Disclaimer: yes, I invented all things in this chapter, breakfast, mornings, prisons, retribution—all of it. My copyright is filed under "Madmen's Claims" in Imaginary Library.
Rilian opens his eyes the next morning and immediately shuts them again. There is far too much light in the room. He rolls over, burying his head in the pillow.
"Awake?" It's Drinian's voice, relaxed but without that hint of sarcasm. He's in a good mood.
"No," Rilian responds back. "How late is it?"
"Far past breakfast. I brought you some."
Rilian smells it now, eggs and toast and, surprisingly, citrus. It'd been his favourite breakfast as a child, but as soon as he came of age to drink wine, he'd decided juice wasn't dignified.
The juice smells good, as if the oranges had been freshly squeezed, and the kitchen had mixed in all the extras. Rilian decides it might be worth getting up for, and so he rolls over. "Why are you here?" he asks through his first mouthful.
"You've been going out every night."
Rilian freezes for a moment, just a moment, because he hadn't expected his keepers to pick up on that yet, but he keeps himself calm and stabs another forkful of eggs. "I've done that before." He hopes Drinian will just let it pass, because it's such a fragile hope. If he speaks it, he's not sure it will last.
"Where have you been going?"
"On the ocean."
"Your Majesty." Drinian is gentle, very gentle, but unrelenting. "Do I need to remind you of the danger of going out alone?"
Rilian weighs it, the worry of his counsellor (his friend) against the hope—but Drinian knows the sea, and may be able to help. Rilian should know better than to listen to fears by now. "I've been seeking the Merfolk. All the attacks have happened on land." Drinian says nothing; when Rilian looks up, he sees the captain's stunned look, the way his eyes blink as he processes this information.
"They might know how to save her," Drinian says slowly.
"Yes."
"Is that all?"
Rilian looks at his plate and shakes his head. "I—am hoping they can lead me to Ileana's father."
"Whatever for?"
"I'd like to ask for her hand in marriage." Rilian feels his cheeks growing hot, and it makes him irritable, for he is a man long grown and not some sapling sprout, but he can't help it. No matter how much he dislikes it.
"Well," Drinian says slowly. Rilian glances up, and there's a smile spreading over the old man's face, wide enough to swallow a ship. "Well."
"You said she'd make a good queen."
"A good queen—and a good wife. Well done, Your Majesty." That wide smile fades a bit. "Is that all?"
"Yes?" Rilian asks, pausing at another forkful. "Come, Captain, what are you hinting at?"
"You are not seeking revenge on the Ambassador or our other enemy, all alone?"
Rilian puts down his fork, trying to bring up the words to express the utter stupidity of doing such a thing—but his friend raises a hand and cuts him off.
"You've done it before."
Twenty years ago, Rilian thinks. When I was still young. Haven't I grown wiser since? But there's a good point, and true concern, in Drinian's question. "I have not been hunting our enemies."
"Good. Are you finished with breakfast?"
"Not quite." Another forkful of eggs, and Rilian leans back, scooping up his toast. "What's the hurry?"
A pause fills the room, and the King looks at his friend. With a shake of his old head, Drinian shakes off what he's thinking. "Finish your toast."
Rilian does not take another bite. His counsellor is usually more forthright than this. "Why?"
"Because you have a busy day ahead of you, and you need a good breakfast. Finish it, and then I'll give you the news I bring."
"Ileana is well?"
"Yes, yes, she's fine."
The quickest way to get news is to finish the breakfast, and the toast goes down in three more bites. Rilian drinks the juice so quickly he barely tastes it, and looks back at Drinian seconds later as he sets the glass down. "Well?"
"Captain Etmun came back last night with a prisoner. They caught the squid in the caves—not the one he held us in."
The breakfast dishes rattle; Rilian is on his feet before he realises he's standing. "Let's go."
"There's a bit more to it than that." Drinian takes a breath and lets it out. "Two knotted points. One, the squid's looking for someone. The soldiers heard him calling in the cave, demanding someone come out, that he could still help."
