Christmas in Atlantis Read online

  "Thank you so much, your, um –"

  "Riley," the queen said firmly. "Just Riley, please."

  "Thank you so much, Riley,” Lyric said. “I happily accept, and I would love for you to come by and talk to me about painting. I promise not to ask anything about gills or underwater sex, kings or otherwise."

  Riley laughed. "We can talk about villages. Like Chicago."

  The queen darted a glance at Dare, who was still bewildered by why a village named Chicago was funny, but he enjoyed watching Lyric smile too much to complain about it.

  With a quick goodbye, the queen was gone, heading toward the palace and the little prince.

  "I realize that I never asked you about brothers and sisters. It seems strange, considering we've known each other for so long – but on the other hand, we haven't known each other long at all. It hasn't really been six years, just maybe a total of thirty or so days during the six years that we saw each other." Lyric shoved her mass of curls out of her face after a tendril of breeze brushed by them. "Is it only Liam? Liam and you?

  "Actually, no. We have another brother. Flynn. But we haven't seen him in a few years; the last I heard he was caught up with a bad gang of dragon shifters. Real lowlifes."

  "There are dragon shifters? Holy cow. I had no idea."

  He took her hand and put it on his arm, then picked up the bags and started walking with her toward the palace. By now, the queen would have someone ready to show them to Lyric's rooms.

  "Yes, there are dragon shifters. There are all sorts of different shifters. I once heard about a koala shifter who kept falling asleep on the job until he finally switched to the night shift. And I'm actually friends with – or at least acquaintances with – a pretty bad ass tiger shifter who lives down in your neck of the woods."

  She walked beside him not hesitant but cautious about where she placed her steps. He slowed, cursing himself for a fool, because he’d started out at his normal long striding pace. She didn't know this place like she knew her own neighborhood back in St. Augustine. He had to be more careful with her.

  She wasn't fragile; he knew that. But she was precious to him and, like all precious things, must be treated with care.

  Care that didn't include becoming involved with the likes of him.

  "I'm so glad your ship and crew are safe," she said, changing the subject. "If you want to go check on them once we find my room, of course you should. I am fine on my own, you know."

  "I know you are. You run your own business. You have your own studio. You are in complete control of your own life, and I admire the hell out of you for it." He put every bit of sincerity he felt into his voice, since she couldn't see it in his face. "But I would like to go see my ship and talk to my crew, so if –"

  Dare. I have more news.

  The guard’s voice in his mind sounded hesitant, and Dare lost patience with that quickly.

  What is it? Tell me now, man.

  It's your ship. It's… It's no longer your ship. Poseidon has decreed that you're not to step even one foot on board.

  He froze and then reached again for the band that wasn't on his arm. "Apparently my ship is no longer my ship,” he said carefully, trying not to let his anger leak into his voice. “I need to find out what’s going on, and I really, really need to find out about Seranth. I haven't been able to sense her since I came through the portal into your house without my arm band."

  Lyric touched his cheek. "I'm sure she's okay. She is a sea spirit, after all. You said she's existed for thousands of years. I doubt a little storm – or even a huge storm – could harm her. But please go find out."

  They reached one of the many doors to the palace, where one of the many people who worked there stood smiling at Lyric. "Welcome to Atlantis, Ms. Fielding. I'm Fergus, and Queen Riley has asked me to show you to your rooms. If you’ll come this way?"

  "May I place my hand on your arm?" Lyric asked the question calmly, with no hesitation, and Fergus, in return, didn't blink or hesitate.

  "Of course." He stepped closer and held out his arm. “Just at your left," he told her.

  “Go,” Lyric urged Dare. “I’m almost as anxious as you are to hear. Find me when you get back.”

  "I will. I'll be back soon."

  "Take your time,. I look forward to walking through my first real palace. I feel like a princess already," Lyric said, smiling at both of them.

  Fergus looked as bowled over by the force of the smile as Dare was. And Fergus was seventy years old if he was a day. That smile of hers charmed everyone.

