Excerpt from Sea of Charms

Marin was alone on her sailboat, and the sea was singing. She listened to the waves beat their rhythm on Silver's hull, while the wind sang its melody as it filled the silver sails. Adjusting the trim, she tried to let the waves and the wind wash away the knot of hurt and humiliation and fury that had been inside her for weeks now. She inhaled deeply and then let out a wild scream with every bit of air in her lungs.

No one told her to be quiet.

No one told her to return to shore.

Overhead, a seabird soared eastward, so high up that it was a white dot against the bright blue, and she wondered if it flew alone by choice or chance. Or a mix of both. Like me.

She'd come so close to losing all of this.

Marin breathed in and tasted the salty air, her favorite taste, and tried to focus on that taste on her tongue instead of feeling as if she were choking on regret. She was here on Silver now, and he couldn't do anything about it. He'd failed. She hated thinking about how narrow an escape it had been. An overheard conversation. A few numbers that didn't match up in the family account book. If I hadn't caught him... But she had, and it was over. Instead of an engagement, she had this beautiful new boat, a debt that would take her years to repay, and the entire wide, wild sea before her.

So long as she didn't return home, there would be zero risk she'd be ensnared again and zero reason for him to target her parents. Iovar had wanted her -- or not her but some subdued, shrunken version who wore her face but was content to be a landbound wife whose only desire was to support her husband's dreams. He never loved me. If he had, he never would have tried to take the sea from her.

Marin had wanted to be a sailor for as long as she could remember. She'd worked with her parents on their boats ever since she was little -- they were supply runners who made deliveries, both regularly scheduled and one-off requests, between the many islands of the Crescent Islands Empire. She'd always planned to take over her parents' business when they retired. But Iovar... He hadn't wanted his future wife to have a life on the sea.

He'd begun with little requests. Reasonable requests. It made him worry, he'd said, when she sailed in rough seas. It made him worry, he'd said, when she sailed at night. It made him sad and lonely when he didn't see her when he came home from work. Or at dawn. Or lunch. But could she be a little quieter? Did she have to laugh so loud? And maybe she shouldn't tell such outrageous stories -- everyone knew there was no such thing as a tiger-shark sea witch. Or a kelp forest with kelp animals. He just didn't want her to embarrass herself. He loved her so much... And so, she'd made herself smaller. For him. Because she thought she loved him too, and it was only a little compromise here and there, a temporary sacrifice, just until he was less anxious... But then, through sheer chance, she uncovered what he was doing behind her back: he didn't want a wife who took to the sea, and so he'd tried to secretly ruin her family's business.

He'd very nearly succeeded.

But he didn't. And that was what mattered. She had her own boat now, outfitted for supply running, thanks to her parents. She'd visited job boards in Dew and a few other islands and had plans to secure regular customers. For now, she was primarily trading delivery work for supplies: bread, fruit, soap, other necessities. But soon, if she could figure out how to cheaply secure a regular food source, she hoped to begin hoarding enough to chip away at her parents' debt. They'd poured everything that Iovar hadn't swindled them out of, plus far more they didn't have, into gifting her Silver, and Marin was determined to ensure they didn't lose any more.

Tightening the mainsheet, Marin prepared to tack. She had two more deliveries to make on this supply run. She should take the safer route and circle around the islands of Iro and Nane. It would add half a day's journey to take the outer loop, but neither delivery was a rush -- she'd get paid in full whenever she arrived -- so she didn't need to take risks. Going between the islands... it was unnecessary, reckless, and beautiful.

Iovar would have told her to take the outer loop.

He never would have let her leave the harbor in the first place.

I didn't take to the seas to skip out on beautiful.

Knowing it was a terrible decision, knowing that she couldn't trust herself to make good decisions, Marin did it anyway. She held tight to the mainsheet with one hand while with the other, she steered Silver into the wind. She both felt and saw the sails luff, fluttering as the bow of the boat turned through the wind, and she gripped the line tighter as the boom shifted to the port side and the sail began to backfill. At exactly the right moment, she released the mainsheet. It zipped away from her fingers, and the sail billowed out. With practiced ease, she grabbed the winch handle and cranked it, pulling the sail in until Silver shot forward.

It was the best feeling, when you and your boat moved as one. Grinning fiercely, she continued to zigzag, tacking into the wind, aiming for the gap between the islands known as the Painted Pass.