"Our mystery villain with the rotten smell," Rilian mutters, beginning to pace.
"So I would guess. Two, I've talked with Fourlegs. WE can't do anything to the Ambassador but ship him back."
There's a thunk; Rilian winces. Kicking the chair had been stupid, especially since he already knew this information, but he didn't like it any more than he had the first time.
"On the clear side, Fourlegs pointed out that the Tisroc is likely to be quite unhappy with an Ambassador who nearly started a war, and probably has far worse punishments than Narnia does."
"Good point." One long, slow breath, then another, and Rilian feels more calm. Which, his father taught him, is a necessary skill for a king. "Where is he now?"
"Our smallest cell."
"Then we'll go."
There's an entire troop of soldiers guarding the entrance to that particular hallway, and Rilian raises an eyebrow at Drinian.
"Captain Etmun thought the squid's former ally might come and rescue him." Drinian nods at the cells, and Rilian realises there's guards locked inside them as well. Drawing closer, Drinian mutters, "the voice seems to aim at people, so the Captain thought having people she'd leave alone might give us an advantage. He's sharp as a blade, that one."
When Drinian stops, Rilian hears that particular irritating voice that he hadn't really missed. "...rules set between the two countries. Even to hold me in a place such as this—"
"According to the treaty, if the Ambassador has refused to comply with the limits set by the country—"
"I was never once forbidden from leaving the castle—"
"You were. Your intent was clearly running away. We are allowed—"
"You think you know the law? I studied that entire treaty before I came, you can't win against me. Release me at once!"
"That isn't going to happen," Drinian drawls, approaching the bars. Inside the cell, Fourlegs falls silent, stepping back against the wall. Glancing over at the King, Drinian adds, "I thought he might like some company in the room we've given him."
Rilian approves; Fourlegs makes marvellous company for such a guest. Surveying the cell, Rilian forces his face to stay still, not to reveal any of the surprise he's feeling. Someone drew the chains to half the length they usually are; the Ambassador can sit or stand against the wall, but not go further.
It's kinder than what he did to Drinian.
"King of Narnia, release me at once. I am the representative of a foreign power—"
"Hush."
Running his eyes over the rest of the cell, Rilian notes the usual chair and dresser have been removed; the bed is currently out of reach, and Rilian wonders if they lengthen the prisoner's chains at night. Probably; cruelty is not tolerated in Narnia.
But these actions, in their merciless justice, alarm him. All of it alarms him, because it pleases him; because it's so easy to approve. It's so easy to silence the Ambassador, to call him a squid, to believe he deserves nothing but the worst.
And a King cannot do that. A King has to be impartial, just, allowing even the guilty a chance to defend themselves.
Gladness suddenly rushes into Rilian's heart, because he won't have to sentence this criminal. Much as he wants to, much as he wants to see justice, vengeance, done, for Ileana, for Drinian, for all the Narnians who searched and worried, for the barrel of tears, for the hoarseness of Drinian's voice, for the fears Ileana had—
For all of it. For the list of charges too numerous to list right now. Rilian wishes he could take all the vengeance. But true Kings don't take vengeance, they give justice, and Rilian's heart is far too full of anger to do that.
The Ambassador watches Rilian, the King notes, as he turns his head back. Part calculating, eyes flicking back and forth, but part afraid. The fear is there in the stillness of his hands, the quick breathing.
Rilian wants to draw it out, to let him hang in fear in the dark—but he can't trust himself right now, so he doesn't.
"You will be returned to the Calormen party today, this very morn, and I will send you all out of Narnia. Be grateful, to whatever god you serve, that I don't do more to you than leave you in this cell for however long you've been here." Turning away, Rilian makes it two steps before the Ambassador's voice stops him.
"You care for her."
"That is not any of your business."
The next sound makes Rilian's flesh creep; it's laughter, high and joyless, the laughter of a man partially mad. "You've lost! You've lost!"