  She hesitated, and then she stood up on her tiptoes and kissed Dare’s cheek. “I’ll see you soon, I hope.”

  “Count on it.”

  He smiled, watching her walk off with Fergus and already asking a million excited questions. He’d just go find out about Seranth and what in the hells was up with his ship--

  Suddenly Poseidon’s voice smashed into Dare’s mind with the force of a massive hammer, laying waste to his too-recently healed head.

  DO NOT WASTE YOUR TIME COMING TO FIND SERANTH. I HAVE DISSOLVED YOUR BOND, AND NOW SHE IS FREE TO FIND A CAPTAIN WHO ISN’T A SELFISH ASS.

  When his head stopped ringing, Dare realized he’d fallen to his knees, almost knocked unconscious by the sea god’s wrath. He stood up, brushed off his pants, and nodded once, sharply. “You can stick your Trident up your ass. The pointy end. I’m getting Seranth and my ship back, whether you like it or not.”

  The sea god roared at him, but Dare didn’t give a damn. He’d defied worse odds.

  But when he started walking, and then running, toward the docks and his ship, a little voice in his mind laughed at him. He snarled at it.

  A little denial never hurt anybody.

  6

  So now Della's beautiful hair fell about her rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet.

  On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street.

  Where she stopped the sign read: "Mne. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds." One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the "Sofronie."

  "Will you buy my hair?" asked Della.

  -- The Gift of the Magi, O. Henry (1917)

  She was in Atlantis.

  She was in Atlantis.

  She kept wanting to pinch herself or giggle like a little girl. She'd spent the past year practicing all the ways she could invite Dare to stay in St. Augustine with her for Christmas, and he'd scooped her completely by inviting her to Atlantis. And here she was.

  In Atlantis.

  She laughed with the sheer joy of it, and felt Fergus pause next to her. He made an inquisitive noise without words, and she smiled.

  "It's like a dream, isn't it? I mean, I know you’ve probably lived here all your life, but to us – to me – Atlantis was a myth in a fairytale story. The lost city. Almost certainly fictional. And now, to be here, to actually be here in person is just amazing." She felt like she was babbling, but she didn't mind that much. She figured it was a pretty normal human reaction to stepping into the center of a fairytale.

  "Yes ma'am. Although I admit I feel a little bit that way about your place." He had a rich, kind-sounding voice, and she could hear the sincerity in it.

  "Florida? I mean, St. Augustine is the most beautiful city in the U.S., if I do say so myself, but I doubt it can compare to Atlantis. Plus, you have water on all sides. We only have it on the one."

  He laughed. "No ma'am, not Florida. Earth. Topside. Most of us have never been anywhere but Atlantis our entire lives."

  She mentally smacked her forehead. Of course. Atlantis had been protected by a magical dome far beneath the
ocean for a little more than 11,000 years, before some super magical high priest had managed to make the city rise to the surface.

  She'd listen to a special about it on 60 Minutes. And she’d heard that People magazine had put cover photos of the king and queen on almost every issue for months after Atlantis appeared. There had been a huge hubbub of excitement all over social media, Meredith told her, about the king of Atlantis choosing an American bride.

  "Well, you're invited to visit me anytime. And please call me Lyric. Ma’am makes me feel old," she confided, smiling.

  It didn't, really. And he hadn't asked a single thing about her blindness, which was unusual and refreshing in a new acquaintance. She could feel the tense muscles in her neck and shoulders begin to relax, and she took a long deep breath in and then slowly exhaled.

  Releasing stress for the universe to take care of, as Meredith would say. Thinking of Meredith made her realize how much her friend would love this place. And if only she were here, she could describe what everything looked like. She didn't quite feel comfortable enough to ask Dare to serve as Seeing Eye person just yet, and certainly not Fergus. She sighed, but then forced the thought away.

  She was in Atlantis. No negativity of any sort today.

  She heard voices and laughter before she heard the footsteps coming toward them.

