The Sea King by C. L. Wilson
Dilys Merimydion’s daily morning gifts and the smaller cards and treats throughout the day had become a subject of marked interest to all of Summer’s sisters. To the point where Summer suspected the servants took each rejected gift around to Spring, Autumn, and Storm for their viewing before returning it to the incorrigible Calbernan Sealord.
Wynter scowled, not at all pleased with Summer’s persistent suitor, or his wife’s interest in it. But in the face of Khamsin’s open eagerness, Wyn gave an expressive roll of his eyes and settled back into his chair. “Open the blasted thing, Summer. Let’s see what extravagance Merimydion wants you to send back to him today.” He crossed his arms over his very impressive chest.
Her heart swelled with affection for him—and not just because he was the only one in the family who’d firmly allied himself with Camp Summer rather than Camp Dilys in the war of wills Autumn had taken to calling the “Courtship Siege.” She would never forget the sight of Wynter’s battered face greeting her at breakfast the day after Dilys had followed her to the grotto, or his gruff tenderness when he’d pulled her privately aside to make sure Dilys Merimydion hadn’t done anything to her that required something more serious than a mere “wrestling bout.”
Smiling at the memory, Summer reached for the ribboned top of the yellow box.
She expected the contents of the box to be exquisite and extravagant. While the little gifts throughout the day tended to be simple things, the gift that started off each day never failed to elicit gasps of appreciation.
Today was no exception.
When she lifted the lid on the yellow box, she didn’t need to reach inside for its contents. This morning’s gift flew—or rather, fluttered—out.
Hundreds of jewel-winged butterflies took to the air in a cloud of vivid, colorful beauty. Dozens of them alighted on the tableware after their release. Dozens more flitted about the surrounding garden, fluttering inquisitively around the blossoming flowers in search of nectar.
Summer and her sisters watched the beautiful creatures for several long minutes, then Autumn turned back in her chair with a smirk and said, “Well, there’s no returning that gift, is there!”
Summer opened her mouth, closed it, then, despite herself, burst into laughter and admitted, “No, I suppose not.” She had been well and truly routed.
Out of curiosity, she glanced into the box. A few butterflies still remained within. She reached inside, nudging her finger gently under their spindly legs and lifting them out to freedom. Two flew away, but the third remained perched on her hand, its gorgeous black and turquoise wings slowly opening and closing as she reached her free hand into the bottom of the box to retrieve the only thing left inside: a large folded card.
Claim me as thine, the outside of the card entreated once again. Inside, a painted paper butterfly popped up as she opened the card, spreading beautifully illustrated wings colored with bright rainbow hues. “Gabriella Aretta Rosadora Liliana Elaine Coruscate, myerial-myerinas, you make my heart take wing.”
Conscious of the watchful eyes of her sisters and her brother-in-law, Summer closed the card and tucked it beneath her plate.
“I don’t know what Dilys did that he has to work so hard to get into your good graces, but you’ve got to hand it to him. The man knows how to grovel.” When Summer shot Autumn an accusatory glance, Autumn lifted her hands. “What? A sincere, satisfying grovel is a talent most men never really master. You could do a lot worse than wedding a man who knows how to apologize well.”
“That’s true,” Khamsin agreed with enough emphasis to make her husband sit up straight in his chair. “Not that I have any complaints on that score,” she added quickly, reaching out to give his hand a squeeze.
“Since I won’t be wedding Dilys Merimydion, his mastery of groveling makes no difference to me one way or the other,” Summer told them all, narrowing her eyes when Autumn seemed to be suppressing a smirk. “And since he was never in my good graces in the first place, he is not groveling to get back into them.”
Autumn rolled her eyes. “Tell me at least that you aren’t still holding that ridiculous ‘milked tea’ remark against him.”