"What do you mean? And by Aslan, silence your laughter!" Rilian whirls to see Drinian taking a menacing step towards the bars, and the Ambassador ceases his cackling.
"If you care for her, you've lost."
"Tell us what you mean," Rilian cuts in, before Drinian can make another threat.
The dark eyes of the Ambassador look at him. It's an empty stare, lost and somehow thrilled. Rilian wonders, suddenly, if the ally drove the man mad on purpose, or if keeping such company came with its own cost.
"I wasn't the only one hunting her. Oh no, certainly not; she's still being hunted. Someone is still took my pearls, you took my Mermaid, and someone will take her from you! And you can't catch her, you can't catch her! You can't stop her. But she'll be caught at last. Yes, and then you'll have lost. Just like I've lost!"
The high, cackling laughter sounds again; Rilian takes another step closer. "Tell me more," he asks, calmly, because he has to be calm, threats don't work on madmen, and this man knows something that might help Narnia—and Ileana.
"There isn't any more! Just a little more time, that's all, just a little, and then everyone loses! Everyone but her."
"And what will she do?" Rilian asks, because maybe the squid doesn't mean Ileana, maybe the other villain is a she, and learning more about her—
"She gave me Ileana once. Oh, she'll come for the Mermaid again. But I won't tell you more. You'll find out. She wants you to find out." The Ambassador's laughter cuts off, and he shivers. "She wouldn't want me to tell more. She makes me do things I don't like, sometimes."
There's ice swirling like a whirlpool in Rilian's stomach. When he looks down, his hands are shaking. "You're going to Calormen." He licks his dry lips, tries to make his voice coaxing. "She won't catch you. Tell me a little more. Tell me—" not where she is, because the squid didn't know, but—"what she wants."
Footsteps grow a little bit louder, interrupting, and then there's arguing voices down the corridor. Fourlegs, who had remained entirely silent, opens the cell door and steps into the corridor. "I would guess that's the Calormene entourage. The sooner they regain the prisoner the sooner they regain control over the spiralling situation, would be my guess. Just a guess, Your Majesty, but from the level of anger in their tone—"
"Thank you, Fourlegs. Guard," Rilian adds, more loudly, "allow them to pass."
No one enjoys the argument that came next. The Calormene dignitary, beginning with several compliments to King Rilian's justice and wisdom, says they will take their wayward representative home. Rilian argues for more time—though the madman won't likely say anything, it's worth a try—but the dignitary won't budge a fingernail's length, and Rilian has to deal with that while Drinian mutters sarcastic remarks about people who demand a ransom one day and a prisoner the next, and Fourlegs agrees with the dignitary on some points of law and interjects other, off-point observations at other times.
It's far too much to deal with, and Rilian gives in, though not gracefully. One of the guards (inside another cell) brings out the keys, and the squid stalks by with as much dignity as a madman has—which is to say, a surprising amount. A single glare, and none of the dignitaries lay a hand on him. Rilian watches them go down the hallway.
"Tell them they sail right after lunch," he says in a low voice to the guards. Looking over at Drinian, he asks "What do you think?"
"Do madmen tell the truth?" Drinian shrugs. "It's hard to say. I'd like to get Captain Etmun's opinion on it, but word of mouth won't mean as much as seeing it."
"I'd guess he told the truth as he knew it, Your Majesty." Both men jump at the quiet voice, and look over to see one more guard—the Captain—that they hadn't noticed, sitting in the darkest corner of the cell across the way.
"Captain," Drinian says dryly.
"Why don't you join us?" Rilian adds, just as dryly. Shrugging off his cloak, the Captain lays it over his arm and slips out of the unlocked cell.
"I'd say something is coming for the Lady, and for You, Your Majesty. And I don't like it, because we don't know if a greater group of people is a sure defence against it."
That ice creeps further up Rilian's stomach, reaching for his heart. It's a sickening sense of helplessness, like waiting for an execution—or like sitting in a silver chair, waiting for her to come back.
