiescence, the beam of light surrounding Messei and Dermott grows brighter. Scratch roars in fury as the little golden light flies from his fist, weaving like a firefly as it makes its way to Nessa. She trembles as she holds her hand out, palm open, in invitation. The little light settles in her hand and a moment later disappears. She stares at Dermott with wide eyes.
"That," Mia says with disgust, "is not how babies are made."
Messei laughs. "I think they'll take care of the other part fairly quickly."
"This will not stand!" Scratch fumes. "Do you have any idea how long I worked to gain that sailor's soul?"
"On this particular plan? I'd guess about a year, considering the newborn there," Messei says coolly, nodding at Fin. "Barely a second for an immortal such as you. I suggest you stop complaining and find a better partner in crime next time. You don't seem to have had much luck on your own." The bright light around her fades, and she shakes herself. "Is there any more fun to be had here? Or is the show over?"
"That is the strangest goddess I've ever met," Firouz mutters as he moves to the wound in Rongar's side.
"How many goddesses have you met?" Doubar challenges, though he seems a little dazed.
"Begone with you." Messei waves dismissively at Scratch. "It's a new day. Time for you to be heading home."
The demon's eyes narrow at Sinbad. "There is nowhere you can run, captain. Nowhere I can't find you."
"I never ran. I never will. All I ever did was try to protect my family."
Scratch snarls. "That family will never be safe from me." In a blaze of fire and the reek of brimstone, he disappears. The necklace that once bound Rumina collapses into dust.
Maeve inhales shakily. "We'll be safe, Sinbad. Fin's strong, and we'll teach her."
"I know." He holds them tightly, his sorceress and their daughter. They do not live a life of safety, but no one in this world does. Maeve's right—their best defense against Scratch is to teach Fin how to protect herself, to learn from the mistakes her parents made. To tell her this story, the good with the bad, and let her take from it what she will. He watches Dermott climb unsteadily to his feet and limp to Nessa's side, watches how tenderly he holds her. "Will you forgive your brother?"
"Will you forgive yours?"
He holds her tightly and does not answer.