“No, of course not,” Summer said, and her brows drew together in surprise as she realized she was telling the truth. Sometime between the interlude in the grotto and now, she truly had forgiven him. She couldn’t even remember why the remark had cut her as deeply as it had. After all, she’d spent her life striving to be milked tea, to suppress every dangerous ounce of fire and passion she possessed. Hearing him call her that should have left her pleased with the success of her deception, not wounded and resentful because he hadn’t seen straight through it.
“So if it’s not that, then what is it?” Autumn persisted.
“None of your business, that’s what!” Summer turned to Khamsin with a determined smile and said, “So, have you and Wynter decided on names for the babies?”
Khamsin and Wynter exchanged a look. For a moment, Summer thought they were going to pursue the inquisition, but instead, Kham laid a hand on her belly and said, “Well, we won’t know what we’re having until the babies are born, but we’ve agreed that, no matter what, our firstborn son will be called Garrick, and our firstborn daughter will be Rosalind.”
“What a wonderful tribute to our mother and Wynter’s brother.” Summer watched Autumn from the corner of her eye as she spoke. For a moment, she thought the youngest Season was going to start in on her again, but Spring gave a quick shake of her head and Autumn subsided back into her chair with a pout.
The name of Dilys Merimydion did not come up again.
All morning long, Summer saw butterflies. They were everywhere, flapping their gorgeous wings with lazy grace. Reminding Summer constantly of the exotic sea prince who’d sent them.
Autumn was wrong. Dilys wasn’t groveling. Despite the hundreds of cards pleading for forgiveness, these extravagant gestures weren’t apologies. They were planned attacks meant to weaken her defenses.
Ever since that day in the grotto, Dilys Merimydion had made himself both scarce and omnipresent. Never approaching her, keeping his distance, but making sure she remained wholly and completely aware of him every minute of the day. Parading around in the brightest of shumas clearly meant to draw her eye, his body oiled and gleaming in the sunlight. Stripping down to the very, very tiny linen undergarment all the Calbernans apparently wore beneath their shuma and swimming in the fjord beneath her bedroom balcony each morning and evening. (And, gods forgive her, she’d actually begun to look forward to those times.) Invading every part of her life—including her dreams, for Halla’s sake!—until she couldn’t go five minutes without thinking about him.
Groveling. Ha!
The day that man truly groveled would be the day fire reined in Rorjak’s dominion of ice.
But . . . all right . . . the butterflies were beautiful. And romantic. And just about the loveliest gift she could ever imagine.
She walked down a hall that led past a row of wide, arching palladium windows overlooking the gardens. The windows were open to let in the summer breeze, and a gorgeous, rare blue lacewing butterfly was perched on the sill, airing its magnificent wings. Those wings were bursting with vibrant colors: royal blue, turquoise, periwinkle, teal, and countless shades in between, all interspersed with delicate tracings of purest black and bright, glimmering whispers of sunshine yellow. The wings fluttered open and shut, so fragile, almost ephemeral, their undersides dusted with pink and silver along the scalloped edges. The butterfly was impossibly beautiful.
Entranced against her will, she watched it sit there on the sill, basking in the sun, until the sound of childish laughter and familiar masculine voices yanked her back to her senses.
“Dilys! Dilys! Dilys!”
Dilys and his cousins and a dozen or so children were playing a game of kickball on the grass. She’d seen Dilys surrounded by children many times. They gravitated to him wherever he went. Probably because of the easy, wholehearted
He would make an exceptional father.
Outside, a young boy had stepped up to the kickball home plate. Dilys, who was acting as bowler, rolled the inflated leather ball towards home plate. The child gave the ball a mighty kick, sending it careening left, past Dilys and between second and third bases. The opposing team, which included Ari and Ryll, cheered as their players raced around the bases. In the outfield, two young boys on Dilys’s team went chasing after the ball, but before they even reached it, the kicker had rounded third base and was heading home.
As Dilys turned to congratulate the kicker, he glanced over in Gabriella’s direction. Their gazes locked, and they both froze. The laughter on Dilys’s face faded to something warmer, deeper. Something entrancing and impossibly beautiful.