And it threatens the warmest, brightest thing he's known, the person that came closest to lifting that darkness.
"Let's go find her," he says, words rushing.
"Right," Drinian agrees, already turning.
"We'll do everything we can to keep her safe," Captain Etmun promises, quiet and sure. The sound pierces through Rilian's fear, and he slows for a minute.
"Thank you for catching one of our problems, Captain. Forgive me for not saying it before, but well done."
There's a brief hesitation. "I'm glad to do my duty, and glad it's done well."
There's a chuckle on Rilian's other side, and Drinian interjects himself into the conversation. "It's not an easy thing to be praised by the King, is it? Get used to it, lad. I get the feeling you'll deserve a lot more praise like that in the future."
"Hopefully by catching men somewhat less loathsome."
By now they've emerged from the dungeons, and Rilian speeds up as they approach Ileana's hallway.
"Not that way," the Captain calls after him. Turning, Rilian raises an eyebrow, and the Captain shrugs. "I try to get hourly reports on her—and the two of you, begging your pardon. She went to your room, left without waking you, had breakfast, and then went out to the garden. She attempted to help the gardeners water the new trees, but struggled with the weight. They asked her to pick up broken twigs instead."
"Thank you, that's quite useful." Rilian heads for the garden instead, still keeping that fast pace. He outstrips his friends quickly, and by the time he reaches the garden he's panting. He slows his pace, walking down the paths and looking for the golden hair amid the sea of green bushes and bright flowers, but he's covered most of the new trees before he spots her, laying back against an old, dead trunk, eyes closed.
Rilian's heart thumps so loudly he can hear it, and he moves quickly to her, stooping to check and make sure she's still breathing, he hasn't mistaken the days, he still has more—
She opens her blue eyes, sees him, and smiles. There's a small handful of twigs in her hand, and dirt under her fingernails, but she's just resting. Just resting, Rilian reminds himself, and he lets himself fall next to her.
"You slept in," she says, and there's a gentle question he can answer or not.
"I was out late last night."
"Are you better now?"
Rilian reaches for her hand and slips his fingers through hers. The hand is so much smaller than his, and weaker now. He wonders, if he can just find out what choice has to be made, if she'll regain the strength she had when she first came on land.
But it's a question she probably can't answer.
"Rilian?"
"Yes, Lady of the Sea?"
"Are you better now?"
"Forgive me, my thoughts were elsewhere. Yes, I am."
"What preoccupies your thoughts?"
Rilian looks away, to the new trees. There's a part of him that knows he should tell her, but another part of him—the one that knows she has five days left, that heard a threat against her just this morning, that saw her sleeping and feared the worst—wants to keep all that away from her. If anyone deserves peace, it's her.
But lies are a chain, and the truth sets all free is a saying in Narnia for a reason, and so he tells her, "We caught the Ambassador this morning."
He glances her way as he hears her breath come in and out, too quickly for calm. Her fingers clench around his hand, and he reaches his other to hold her one hand in both of his. "The Calormenes are taking him away. They'll leave this afternoon."
"When?"
"They'll go out with the tide, if they know what's good for them."
"Out with the tide," Ileana breathes, and Rilian feels a bit lost. It's not a sentence said with relief, but with that fierceness he forgets she has sometimes. "Rilian, I need to be there when they leave. I need to speak to him." She looks at him, staring directly into his eyes. "Can you do that?"
"They will still be on Narnian soil, so it is likely," Rilian says, the words coming slowly. "Ileana—why?"
She shakes her head. "You will not be sorry," she tells him.
"We should head down there as soon as we've packed a lunch," Rilian tells her. "We'll go slowly."
"You pack the lunch. I must do one more thing, before we go," Ileana answers, letting go of his hand and pushing herself up. Rilian catches her elbow and helps her up; she thanks him with an absentminded nod. He watches her leave; she walks with the force of an oncoming wave, and he guesses it would be futile to try to deter her.