Countless tales and songs had been written about the cliffs of Iro and Nane: they'd been painted by two lovers, one who lived on one island and one on another. Their parents had forbidden them to marry, and so they painted their love in the colors of sunrise and sunset. Discovering this, their families had tried to wash the paint away, but the very rocks had been stained by the two artists' love and, regardless of how hard their relatives scrubbed and chipped at the stone, the colors didn't fade, until at last, both families relented and allowed the two to marry. To this day, no wind or rain or sea could dim the colors.

Granted, there was also the more prosaic explanation -- it was just minerals in the rocks acting as a natural dye. But Marin liked the love story better. If she was never going to have her own great love -- and she was done with ever wanting that -- then she'd treasure the fictional ones even more.

Using the wind, she guided her sailboat toward the gap between the islands. It was a narrow passageway with sharp, jagged rocks on both sides. Worse, the cliffs created a wind tunnel that made a boat hard to control. She grinned even broader as she aimed for it.

In seconds, she was within. The painted cliffs towered over her. They were even more magnificent than the stories and songs had said. On either side of her, the rocks blazed red, orange, and gold -- such rich colors that the reflected light made the sea swim with them, a liquid sunset. Lemon yellow danced along the top of the cliff, so high up it was barely visible, with the blue of the sky above it. She marveled at it all.

And then she heard the cry.

It sounded like the wail of a dying child, but it was far too loud and high-pitched for any human throat to make. It echoed through the gap, ricocheting off the cliff walls. Marin shivered. What is that?

The cry cascaded, like a trumpet playing falling notes. She continued to tack, zigzagging through the narrow passageway, keeping as much of her focus on her sails as possible while she watched for the source of the sound.

As she came around a red rock, she saw him:

A sea serpent.

His scales were mother-of-pearl, and his featherlike fins were dotted with blood. His body -- at least twice the length of her sailboat -- was twisted around the jagged, sunset-colored rocks at the base of the painted cliffs of Iro. He wailed his pain in a crying song that filled the canyon, echoing endlessly.

"Oh, crap," Marin breathed.

He must have swum into the pass when the tide was higher and then gotten himself beached on the rocks when it retreated. Perhaps he'd fallen asleep and then woken in a panic, wedging himself deeper between the rocks as he'd flailed. His feathery, muscular tail smashed against the water as he tried -- and failed -- to free himself.

That tail could split her boat in two if it slammed down on her hull.

His jaws could snap her mast if she sailed too close.

There was enough space in the passageway that she could, if she was careful, make it past him by sailing just out of reach -- if she timed it exactly right.

He met her eyes as she sailed closer.

Such blue eyes, as deep a blue as the ocean when the moon shone on it.

She knew what he saw: a wooden boat with silver sails that he could crush if he could reach it, piloted by a fragile human with silvery skin that matched her sails and white-and-black-striped hair tied back with a silver ribbon. She must look to him like salvation. Or lunch.

"Ahh, Marin," Marin said, "this is a truly terrible idea."

Because she could see: he was pinned between the rocks. If someone -- someone like, say, me -- were to lift just one segment of his middle up over the rocks, he should be able to leverage himself out and back into the water.

There was only a split second to decide: sail around the sea serpent... or toward him.

It wasn't a decision.

He was trapped; she could free him.

Probably. Maybe. If she was lucky. And quick. Very, very quick.

Marin aimed for him. She locked the lines in place and ran across her boat onto the bow. She didn't stop when she reached the tip -- she leaped off and landed, hard, on the rocks. She hissed as she scraped her knee.

"Do not eat me," Marin ordered the sea serpent. "Calm. Stay calm. You want to hear a story?" Panting, she scrambled up onto the rock. "How about my first delivery job? It was to an island that was inhabited only by a lighthouse keeper and a flock of feral gryphons. Except I didn't know about the gryphons..." It wasn't precisely a true story -- the flock hadn't chased her on Silver and she hadn't tossed them fish until they were distracted enough that she could escape, but that was what she would have done if the gryphons hadn't been asleep. She kept her voice soothing as she talked.

Behind her, Silver continued to sail forward on the heading she'd set, toward the cliff rocks. She braced herself and shoved both hands under the shimmering scales of the sea serpent. He sang at her, a querulous note as clear as the ring of crystal.

Marin hefted the segment of the serpent up. She could only lift him a few inches -- he was enormous; she couldn't wrap her arms around him -- but it was enough! He flipped his sinewy body upward, and she didn't hesitate -- the second he moved, she ran and leaped off the rocks and onto her boat. She ran across the prow and hurled herself at the helm. Spinning the wheel, Marin unclamped the lines and tacked as hard and fast as she could.