“Dilys! Heads up!” someone called a warning a split second before the leather kickball bonked Dilys on the head, sending him staggering sideways. The young outfielder who’d thrown the ball called, “Sorry, Dilys!” then ruined the apology by doubling over with laughter.
Instead of getting mad, Dilys let out a mock roar, snatched up the ball, and went chasing after the child, who squealed and started running.
Freed from the dangerous enchantment of Dilys’s gaze, Summer drew back into the shadows of the palladium arches and watched the kickball game devolve into a laughing game of tag and tickle. When she realized she was laughing softly at Dilys’s antics, she straightened up quick and gave herself a hard shake.
“Summer, you are an idiot. An easily manipulated idiot!” She scowled at the blue lacewing perched on the sill. “Shoo!” she said. She flicked her fingers at it. “Shoo!”
The butterfly just kept fanning its wings.
Summer could have lunged at it and scared it away, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. With a sigh and for her own weakness, she tucked her chin down and turned away.
The basket was waiting for her that evening when she returned to her room to dress for dinner.
A big basket, woven of thin brown reeds, covered with a red-and-white checked cloth, perched in the center of her bed.
Telling herself she’d just have a look at the basket’s contents before calling Amaryllis to take it away, Summer walked over to the bed. As she drew near, a sharp little bark broke the silence of her room, only slightly muffled by the checkered cloth.
Summer froze.
Another bark. Then another. The basket rocked as what lay within jumped from side to side beneath the cover.
Summer’s heart slammed against her chest. Her fingers curled tight. No. No, he hadn’t given her a . . .
“Arf! Arf! Arf!”
She whipped the checkered cloth off the basket and stared at the floppy-eared, golden-furred bundle of mischief leaping enthusiastically about inside the basket on four little paws.
Dilys Merimydion had given her a puppy!
A puppy!
The instant he caught sight of her, the little dog yipped and hunkered down, its little butt in the air, tail wagging. And then, with a happy, tongue-lolling grin, the puppy leapt up towards the rim of the basket, floppy ears flying.
The basket tipped over. The plump, milk-bellied little animal spilled out and would have tumbled from the high raised bed onto the hard floor had Summer not snatched him out of the air to save him.
Hard little claws scrabbled against her bodice. Delicate fabric ripped. The solid whip of the animal’s tail thumped against her arm, and his little pink tongue slobbered all over her face in happy, excited, puppyish welcome. The warm little body wiggled and shook and wiggled some more, barking and yipping.
For one, long, yearning minute, she clutched the little body close and let her fingers run over his soft, golden fur as the puppy burrowed his nose into her throat and licked frantically at her pulse.
Oh, sweet Halla. She closed her eyes and nuzzled the puppy. So small. So warm. So loving and happy and alive. He would be her friend, if she let him. And he would be loyal, she knew. He would follow her everywhere, sleep on her bed, sit beside her, walk with her, play with her.
And she would love him.
So much.
Summer’s eyes flew open. With ruthless will, she tamped down the long-buried pain and yearning inside her and placed the puppy in its basket, covering him back up with the checkered cloth.
This time, she ignored the puppy’s yips and barks and bouncing as she stalked down the palace halls, basket in hand, to Dilys Merimydion’s chambers.
Setting the basket down on the floor by her feet, she pounded on the door to Dilys’s rooms. When no one answered immediately, she pounded harder. “Sealord Merimydion! Are you in there? Open this door!”
Doors opened up down the hall. Curious heads poked out. She ignored them.
“Open this door immediately!” Bang! Bang! Bang!
The door flew open. Dilys stood in the threshold, one hand holding a towel wrapped around his waist. Clearly he’d been bathing, and clearly he’d come running in answer to her shouts, not even bothering to magic away the water that was currently streaming down his bare flesh. It was a measure of her emotional state that she hardly noticed his near nakedness. His expression was full of concern.
“Gabriella? What is it, moa kiri? What’s wrong?”
