Trigger warning: mention of rape and slavery

Dear readers, sorry for the long wait!

***

With Lucky's and Dao's help, Nicolas and Alastair managed the stairs down to the captain's cabin.

"Go back to work," Alastair ordered. "Nico stays with me."

"But..."

Dao's protest was quickly cut off by Lucky. "You heard the captain. You have some cleaning up to do in the kitchen!"

Alastair's body was cold to the touch as Nicolas carefully steered him though the cabin. It was a complete mess, he noted. The little trinkets had fallen off the desk; some glass flasks and porcelain figures had broken into a hundred tiny shards. The paintings had survived, but hung crooked on the walls.

Nicolas sat Alastair down on the bed and knelt down to pull off the dripping pants and boots. The boots might be beyond saving, but the rest would dry after being washed. To think about such simple things helped Nicolas focus. He looked around and found a clean towel in the clothes chest. He started to wipe off the water from Alastair's face and neck. He knew he didn't have to do this anymore, since he was no longer a mere cabin boy, but the familiar task helped him focus.

Alastair looked at him.

"I haven't thanked you yet."

"I wasn't sure if you would. Down there, it seemed like you..." Nicolas didn't know how to continue. "And that scaly thing.... was it really...?"

"Yes." There was so much in that one word.

"But... how?"

"You know the stories about... tidehearts, don't you? They're true." Alastair took the towel from Nicolas to dry his dripping hair. Nicolas helped, always eager to feel those sleek tresses. Their fingers touched briefly between the folds of the cloth. Alastair's hands were like ice.

"The whole crew knows, don't they? And no one told me. Do you still don't trust me?" Nicolas had meant to say something completely different, but the words just blurted out.

Alastair stood up and quickly pulled off the wet shirt. He held his left arm out to Nicolas. The scales glittered in the sunlight streaming from the rear window.

"I didn't want you to think of me as some... thing," Alastair said softly. "I know how you used to look at me. And I like to keep things simple."

Nicolas realized that he saw Alastair completely naked for the first time. The pearly white skin, carefully protected from the sun by clothes, hats, and makeup, but marred by the scars from past victories. The silky hair in that impossible shade of dark red that he had never seen on another person before. The eyes, changing color with their surroundings. The sharp, beautiful lines of the face. All this he had seen and admired, coveted, but now Nicolas truly realized that he was looking at a stranger. This was no ordinary human, but the child of a creature from the depth. The carefully crafted stories and legends about the ghost captain with supernatural powers held more truth than thought possible.

Nicolas shook his head. "Simple? You? I'm sorry, Captain Blake, Sir, but nothing is ever simple with you."

Was that a reluctant smile? "Probably not. So, what will you do now?"

That was a very good question. Nicolas got up from his kneeling position and gently wiped away a few more drops of water on Alastair's face. His lips followed, tasting the salt water. Slowly, he kissed his way down the cheek and neck to the shoulder. Alastair flinched at the touch, but didn't protest when Nicolas kissed the scales on his shoulder. The skin was salty and sweet at the same time. He showered more kisses on the cold, scaled skin down the collarbone and chest, following the newly-grown lines.

They had reached Alastair's heart. If the legends were really true - and he had just learned that they were - it must mean that the fire of the human soul was completely consumed by the force of the Sea Goddess. If Nicolas hadn't pulled him out, Alastair would have stayed willingly in the fathomless depths of the ocean, called by his relatives to join them in their realm. That's what Evangielle had meant when she had said it was the last time. If Alastair used that incredible power just one more time, he would be lost forever.

"Nico?"

Alastair pulled up his face with his cold hands. Now it was Alastair's turn to wipe away the wetness that Nicolas hadn't even noticed was running down his own cheeks.

"Nicolas.... my real name is Nicolas," he murmured. "I don't use it because it sounds too..."

"Albian? For once I don't care. Now get out of those clothes if you want to stay," Alastair replied. "You're just making a bigger mess of my cabin." He hesitated and pulled his hands away. For an instant, there was something in his eyes that Nicolas thought he would never see there: fear. "But you don't have to stay, of course. I'm alright."

Of course he was not alright. And Nicolas had no intention of going anywhere.

"Does it hurt?" Although Nicolas gently stroked the scales on the lower arm, both knew that he didn't mean the obvious change.

