“Rohan?” She tried to make her tone casual.
“Yeah?” He examined his freshly painted black nails.
She inhaled, then whispered, “I don’t know how to swim.”
Rohan turned to her. His dark eyes were large and unblinking, like a night monkey’s. “You’re joking.”
She shook her head. She knew how stupid it sounded.
Rohan’s face creased into a smile, and he burst into a deep laugh. “You don’t know how to swim?”
She hit his arm. “Keep your voice down.”
He covered his mouth with his hand. “I really want to see Lir’s face when you tell him.”
Her stomach turned in knots. Lir already thought she was useless. “Maybe there’s another option that doesn’t require swimming.”
“What, like a pie-eating contest?” He ran a finger over the rim of his cup. “You’re going to have to ask Lir for swimming lessons.”
How was she supposed to manage swimming lessons if she was terrified of the water?
Rohan’s face suddenly grew serious. “Do you think he’ll strip down for them? Might be worth his obnoxious attitude.”
Fiona hugged her knees. “This is all just hilarious to you, isn’t it.”
“I thought you volunteered to come here. What sort of madwoman volunteers to be a sea demon and live among pirates when she can’t swim?”
“But historical pirates—”
Rohan waved a hand. “They’re not historical pirates. They worship a bloody sea god. They’re quite keen on water.”
“Do you think they’ll kick me off the ship?”
“From what I’ve seen of Lir, he takes everything seriously. Since he’s agreed to train you, he’ll do his best. He’ll probably kick up a big fuss and then force you to spend the rest of your free time swimming and waving that sword around.”
Fiona scowled. “I don’t think my muscles can take any more torture.”
Rohan rose, stretching his arms over his head, and a few amber drops of beer sloshed from his cup. “I’m turning in. Please let me know how it goes.” With one last amused grin, he slipped out the door.
Fiona stood, pulling her hair into a bun and gritting her teeth. Might as well get it over with. Stepping out her door, she tiptoed the few feet to Lir’s and pressed her ear to the door, listening for sounds of alertness. She wasn’t about to rouse him from sleep.
There was a muffled sound, and the door jerked open. Fiona stumbled, nearly falling into his room. For the first time, she saw him without his shirt. Her eyes lingered on the octopus splayed across his muscular torso.
“What?”
“Do you have superhuman hearing? I didn’t even knock.”
“No, but I could see your feet under the door.”
Around the octopus’s tentacles, swirls of stars and a few lines of a cursive poem snaked over his chest.
About, about, in reel and rout
The death-fires danced at night;
The water, like a witch’s oils,
Burnt green, and blue and white.
She recognized Coleridge’s verse right away. It wasn’t a happy poem—something about a sailor who killed an albatross, and found himself plagued by death spirits. As penance, the sailor had to spend the rest of his life with an albatross hanging around his neck.
Lir leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms. “Presumably you wanted something?”
She was still staring. “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. Your tattoo.”
“You came here to talk about my tattoo?”
“No, of course not.” His room had the clean smell of a rainstorm. He wasn’t inviting her in, and she still hovered in the hallway. Might as well get on with it. “Marlowe was telling us about the trials, and I might need some extra help with—” She swallowed, searching for a way to stall. She eyed his room over his shoulder. A collection of knives rested on a rack on the wall. “Nice arsenal. A little creepy, but…”
Lir glanced back, spying his open journal on his bed. Fiona caught a brief glimpse of a tentacled drawing before he snapped it shut, tucking it under his arm.
“Whatever you’re here for, can you get to the point? And please don’t let it be something ridiculous, like you’re terrified of masts or you don’t like the water.”
Fiona’s lips tightened. “Well, the good news is, I’m not terrified of masts.”
“And?”
“The second one. The one about the water.” She mouthed, “I can’t swim.”
Lir’s forehead crinkled in confusion. “What?”
“I can’t swim!” she yelled.
Lir’s eyes bulged. “You have got to be kidding me.” He stared at her, and she waited for him to say something more. At last, he tilted his head at the bed. “Come in for a minute.”
She shot a nervous look to his knife collection before entering, and he shut the door behind her. Tentatively, she perched on the edge of his bed.
He folded his arms again, eyeing her. “Is there anything else you need to tell me? Maybe you’re allergic to the wind?”