  "This is the throne room," Fergus said beside her. He cleared his throat. "The room is flanked with white marble columns, in which veins of an Atlantean metal called orichalcum—almost exactly the color of your eyes, Miss—are inset into designs of dolphins leaping and a bunch of Nereids laughing at their mermaid play.”

  “And that amazing scent? What flower is that?” She inhaled deeply, wanting to walk across the entire continent, simply smelling everything.

  “Ah. That’s the lava-tulips. They’re green and blue, and they smell like ambrosia,” Fergus told her. “They’re my favorites. And then the throne is set up high on that dais--"

  "It sounds amazing and a little intimidating," she said.

  "That's why we never hang out here," said a deep male voice. "It makes me itch."

  Lyric heard female laughter from the person standing next to the man who’d spoken.

  "Ven, cut it out. You’ll make our guest feel like we're all barbarians."

  Lyric turned toward them and smiled. "What? I was promised barbarians. Where are the barbarians?"

  “Erin. I’m married to the barbarian,” the woman said fondly.

  "I’m Ven, and I can tell I'm gonna like you a lot," Ven said, laughter in his voice.

  "Fergus, we're going to steal this lovely lady and take her to lunch, if that's all right with you." Erin said. "If that's okay with you, Lyric?"

  Lyric didn't hesitate for a single second. "That sounds lovely. I admit I hadn’t thought of food in all the excitement, but now that you brought it up I realize I'm starving. I'm Lyric Fielding – wait. You just called me Lyric. So I guess you know who I am."

  "I’ll just take your bags to your room, Miss Fielding," Fergus said. "Queen Riley has put her in the top floor suite in the east wing, Princess."

  "Princess?" Lyric suddenly felt like a fish out of water; no Atlantean pun intended.

  "Just Erin, Fergus. Please, don't make me turn you into a toad." There was the sound of real affection in Erin’s voice, and Fergus chuckled.

  "Right. Erin. And I learned long ago not to call Lord Vengeance 'Your Highness'' or, as he repeatedly proclaimed, he’d kick my ass."

  "If only everyone else were as smart as you, Fergus." Ven said woefully.

  "Thank you, Fergus," Lyric said. "Would you like to join us for lunch, too?"

  "Why, that's very nice of you to ask. But I have a busy afternoon in front of me and a lunch date with a beautiful girl I’ll be late for if I don't hurry," Fergus told her, patting her arm.

  "How is that granddaughter of yours, Fergus?" Ven laughed. "You can tell she definitely gets her looks from her grandmother."

  "Ah, yes. Princely humor,” Fergus said with amusement. “Did I mention how lucky we all are that you were born second?"

  Lyric gasped, but nobody heard her in the burst of laughter that followed, and she realized they must all have been joking with each other. This didn't sound at all like any kind of Royal/servant relationship she'd ever read about.

  She had to admit, she really liked it.

  Her stomach picked that embarrassing moment to growl quite loudly, and she clapped her hand over it and could feel herself blushing. "Oh my gosh. I'm really sorry."

  "I feel the same way,” Ven told her. “May I take your arm?"

  She nodded, and he gently took her hand and put it on his arm. "Food, Erin. Onward."

  They ate at a table on a small terrace that Ven told her overlooked the garden. It was one of the most delicious lunches Lyric could ever remember eating. The main course was a spicy white fish wrapped in pastry, and there were so many vegetables and fruits to choose from that she was too full to eat another bite long before the dishes stopped coming.

  “All of this is from our own gardens, and of course we have a fleet of people very happy to be able to fish again,” Ven said.

  “Sounds amazing,” she said honestly. She thought she could happily be a gardener in Atlantis for a while.

  Erin, who’d been increasingly quiet during lunch, cleared her throat. “So. Lyric. When did you first realize you’re a gem singer?”

  Lyric dropped her spoon out of suddenly nerveless fingers. “A—a what?”

  “My wife is a witch, yes, but she’s also a gem singer,” Ven said gently.

