“They didn’t want us being used for anything,” she explained with a shrug. “And they were hardcore nonconformists. I needed isolation to survive, but they also didn’t like the idea of any government telling them how to raise their kids, so they packed me and Nelly up and moved us to some of the most rural parts of the continent.”
Emory, who was propped up against the couch beside her, made a curious growling sound in the back of his throat. “It was right for them to protect their young. I would never let some stranger handle my pups.”
Clementine took another long sip of her tea, soothing her throat. They’d been talking for so long that it’d gone scratchy. “It’s complicated. My sister and I have talked about it a lot over the years — whether they really did it for us or because of their political beliefs. My sister is more bitter about it than I am, I think. Mostly I just feel guilty.”
“Guilty?” His long hair, so much thicker than hers, whispered over her arm and shoulder as he leaned in close. His scent was light but delicious: a tantalizing blend of salt and clean air andhim.Every time she smelled it, her stomach twisted with that warm, tight sensation of arousal. “Why guilty? You didn’t do anything wrong. You were a pup.”
Clementine curled her toes into the blanket she’d thrown over the both of them. Her gaze remained fixed on her mug. She didn’t want to look up into his pale face and lose her nerve when she murmured, “Well, if I hadn’t been born with… you know, they wouldn’t have given up their careers and Nelly wouldn’t have had to be so isolated.”
It was the kernel of guilt that had made it so easy for her to pretend that everything was okay for so long. Acknowledging that thingsweren’tfine would have forced her to really sit with the guilt that had haunted her since she was a little girl — the knowledge that all of her parents’ problems and Nelly’s unhappiness were because of her.
The very tip of one claw skimmed the curve of her ear, eliciting a shiver and prompting her to look up. “I don’t think that’s right. You said yourself that they were nonconformists. Maybe they were already on that path before you were born. Maybe they are like merfolk. We don’t like authority much either. And your sister— You said she also has special abilities. Why is it all your fault if youbothhad needs they were trying to meet?”
Clementine leaned into his side. It was almost unbearable, the sweet ache that took root behind her breastbone when she peered up at him. “Guilt doesn’t always make a whole lot of sense.”
All guilt needed to flourish was a seed and time. The gods knew Clementine had been given both in spades.
She could know intellectually that it wasn’t her fault, that there was never a choice, that her parents had their own motivations, and that Nelly needed accommodations too, butknowingrarely uprooted the seed of guilt.
In the soft light of the floor lamp beside her couch, Emory’s sharp, alien features were gentled. Gone was the predator who rose from the moon pool and looked at her like she was his next meal. Sitting beside her was a man who listened intently and spoke with his own old pain when he replied, “I understand that. I feel guilty about the time I missed with my father. I know that I was just a pup learning how to be independent, but I didn’t make the effort to understand him. I didn’t spend time with him outside of the water that I should have.”
“Was it hard having a father that was so different from you?”
For a moment, the only sound was the distant chorus of waves battering ancient stone and the faintest buzz of her refrigerator in the next room. She waited for him to gather his thoughts and tried to pretend like the answer to his question didn’t mean something forthem.
After a long moment of quiet, Emory answered, “In some ways it was. Most merfolk are very independent from a young age, but I was… more than normal. I didn’t like sticking to the islands. I was annoyed when my father would tell me off for going too far or not coming home on time. I thought he was weak and old and…”
The song of Emory’s mind took on a familiar, melancholy tenor. Clementine’s throat tightened. His proud features were drawn tight with old sorrow and his fathomless eyes had gone liquid black with unshed tears.
“Hewasn’t,”Emory declared, suddenly fierce. One clawed hand slashed the air. “He wasn’t weak or afraid or anything like I thought he was when I was young and stupid. My father was fearless, and he was a good man. A loving mate. Agreatfather.”
Turning to face her more fully, Emory continued, “When I was a juvenile, I was dared by a few podmates to do something I was told never to do. I was arrogant and said I could swim to the bottom of the crevasse.” He tipped his head to the right, in the direction she knew the seafloor dropped off sharply. “I was stupid. I nearly drowned and then came up too fast. My eardrums burst. I got the bends. The other juveniles were scared of getting in trouble, so they left me there to float.”
Horror drained the blood from her face so fast, she saw spots. “Gods, Emory, you could havedied.”
“I could have.” He stroked her hair again, this time in an obvious attempt to soothe both of them. “I thought I was dead. But I wasn’t, because my father searched for hours. One of the boys confessed and told him the general area, but the current had swept me out. He rowed on his little dinghy all night while my mother and siblings looked in other areas.”
Clementine caught his hand and pressed it against her cheek. Her chest ached with the echo of the fear his father must have felt, the discomfort he must have endured as he rowed against the thrashing waves of Grim’s Bay. “That was incredibly brave of your father, Emory.”
“It was,” he agreed, expression softening. “He hauled me onto the dinghy and rowed me all the way back to our cove through fog so thick I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. I never was able to figure out how he did it, but he did.”
“Did it take you long to recover?”
His eyes cut away from her. The hand that had cradled her cheek slid out from under her own to ball into a fist in his lap. “Months.”
“That must have been awful for you.” She could only imagine what it must have been like to go from a rowdy, curious, independent young man to needing a months-long recovery.
“It wasn’t the injuries that bothered me.” Emory let out a long sigh. “I struggled to get back in the water after that. The hours I waited to die— the deep below me, waiting to suck me back down… I could barely dip my tail in after that.”
Oh, gods.Clementine couldn’t claim to know overly much about her neighbors, but it didn’t take a huge leap to guess that developing a fear of deep water was a fate worse than death for a merman.
Emory suddenly stiffened, his shoulders straightening as if he expected her to inspect his fitness or something. “Don’t worry, my Clementine. I’ve gotten better. I can protect you and our young. I’m defective, notweak.”
“Defective?” She couldn’t stop herself from grabbing his arm, anchoring them together as she leaned in close. The muscles under her fingers were so tense they trembled.“You’re notdefective,Emory! I was just— I was just thinking of how horrible that must have been for you as a child. How isolating. I know how that feels better than just about anyone.”
He didn’t relax completely, but the muscle of his bicep unbunched beneath her hand. Almost begrudgingly, he said, “It was difficult. The pod isn’t a place for weaklings and those who can’t keep up. Even when I started to swim again, I couldn’t force myself to go as deep as they did, as my siblings or my mother did. Even as an adult, I could only do it to offer my parents’ bodies to Tempest. The deep is just… beyond me now.”
Tears clogged her throat. “You were left behind?”