But he stops by the armoury as well as the kitchen, and asks for an escort—just in case someone comes after Ileana, or in case a show of arms is needed to convince their guests.
Lunch is delivered to the stables in a basket, just as Rilian stands looking with bewilderment at the cart he intended to use. The blankets have been pushed aside, and there's a puzzlingly familiar ship's wooden water barrel in one corner. Rilian suddenly remembers where he's seen that, and he swings up, telling himself he guessed wrong, that surely she wasn't—
But he looks in the barrel, and it's filled with pearls, perfectly matched, tear-dropped size pearls. He looks towards the door as Ileana comes out.
"We should not sink the Calormene ship," he says, because he has to hear himself saying it, it's what a King should say, this isn't the Tisroc demanding what isn't his and them giving what they have, this is justice on one man coming down on an entire ship, and—
"We aren't," she tells him shortly, and holds up both hands. Rilian bends and lifts her into the wagon. She's light, so much lighter in his arms than she should be. He holds her there, wondering how much lighter she can get before—She doesn't seem to notice, for she keeps on speaking. "Trust me. Please. I am not letting justice rage like a storm."
He knows that about her, so he gently lowers her to the blankets. "I do trust you," he says, and suddenly her hands are on his shoulders, grabbing him, and her eyes are searching his. "You do?"
"Of course," he says lightly, because they need to set off, but she doesn't let go, and he thinks back to when she first came, and no, perhaps it isn't an of course, perhaps it's a miracle, Aslan-sent, that a beautiful, magic woman could love him wholeheartedly and he could love her back; he could trust her. Suddenly another idea occurs to him, because she's still staring at him, awe in her gaze and joy in her glance, and it seems so important to her. "Is that the choice? I do choose to trust you, I do, Ileana"—and he begins to lift her up, to see if she weighs more, but her laugh stops him.
"No, but closer yet, o King! No, I am merely—glad. So glad. I did not know if I would have even that, before my days were up. Oh, Rilian, I won your trust? How glad that makes me!"
"Won fair and far, Lady." Her hands are still clasped on his shoulders, their faces quite close. He swallows and gently pushes himself back. "We need to reach the docks."
The light goes out of her face, replaced by determination. "Then off we shall set."
They make it to the harbour in good time; lunch is eaten on the beach, the guards unpacking their own lunches all around. Ileana leans against him, watching the waves—and listening, Rilian realises. His mind wants to ask what she's listening for, but—he does trust her, and he doubts his voice will make it easier for her to hear whatever else she searches for.
Then they make their way to the dock, where the boats wait to take the Calormenes back out to the water. There's twenty guards lining the edges of the dock, all the way to the boat; Rilian and Ileana stand at the entrance. The barrel rests on the far end of the dock, by the boat. The sun shines, heating the water; waves of warmth roll off the beach, and Rilian feels the itch to fan himself. Or perhaps to dive into the water.
A sopping wet King is less impressive than a dry dignified one, he tells himself. The childish voice in his mind wishes he could push one of the guards in the water, just to see the splash. The longer they wait, the more tempting the thought is.
Fortunately, the delegation arrives before he grows bored enough to "accidentally" trip into one. The leader is in front, the squid just behind him, quiet but leering.
"King Rilian, wise ruler of the barbarians, why do you bar our way? Truly, the tides wait for none, be he the Tisroc himself (may he live forever). If you wish us to depart your delightful, strange shores—"
"There is one matter justice requires." Rilian takes a deep breath. "In Narnia, those who have been injured have the right to face the ones who did them harm. This lady has the right to face your erstwhile Ambassador before you take him back—for justice."