"No. I'm just cold." Alastair paused. His face was unreadable again, like a mask. "I don't know if I'll ever feel warm again."

For a moment, the cabin was quiet like a grave.

"We'll see about that," Nicolas finally said. He quickly divested himself of his wet clothing, let it fall to the floor, and pulled Alastair close for a deep kiss.

Together, they fell on the bed. Despite both their obvious arousal, Nicolas wanted nothing more than just to hold Alastair and warm him up, but Alastair had other plans. He quickly disentangled himself from the embrace and pushed Nicolas down on the mattress, like he always did. A familiar determination was back in his gaze as he straddled Nicolas and sank down on him without any further preparation.

Nicolas gasped. Alastair put his cold hands on Nicolas' chest to support himself and started moving. There was still no trace of emotion on his face, just the last drops of water escaping his hair and running down his cheeks. As the feeling in his own cold fingers slowly returned, Nicolas put his hands on Alastair's hips, but nothing more. He had learned in their very first night together, back in that shabby inn under false identities, that Alastair had to be in complete control of their intimate encounters. If Nicolas had tried to switch positions or take a more active role, he had been quickly reminded that Alastair was in charge. The only few, fleeting moments where Nicolas had been able to do what he wanted had been back at the lake, after the fight with the jaguars. For some precious minutes, Alastair had allowed him to kiss and caress him as Nicolas had always wanted. But it hadn't lasted.

Alastair leaned down and bit Nicolas's lower lip before licking over the abused flesh and allowing a real kiss.

No, he wasn't complaining. Not really. Alastair always made sure that Nicolas was getting full satisfaction out of their encounters.

As the kiss deepened, Alastair quickened his movement. Nicolas caught himself caressing the still chilly skin under his fingers, feeling the hip bones just below the surface.

A tiny gasp was his reward. Nicolas had learned to interpret these little noises and small signs of pleasure. Still, there could have been so much more. Why was Alastair doing this when he obviously held himself back all the time? He could have just let himself fall into the safe embrace of a person who wanted nothing more than to please him.

Like a sharp knife, a realization cut through Nicolas' fogged thoughts.

Alastair was punishing himself for something. And he could not not trust anyone to give up control.

Nicolas tightened his grip to stop the movement. It took all his willpower to do so because his own lust was overwhelming him. But he had to do something.

Alastair looked down on him through tangles of wet hair.

"Alastair, please, stop." Nicolas didn't know what to say in this moment, so he had to explain himself in other ways. He loosened his grip and slowly stroked upwards. His own hands felt hot against the chilly skin. He reached the scales right above the heart. And for a second, he was tempted to dig his fingernails into the soft skin and tear this curse away. But it was impossible.

Alastair gasped again. The skin was definitely more sensitive there. Nicolas gently caressed the area where the scales began, touching the left nipple as if by accident. This was another spot he didn't have much chance so explore so far. Alastair held still although it was torture for both of them not to keep moving. Nicolas took a deep breath. He put his left hand behind Alastair's back and slowly pushed him further down until he could reach Alastair's chest with his lips. As he kissed the scales and the nipple, Alastair gave a helpless little gasp that sent bolts of fire through Nicolas' body. He wanted Alastair to continue his movement so badly, but this moment wasn't about his own pleasure.

The skin slowly, but steadily, warmed under his lips. Maybe the warmth of the Fire God wasn't lost forever. Maybe it could be shared. Nicolas, never the religious type, now caught himself praying for it.

"Nicolas..."

His name, whispered hoarsely. Nicolas wanted to look up into Alastair's face so badly, but he knew he'd lose any remaining shred of control if he did. His head felt dizzy, almost feverish. The skin under his fingers and lips was almost as hot as his own now.

"Nicolas..." Alastair pulled back and looked down at him. Glistening drops of water and sweat ran down his face. His pupils were so dilated that there was almost no blue left. It immediately reminded Nicolas of that moment deep down in the ocean where he had almost lost him. It was like a bucket of cold water that made him think clearly again.

Alastair started to move again, slowly, but urgently. Nicolas gasped, closed his eyes, and gave up. As orgasm washed over them both like a tidal wave a few seconds later, he dared not to open his eyes again.

