“Focus isn’t getting us anywhere. Let’s drink.” He lifted the carafe from the table and filled both our glasses.
“Really?” My brows flickered. “Have you given up?”
“I haven’t given up, I’m just not going to let some old power tripper of the gods stop me from enjoying being in Santorini with a pretty girl.”
Heat crept into my cheeks and ears as Finn tossed back his glass.
“War is coming, and I’m dying. The least you can do is have a drink with me.”
I sighed and took a sip, my eyes narrowing. “As long as you don’t stopbrainstorming. We only have a few hours, and that box might contain a way to save your life.”
“Yes, yes.” He waved a hand, turning to call to the waiter, “We’ll have another carafe of this red and ouzo shots for everyone in the house.” The patrons around us cheered as he yelled the last bit.
My mouth popped open as I watched Finn. Gone was the moody, brooding merman with the furrowed brows. Maybe it was the relief of my discovering the truth about the Shadow that had done it. Or perhaps it was knowing this was his last taste of freedom before we returned to Thálassa, and then the summit, where he’d have to face his father and play the prince once more.
His dark eyes flicked to mine, and something inside me flared as I realized I still loved him. I’d told myself I didn’t, that it was only hate I felt, but when I saw the Shadow’s veins twisting under his skin like harbingers of death, I knew that wasn’t true. I threw back another mouthful of wine.
One hour and four carafes later, Finn had embroiled the surrounding patrons in our revelry by buying wine and ouzo for the crowd.
“Dimitri, turn this up, would you?” he cried, edging out of his seat. He began to clap his hands slowly to the rhythm of the bouzouki, his fringe falling across his forehead.
I’d seen people dancing to this tune at weddings in movies and recognized it as “Zorba the Greek.”
A devious grin appeared on Finn’s face as he grabbed the nearest patron by the elbow, spinning the elderly woman into a circle. She flushed as he held her hand. The infectious beat filled the tavern, and the silver flecks in Finn’s eyes sparkled with the music.
He drew the diners in one by one—young and old, tourists and locals alike—until a line of dancers snaked through the narrow space, arms slung over each other’s shoulders.
Ba-da doom, ba-da doom, ba-da doom-doom.
The tune echoed through the space as the line of dancers swayed.
“How do you even know this dance?” I called over the music, clapping my hands to the beat.
“My mother was Thálassian, remember? And I’ve lived a long 116 years!”
Under Finn and Dimitri’s tutelage, the group moved to the left in unison, a small, deliberate side step, the soles of their shoes barely touching the worn stone floor.
Releasing the patron at his side, Finn swept over and seized my hand, brushing his thumb over mine. A smile flirted with his lips as he pulled me to my feet. My protests dissolved into laughter as I stumbled into step beside him, my arm looping over his shoulders and then around the tourist who was jigging on my left.
Ba-da doom, ba-da doom, ba-da doom-doom!
The tempo quickened. Our fumbling feet grew bolder, stomping harder as the melody spiraled, and I floundered along to the rhythm.
The glow of the setting sun caught my eye, painting the waves beneath it in a rosy blush. It was almost sundown, and we hadn’t solved the riddle. I looked over at Finn, who grinned back, his dark hair falling across his face as his slow side steps turned into quick bouncing hops with the heightening music.
Ba-da-doom, ba-da-doom, ba-da-doom-doom!
I let out a breathy laugh and surrendered to the rhythm, taking in the beauty of Santorini’s famous sunset, the water glistening under its golden glow.
Who cared if we didn’t get the box? We’d find another way.
The world had that blurry, magical feeling from just the right amount of wine mixed with sundown.
I froze, pulling my hands free from Finn’s and the tourist beside me as a realization crashed over me.
“Morgana?” Finn stopped dancing, his brows furrowing with concern.
“Wine,” I gasped.