"I would have words with you, first," Ileana says, stepping forward. The dignitary's eyebrows rise; in the sunlight, her hair resembles the sun, her fair skin still as pale as white seastones, and her eyes are the same colour as the sky above them. "Behind us is a barrel of pearls. It belongs to the one you take back with you, the fruit of his work and his earnings. Take it with you. And take with you this warning: keep the man on the deck, as long as the sun shines." She sweeps past him before he can answer, ignoring his beginning stutter, too fast for Rilian's reaching arm. She stops several steps from the Ambassador, and raises one white arm. "By the rise of the water, the strength of the current, and the depth of the sea, I curse you. Man of caves and chains, your actions will be punished. Before the sun sets the sea will claim you."
He recoils, back into the Calormenes crowding behind him, but Rilian can see, on his forehead, symbols of glowing blue. They shine like light reflected from water for a few brief seconds, then sink into his forehead and vanish.
Ileana turns and comes back to Rilian's side, stern and silent.
"You have heard her," Rilian says to the Calormenes, because he has no idea what is going on, but he believes in Ileana. "Leave the man on deck, or I do not doubt you too will be claimed by the sea." He steps aside.
"Such tricks are the work of demons," one of the Calormenes whisper.
"Silence!" the leader snarls. "The strength of Tash defeats any demon! His curse on you for a coward! King, the Tisroc (may he live forever) will surely hear of this!"
Rilian meets his gaze, eyes hard. "Leave."
It's the dignitary's eyes that falter first, and he sweeps forward, between the rows of guards, and gets into the boat. Two of the Calormenes look into the open barrel; their muted exclamations of "By Tash!" float across the water. The leader gets back out of the boat and looks; he motions them to load the pearls.
A few minutes more, and the boat rows away.
Ileana does not move. Rilian waits with her, waits while the boat rows out to the Calormene ship, and then returns. The sails eventually unfurl, the ship turns, and slowly makes its way out to the sea.
Ileana still does not move. Neither does Rilian. Neither do the guards.
They all watch, and the ship is just outside of Narnia waters when the guard furthest down on the dock gasps.
"What?" Rilian asks sharply.
"The water, Your Majesty, the water!"
Rilian looks, and sees the water a few strokes away from the ship building into a wave. He watches as it sails towards the Calormenes, growing larger and larger; their cries carry faintly across the water.
There is another building on the other side.
"Ileana, you said we would not sink—"
"Watch."
The two waves hit the boat at once, crashing into its sides. The peaks stretch towards each other, over the deck; Rilian cannot see what happens there, it's too far away.
The water falls, and the ship rocks. But it remains upright. Ileana sighs.
"What happened?" one of the soldiers ask, voice wavering.
"They took the man, and the pearls. They are beneath the water now." Ileana turns and heads back towards the cart.
Rilian looks after her. Just hours before, he'd said he'd trusted her. The King in his head judges her retribution just, the sea punishing the harm done to its Mermaid—
But the sailor in him is scared stiff. The sea can kill any man, but it does not care whether it does or not. There's a reassurance in the lack of malice, the way the sea will only kill by accident.
Until a Mermaid curses a man.
By the time Rilian reaches the wagon, Ileana is curled up in the blankets, fast asleep. Rilian can see her hair moving in front of her nose as she breathes in and out, so the fear doesn't come back. He reaches over—a long reach, the wooden side of the wagon digging into his armpit—and brushes her hair back.
He wonders how much strength it takes to cast the curse of the sea.
He drives back to Cair Paravel slowly, hoping she'll stay asleep. But also hoping she'll wake up, so he can ask questions. She doesn't.
He pulls the wagon into the shade cast by one of the courtyard walls, unsaddles the horse and takes it to the stable, then asks a stableboy to bring some fresh water to the wagon. He drinks part of it while he waits for her to wake up. He remembers something else while he waits there, and waves down a flying Bird, asking her to take a message to the kitchens.
The shadows are long across the courtyard by the time Ileana wakes. She smiles sleepily at him, and he sucks in his breath. She's dangerous and trustworthy and beautiful, even as weak as she is.
"Is it time for supper?" she asks, and he nods, offering her his hands to help her out of the wagon.