***

Nicolas had lost all track of time when he left the captain's cabin. Alastair had fallen asleep immediately, and Nicolas had stayed and held him close for some time. When he was sure that Alastair's body remained a normal temperature, he had carefully stood up from the bed and pulled on his still-wet breeches. Boots and shirt in hand, he left to wash and change into dry clothes.

Nicolas was on his way back afterwards when he passed the door to the war room. It was sightly ajar, which was unusual.

Softly, Nicolas pushed it open. He had no chance to find out if he had really dared to spy on the pirates' secrets in there because the room wasn't empty. Mistress Evangielle was sitting at the big table, a bottle of rum in one hand and a glass in the other, and stared at a mess of maps and navigational instruments strewn over the table. More papers and tools had fallen to the ground, some sharp pieces like compasses pinned into the wooden deck like daggers.

"Don't stand there and gawk. Come in here or go." Evangielle's normally crisp pronunciation was a bit blurred. Her eyes, however, were sharp and clear, so much like her brother's.

Nicolas closed the door behind him. "Mylady, the captain is sleeping. He's not injured and warmed up."

Evangielle gestured for him to sit next to her. "I'm sure you personally saw to that. Oh, don't look at me like that. My brother and I don't have any secrets from each other. And I think it would be a good idea if you moved into his cabin. Saves you the time to tiptoe there every night. The crew won't say a word either."

"Are you alright?" Nicolas decided to change the topic since he had no intention to discuss those things with her - although he liked the idea of keeping Alastair permanent company. He sat down next to her.

Evangielle laughed and poured some more rum into her glass. "I know, I'm a bad example. No rum on the journey. But after today..." She looked at him. "It must have been a shock for you. And you've probably guessed why he didn't tell you."

"He told me his reasons. And it was a shock. You think you know how the world works, and then something like this happens. But it won't change my..." He didn't know what to say.

Evangielle just nodded. "I thought I'd lose him today once and for all, if it hadn't been for you. I'm in your debt."

"I'm just glad that we both survived," Nicolas replied. " And I only wish to be worthy of both your trust."

Evangielle paused for a moment before she continued. "There's something you need to know before we reach the Threelandsea north of Calez. We'll go to Caera first to find the artifact there because Alastair and I know exactly where it is. It's in the governor's castle in Gwyrd, right by the sea. We grew up there. Our father... well, he's the current governor, Lord Thompson."

So Nicolas' suspicions of a noble upbringing were proving right. "And your mother? I mean, was she really...? I'm sorry, I don't want to pry."

"It's alright. I'll tell you her sad little story, if you want," Evangielle replied with a shaky laugh. "They named her Jenna. Fishermen found her on the coast as a young girl. She was confused, naked, and couldn't even understand one word of Albian, so everyone thought her a survivor from a foreign shipwreck. One of the fishermen, Bryan Blake, brought her home to his wife Moira to raise her as their own child since they didn't have any of their own. My mother was a quick learner and a gentle soul, and soon, everyone in the village had accepted her as if she had always been there. It also helped that she looked like a born Caeran with her fair skin and red hair." Evangielle smiled and pulled at a tousled lock of her honey-colored hair. "Not like mine, though, but a deep and dark shade, like blood. Alastair is the spitting image of her. Beautiful as she was, she was bound to get some attention. Her foster parents had encouraged her to find well-paid and clean work at the governor's castle. Lord Thompson, young and good-looking, soon noticed the new maid in his household. My mother always told us that it was love at first sight. Lord Thompson was already married, but neither of them cared. Soon after, my brother and I were born. Since Lady Thompson couldn't get pregnant, we were raised and educated like noble children. Lord Thompson swore to my mother he'd legalize our status. But you can probably guess what happened."

As Evangielle gulped down another half-full glass of rum, Nicolas answered, "I guess that Lady Thompson finally bore the desired male heir."

"She did. We were ten and nine years old when our half-brother Ashland was born. Since he was a sickly child, nothing changed for a few years. But when he grew stronger and was sure to survive, Lord Thompson decided that Alastair and I were in the way. My mother still loved him, but he had already lost interest in her. We were banished from the castle on Ashland's fifth birthday." She paused. Her eyes were misty. "Now you can understand why we hate Albians so much. Lord Thompson promised us everything, and then he took everything away - like the Albians did with the Caeran people. We can't even think of him as our father anymore."

Nicolas briefly thought about his own, happy childhood in a strict, yet loving home and a father who let him go to find his own way. He could always return there and be welcome.

