Page 168 of Dagger in the Sea

The urge to grab onto her and pull her close, smell her hair, inhale the scent of her skin that had become my very own tore through me. Feel her arms around me, hear her throaty Greek whispers tease me, plead for my mercy, for my ruthlessness, for more.

Just once more.

I released her. “Go.”

Adri’s watery eyes glimmered at my sharp tone, her chin raised. She stood still, a thousand flaming words yet unspoken. But in our hearts they were there. I knew. She knew.

“I will never forget you. You gave me something beautiful that I will always treasure no matter what,” she said slowly, carefully. “This I wanted you to know.”

“Go,” I begged, my voice raw.

Her shoulders eased. A hand on my chest and she leaned closer, whispered in my ear,“Adío, agápi mou.”

I shut my eyes, and she let go. Like a boat setting off from a dock, heading out to sea, my beautiful, resilient girl took off. A harsh sting snaked through me, and I winced. She vanished in the glare of the sunlight filling the glass terminal.

Gone.

Gone in the blur of my unsteady vision.

My hands jammed in my pockets, and my fingers closed around the smooth stone I’d taken from her at the beach cave at Vitáli. I shut my aching eyes, and I saw us walking the cobblestoned streets of Chóra hand in hand, the uninhibited grin on her face as she danced, her laughing at me when I was annoyed, hair flying as she put the jeep in gear and we climbed those twisting mountain roads that very first time, her body clinging to mine as we swam together in the aqua sea we’d had all to ourselves. I felt that gentle kiss in the ruins of a stone castle on a rock above the sea.

Adri. Adri. Adrithe wind called to me.

“Goodbye, my love,” I whispered on that wind, repeating her words. Words that seared whatever was left of my soul, my heart. My hand went to my chest where hers had just been. I couldn’t breathe through the smoke those burning words had left behind.

Adri had made me hers forever. Adri had bound me with moonlight and jasmine, sunrises and cold wine, the press of her hand in mine, the rapture of her sigh, the warmth of her skin. I had to leave her on the other side of the globe, and if I survived, I would lift the world on my shoulders and tilt its axis to bring her back to me.

“This way, sir,” the stewardess said pointing to the door that led outside to the tarmac. I followed her to the plane that waited for me.

I was going to cross the sea again, return home. I’d risen from my battlefield, my own blood dripping from my side, and that cold elixir, truth, had finally seeped into my veins, my very bones.

Unlike Hamlet, I had no ghosts warning me, telling me what to do. No arras to hide behind. I didn’t fucking need them—I knew what I must do, and I would face my quarry eye to eye.

The rest will not be silence, Hamlet, not for me. My purpose and ire are sharpened and heavy and ready for blood.Blood speaks louder than words, young prince. Blood. His, mine, hers.

I settled in my seat, fastened my belt, refused the offer of a drink. Door sealed, the pilot spoke, engines roared, and we taxied down the runway. The plane rose in the sky, curving, and we soared above mountains, shoreline, blue, blue sea.

My heart thudded in my chest, and I closed my eyes.

High on a cliff, Adri told me a myth born of blood and saltwater, written in the tears of a man and a woman, in a blue sea far away, far, far away. A sea of pirates and conquerors. A sea of ancient heroes.

I listened, and it told tales of boldness and daring.

Of swords and cannons.

Of smoke and fire.

Of deep love and savage longing.

Of a dagger.

I heard its wild song. Alluring, unforgiving.

For me there would be no rest, none of Hamlet’s angels singing, only the flights of demons filling the night sky with their roar as I moved from under my shadows.

I am ready.

In my heart the rhythm of that song, in my blood the exultant wine.

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