"I asked them to serve us supper on the ramparts, so we may watch the sunset and the stars together."
She takes his arm but holds him still as he begins to walk. "Do you still trust me?" she asks, her eyes searching his face for a sign.
He tries to smile. "You kept your word. The ship did not sink."
Hurt flashes across her face for a brief instant, before she locks it down, and only sadness remains. She begins to withdraw her arm from his, and he holds it with his other hand.
"Allow a mortal man—a man who goes on the sea often—a little fear of the power of the water, Lady. But you did not misuse it."
She waits for a moment. "If you are sure. If you—need some time, or do not wish to see me, I can—"
"No," Rilian interrupts. "I want this time with you tonight."
She still looks unsure, but she lets her arm remain in his and follows when he begins to walk forward. He tells her about the legends that will go out in Narnia after this, joking lightly about it. In his desire to reassure her, he finds his own fear disappearing. She is still uneasy when they reach the blanket spread on the stone tower.
"Here, I sent for something for you." Pouring a mug of light brown liquid, Rilian hands it to her. "Smell it first."
She holds it to her nose and sniffs. "What is this?"
"Cider," Rilian explains, smiling. "We had some left from last year—I asked the kitchen for some, and they thought we didn't have any. But the cook whose hands you bandaged wanted to do something for you, and went hunting in three different cellars before coming up with this."
Ileana takes a small sip, and her nose wrinkles and her eyebrows furrow; Rilian tries not to laugh. She takes another sip, and holds it in her mouth before swallowing. "When did you have the time to ask that?"
"When you were sleeping this afternoon."
"It's…different."
"Not to your taste?"
She takes one more sip, then shakes her head. "But the thought was," she adds, smiling for the first time since Rilian admitted his fear. "Thank you."
They pass dinner pleasantly, though Rilian drinks the rest of the cider. After they finish, they stack the dishes together and fold the blanket. The stars begin to come out, and Rilian sits, leaning against the stone, watching them. Ileana sits beside him. Together they listen to the song, and Rilian feels his fears fall away. The sea, like the stars, has a power not meant to be ruled by men. It is good that it is so.
He looks at Ileana. "Can you tell me about the curse of the sea?" he asks softly.
"No, my—anything about the power or the weakness of the sea and its folk are strictly forbidden."
"Can you tell me if you will be weaker for casting that curse? Or if there is aught I may do to strengthen you."
She smiles, takes his arm, and wraps it around her shoulders, leaning into him once again. "The curse of the sea—perhaps I should not tell you this? But—do not tell anyone else."
Rilian sweeps the surrounding area with a quick glance, but they are alone. "I promise."
"When it is cast, it has nothing to do with the strength of the caster, but only the justice of the charge. I am fine."
"Could I cast it?" Rilian asks, curious.
She laughs quietly. "Not unless the sea recognises you as one of its own." She leans even further into him. "Thank you for letting me work the justice of my people," she says quietly. Rilian strokes her hair, and they listen to the song of the stars for a little longer.
"I should go," he says after a while. Perhaps tonight is the night he will catch a Merman.
"Don't," Ileana asks.
"In a little while, then."
"No, Rilian—don't." She picks herself up and turns to him, placing a hand on his cheek. "Just for tonight. I see you go out in the boat every night, and you do not come back till the night is far gone. You are so tired. Just for tonight, stay and rest."
He looks at her, a refusal already on his lips, but she stops him, pressing her hand into his face a little more. "Please. Just tonight. You can go out in the boat tomorrow during the day, if you wish—but get some sleep tonight. I doubt I am the only one being hunted. You need to be able to run."
One night, Rilian thinks. One night, of the remainder, I will stay with her. He clasps the hand on his face and brings it to his lips. "Just tonight."
A/N: I know you had to wait two weeks for this, and I'm sorry—I got into an argument with God (and lost, of course, which is all for the good), and I'm not able to write when that happens.
Response to the guest reviewer: Thank you for enjoying, I'll try to update every Wednesday!