“Here.” She reached down to snatch up the basket holding the puppy and thrust it in Dilys’s direction, forcing him to grab it with both hands to keep the basket from falling. The puppy inside yipped and jumped about, dislodging the covering. The little black nose and dark brown eyes peeked out from beneath the checkered cloth. Seeing her, the puppy let out an excited bark and leapt against the side of the basket as if he was trying to reach her. Summer’s heart twisted in painful yearning.
“I’ve had enough. You need to stop! I don’t want your gifts, and I don’t want you.” The puppy poked his head out through the cloth and licked at her hand with its little pink tongue. She snatched her hand back. Her throat was closing up, the tears gathering. “I m-mean it!” she choked out. “No more!”
Her lips started to tremble, so she clamped them tight and spun around to march down the hall, leaving Dilys standing there, gaping at her, holding the puppy’s basket, his damp towel crumpled at his feet.
Dilys stared after Summer’s rapidly departing figure in dismay. He could have sworn he’d been winning her over with his daily gifts. From all accounts, the butterflies this morning had been a hit, but something had drastically changed between breakfast and now.
He stepped back into his room, kicking his towel inside with one foot, then pulling the door closed with the other. Dilys set the basket down and pulled out the little golden puppy inside, regarding the small canine with a frown.
“What happened to upset her so, boy?” he asked.
The puppy barked and yipped and licked his hand enthusiastically. Dilys cradled the dog against his chest and scratched his small chin.
The puppy was no mere mutt. He was a very expensive, very coveted purebred golden malam, a breed renowned for their intelligence, deep bonding, and fearsome protective instincts. Once the bond was forged, the malam would defend Gabriella with its life. The breed loved water, of course. Dilys would never have gifted his liana with any pet that did not.
When he’d chosen the dog, he’d thought about walking with Gabriella in the surf near Merimydia Oa Nu, her dog bounding in and out of the waves, making her laugh with his antics. Really laugh. Not that quiet, restrained laughter that was all most people ever heard from her, but the sort of laugh that cracked one open wide and poured out like sunshine through breaking clouds. A truly joyful laugh, like the one he’d heard the day after his arrival in Konumarr.
He’d also wanted Gabriella to have another, devoted protector besides himself—one capable of tearing the throats out of any krillo who even dared dream of causing her harm.
Golden malams, for all their small puppy size, would grow quite large. And unlike most large dogs, who rarely lived m
His mother’s heart was as deep and wide as the sea, and she wasn’t even a true Siren. Compared to her, Gabriella’s heart was exponentially vaster, with an equally vast capacity to love, to grieve, to feel.
Autumn had been a good friend to him, helping to confirm his own observations about Gabriella’s likes and dislikes, but it was clear she didn’t know everything about her blue-eyed sister, or she would have advised him differently about the puppy.
It was time to seek counsel from the one person Summer confided in more than any other: her eldest sister, Spring.
He sought out Spring Coruscate in the greenhouse built half a mile beyond the edge of the palace’s vast western gardens. The heavily glassed, freestanding structure had been designed and positioned to receive the most direct sunlight throughout the course of the day. The land around it had been cleared of trees so no shadows would block the sun. Probably quite important during Wintercraig’s cold, harsh winter.
But these were the summer months, when everything was green and warm and still moist with ice melt from the Skoerr Mountain glacier fields. When he stepped inside the greenhouse, he found himself surrounded by warm, steamy air that made him glad for the customary lightness of his Calbernan garb.
His bare feet moved soundlessly on the dirt floor of the greenhouse. The structure was massive. At least a quarter mile long and half as wide, filled with neat rows, boxes, and suspended pots all overflowing with vegetation. The tall glass roof, steeply angled to shed heavy snowfall in winter, was supported by massive columns, around which grew trained limbs of fruiting trees and vines laden with grapes, tomatoes, and bean pods. Wintercraig’s growing season might not be long, but this greenhouse had been designed to make the most of it. Dilys didn’t doubt the produce from this building could keep the whole of Konumarr and its palace in fresh fruit and vegetables the year round.