"That day, we went to the cliffs under the castle. My mother embraced us and told us be strong. She said that her time to return home had come. We didn't understand at all. Of course we had heard the stories and rumors about sirens living in disguise among humans, but at that moment, we realized that they were true. I'll never forget her sad eyes as she turned around and jumped off that cliff. Then she was gone."

Nicolas felt a chill run down his spine. As Evangielle grabbed the bottle to pour more rum, he gently took it from her. She smiled crookedly and let him. As she looked into her now empty glass, she continued. "We could have gone to our grandparents in the village, but all we wanted was to leave Caera and start over somewhere else. We had a little money, a good education including reading, writing, mathematics, fencing and etiquette. And we were so naive. We decided to get away as stowaways on a trade ship."

"And that ship was captured by pirates?" Nicolas guessed.

"I wish it had been. We.. we were captured by a Qiristani slave ship. They act like pirates, but they don't attack ships to get gold or goods. They want people." Evangielle reached out to the bottle Nicolas had put a bit further away on the table, but then she stopped herself. "They found us, of course." She hesitated as she looked up at Nicolas. Her gaze bore into him. "Alastair won't be happy if he knew I'm telling you this. But he'd rather bite off his tongue than to speak of it. And I think you need to know. Promise me you won't think less of him."

Nicolas felt the coldness of the ocean return to his limbs. He just nodded.

"Alastair tried to protect me. He fought the slave traders and managed to kill two of them before he got the injury on his left eye. You've probably noticed that it's blind. This brave behavior earned a grudging respect with the captain, so he wasn't killed on the spot. Alastair could even convince him that I'd be infinitely more worth to them untouched, so I was safely locked away. But my brother... with a scarred face, he was seen as damaged goods anyway. And the slavers wanted revenge for their dead comrades. And some... fun." She almost spat the word.

"Please stop." Nicolas felt bile rise in his throat. Alastair's compulsive behavior to control everything, especially in bed, now had a very good and terrible explanation.

"A few weeks later, the slave ship was attacked by Admiral Heron with this very vessel we are on now. She was just called the Siren back then. It was a difficult fight since the Qiristani ship was much bigger and well-armed. Alastair and I watched it from below deck. Suddenly, Alastair stared at that siren figurehead as if in trance. I couldn't believe my eyes when the Siren suddenly surged forward on an impossible wave to get the perfect angle for her cannons and turned the battle in her favor. That was the first time Alastair used his powers. Admiral Heron knew immediately what was going on. He freed us and brought us here. It was in this room that we decided we were home at last."

Nicolas took a deep breath. "Thank you for telling me. I swear to you I'll never say a word of it to anyone." And he meant it.

They sat in silence for a while.

"We want you to join us when we sneak into the governor's castle. We still know all the secret passageways. With a bit of luck, we'll get the treasure without a fight," Evangielle said. Slowly, she tried to stand up, but failed. "I should get to my cabin."

Nicolas helped her stand up. "I'll escort you, Mylady."

"It's just Evangielle." She patted him on the cheek and gave him a watery smile. "Although I like it how you address me. You're a good man with good manners. It's almost a shame I didn't catch you first." She tried to walk a few steps on Nicolas's arm, but when her knees buckled, he scooped her up and carried her to the door. Evangielle giggled and opened the door for him after reaching past the handle a few times.

A few steps down the gangway, they almost collided with Dan Harrison.

"You surely lost no time, Officer Ordano," he remarked.

"The mistress isn't feeling well," Nicolas replied. His back tensed in a way that had nothing to do with the light weight of the young woman in his arms. "Now get out of my way."

Harrison's smirk didn't vanish as he squeezed himself into a corner to let them pass.

Evangielle was too drunk to notice. When Nicolas reached her cabin, he carefully put her onto her bed. The room was similar in size and layout to Alastair's but completely different in its contents and furniture. Every wall was plastered with bookshelves that had emptied most of their contents on the floor during the storm. Nicolas could make out a collection of romance novels banned in Albia for their overly saucy content. In between, dozens of fancy dresses and their frilly underskirts gushed out of various chests like exotic flowers.

"Remind me to teach you how to read our charts when I'm sober again," Evangielle murmured before she fell asleep.

Nicolas still felt cold.