Silver screamed as its side scratched against the rocks. She winced at the sound. Please, no holes. The silver sails luffed, and then the wind caught. The sailboat sped forward, away from the rocks and toward the center of the gap. Her heart raced as fast as a hummingbird's, and she realized her hands were shaking. She gripped the lines harder, and she looked behind her.

Marin watched the sea serpent slide into the water, free of the rocks. "Yay," she said weakly, and she collapsed backward to breathe, just for a second because she still needed to focus on sailing her way out of the Painted Pass.

She concentrated on catching the wind and steering clear of the cliffs. Ahead, it became even more narrow. The wind howled as it swept her forward. She had no choice but to keep Silver in a close reach, with the sails as tight as possible before each change in direction, which made her speed increase --

A swell lifted her sailboat into the air. She lost focus for an instant, and the sails luffed as her boat headed into the wind. "No!" She yanked as hard as she could on the mainsheet as she turned the wheel, fighting to reestablish control.

And the swell of water beneath her propelled her forward through the gap. She looked back to see the feathered tail of the serpent behind the aft of her sailboat.

It was the sea serpent beneath her, carrying her.

In seconds, she spurted out the other side of the passage -- out into the open sea.

The swell diminished.

Marin caught the wind again. She let out a yell of triumph.

Beside her, the sea serpent trumpeted back. He dove through the waves like a dolphin breaching, and his iridescent scales glistened in the sun. Back in the water, his wounds were washed clean, and she could see they hadn't been deep -- scrapes from his attempts to free himself from the rocks. Not much worse than her knee.

"You're welcome," she called, "and thank you!"

She had no idea how intelligent sea serpents were, but the ride out from between the cliffs had to have been intentional. She'd saved him, so he returned the favor.

"We're even now!" Marin waved to him.

He propelled himself out of the water and arched in the air like a rainbow, before diving back between the waves. It was such a magnificent sight that she forgot to breathe, only remembering when his tail disappeared beneath the surface of the sea.

"Well, that doesn't happen every day," Marin said conversationally to her sails.

She leaned back and couldn't stop grinning. What a tale this would make, if she had anyone to tell it to. Maybe whoever received the delivery at the next dock would want to hear it. Chances are, they won't believe it.

That was okay. She knew it was true.

And Iovar wasn't here to refute it.

Her smile faded as she thought of him, and then she resolutely shoved all thoughts of him away, squishing them into a tiny ball in the corner of her heart. She'd made it through the pass, and she'd rescued a sea serpent. It was a good day, and it was all hers.

Settling in, Marin sailed away from the painted cliffs and the twin islands of the lovers. The wind was strong and steady, and the sun was warm on her silvery arms and cheeks. It caressed her as if welcoming her back from the rainbow shadows of the Painted Pass.

In the distance, she spotted a herd of merhorses. She watched them crest with the waves, sea spray flying from their manes as their tails propelled them through the water. It wasn't every day one got to see a sea serpent, much less rescue one. She'd treasure this memory.

Humming an old sailor's song, she continued on.

It was two hours later when she realized the sea serpent hadn't left. He was still swimming with her, beneath the waves, a polite distance from her boat.

"Um, hey?" Marin called. "You said thanks. We're all good. You can go now."

He flicked one of his feathery fins, and water sprayed her legs.

She felt a bit like she'd been scolded for being silly. "I'm serious," Marin said. "You can't just... stay with me."

He raised his head out of the water and looked at her with his blue-as-the-night-sea eyes.

Okay, so maybe she couldn't tell him what to do or what not to do, but really? A sea serpent swimming alongside her boat? For hours? She'd never heard of that happening. They were supposed to be aloof creatures who occasionally sank ships during storms for no apparent reason. You were supposed to admire them and avoid them.

"We're not friends," Marin told him.

He swam beside her boat, as if to say he disagreed.

When he was still with her two days later, she gave him a name: Perri.

And when the people on the docks she visited asked how she'd befriended a sea serpent, she told them the truth: "I didn't. He befriended me." All she'd done was save his life, which didn't seem nearly as impressive a feat as becoming her friend.

Coming soon from Macmillan / Tor / Bramble.

Pre-order this book from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Books-a-Million, Bookshop.org, Target, Walmart, or your local independent bookseller.

Return to Excerpts page.

ISBN: 978-1250400673