  “I recognized you, of course. Like calls to like. When did you first realize?” Erin’s voice was kind but also implacable. She meant to find out everything, Lyric realized.

  But, witch or not, princess or not, Erin had never tangled with Lyric Fielding before.

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” Lyric said blindly. “I never sing, except in church. Speaking of which, I hear you’re planning your first Christmas here this year. I have a stellar recipe for a mean gingerbread cookie, if you’re interested.”

  Erin blew out a breath. “Okay. I get it. None of my business. But if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here.”

  The kindness in her voice made Lyric feel a little guilty, but not guilty enough to share the most private secret in her life. Maybe sometime, but not just yet.

  A cold wind swept across the table, and she shivered. “It’s suddenly quite cold, isn’t it? I should have brought a sweater.”

  “No need. That’s just Alaric,” Ven said. “Hey, bro. How’s it hanging?”

  A deep voice that sounded like an avalanche spoke next. “I’ll ignore you as usual, Ven. Why is there a gem-singing artist at your table?”

  “Lunch,” Erin said sweetly. “Perhaps you’ve heard of it. It’s a meal civilized people eat between breakfast and dinner.”

  “Sometimes there’s second breakfast,” Ven pointed out.

  “Only if you’re a hobbit,” Lyric added and then couldn’t believe she’d spoken up with scary demanding guy looming over her, blocking what little bit of the sun she could sense.

  Alaric bent down closer to her—she could tell because the cold sensation of magic he’d brought with him intensified—and took her chin in his hand, moving her head around as if she were an interesting specimen.

  Of course, to him she might be.

  She swallowed, hard, but then yanked her face out of his hand. “I beg your pardon.”

  “Most do,” he said dryly. “It never helps them, though. Have you tried magic – either from the witches or from a healer – to heal your eyes?"

  Lyric clenched her fists in her lap so as not to punch him in the face. That probably would cause an international incident. Or her impending demise. But she was a little tired and a lot overwhelmed, and she wished Dare would show up. She was too much of an introvert to really enjoy extended periods of time with large groups of people she didn't know. And this – this was a
very personal question.

  Apparently, however, there were no barriers to what Atlanteans felt like they could ask one lone human woman.

  She put a little steel in her voice and answered him. "Please step back. You are invading my personal space. Yes. I've consulted with witches and other types of magical healers. It's not possible for my eyes to be saved; there was too much damage."

  “Alaric might be able to help you,” Erin said quietly. “He has more magic than anyone I’ve ever known or heard about.”

  “I am magic,” Alaric said flatly. It wasn’t even arrogance; that’s what was so scary. It was simple statement of fact to him, she was sure.

  “Hate to admit it, but he’s telling the truth,” Ven put in. “He has more magic than any high priest in the history of Atlantis, which is to say more magic than anyone in the history of the world. If he says he can fix you, he can.”

  And there it was.

  It took Lyric a long time to hit tilt, but when she did it was an explosive blast. And right now she was pulling out the matches and lighting the TNT.

  “I beg your pardon, Your Highness. Mr. Magic. I do not need to be fixed. Blindness is not a defect. It's simply another state of being. Kind of like the state of being where you exist in a higher plane of arrogant assholishness and presume to know whom you should go around fixing."

  There was a long silence, and then Ven whistled. "She's got us there, man. I think she just handed me my head."

  “And you deserved it,” his wife said coldly. “I think all of us have tried to strong arm our guest enough today. She probably hates us all, and we’d deserve it. Damn. I’m just as bad as they are. I’m sorry, Lyric.”

  "Nobody thinks you're defective, Lyric," Ven said quietly. "We may be big, strong warriors but we bumble around like orangutans on caffeine sometimes. But we meant well, so please don't take offense."

  Lyric blew out a long breath. "I'm sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m a guest here, and that was unspeakably rude. Thank you for your concern, Ven, Erin. Alaric. I'm sorry to be prickly about it. I just get awfully tired of that particular point of view."