Bran grasped Sarah's hand to help her from the carriage. He watched the road for other travelers; other eyes that might see his treasure. He was glad for the darkness.

"Please, Sarah," he said, "keep the hood tight, and look away if anyone comes near." He helped her down and tugged her hood forward. Her face lay in shadow. He hoped she would obey and keep it thus. She was like a child in her innocence, this daughter of the sea.

"How far away is it?" she asked. Urgency filled her voice, her hand quivered in his. "I can smell it. Are we really so near?"

Bran pulled her to him as he began to walk towards the inn. Yes, the sea was near. Too near.

"Remember, Sarah," he said. "They mustn't see your eyes." Violet eyes that spoke only of a child born of Lyr, the god of the sea.

Soon his affairs would be settled and he could rest more easily. Tomorrow they would go to his father's and gather the inheritance. Perhaps he could also find rest for his soul.

Bran tried desperately to ignore the guilt he felt for leaving home all those years before. He had gathered Sarah up and taken her far from the sea, far from her father's calls. Now it was too late for remorse, his own father was dead. Sarah was all that mattered now, and her father was very much alive.

They entered the inn and Bran breathed a sigh of relief to see it empty. The innkeeper showed them to their room, all the while his eyes never left Sarah. She was a jewel.

Bran's chest burned. She was his jewel alone. He did not release his grip on her until the man left them in peace.

Sarah sat on the edge of the bed and removed her hood. She smiled up at Bran and his heart quickened.

"When shall we see it, my love?" she asked, her violet eyes wide in anticipation.

"Tomorrow, Sarah. After I take care of my father's business." He hated lying to her, but she would soon forgive him. He needed to keep her close. Away from the sea.

She cocked her head in question but said nothing. She merely removed her cloak and overdress, and tucked her body beneath the linens.

Then he heard her whisper as she closed her eyes, "I will kiss you on the cliffs, just as we did so long ago."

Before I stole you away, he thought. A new wave of guilt washed over him. He knew what he had done was not right. Though, somehow with Sarah he could not help himself.

She had appeared many times on the cliffs, like a dream, her touch soft and chilled from the depths she emerged from, and her lips damp with salt water. She would kiss him until he could no longer breathe. She would whisper of her home and tempt him with its images of beauty. Until the day he could not allow her to return to the sea below. Then he took her away; his treasure.

"Yes, my love," he whispered, his heart sick. "We will kiss as before."

He sat beside her on the bed, and stroked her hair while she drifted off into sleep. He promised himself to buy her something beautiful tomorrow at market; a cutting of silk to match her eyes.

Soon her breathing was even and he curled in beside her. Her body was warm against his and he found himself wishing he had not lulled her to sleep so quickly. She was a gracious lover and his heart needed that reassurance now.

Instead he turned away, and tried to find his own way into dream.

~ 

Bran awoke with a scream on his lips. He gasped and tried to catch his breath. Just a dream, it had only been a dream. Sarah hadn't left him. She was warm beside him, twisted in the linens.

He reached for Sarah's hand. His fingers found only cold blankets.

He jerked around.

Sarah was gone.

He didn't bother with a cloak or shoes. The stones on the road cut his feet, but he only ran faster. He knew where she'd gone.

The sound of waves crashing against the nearby cliffs grew louder with each step. The misty air was thick with salt. He could taste it on his tongue.

"Sarah!" he cried. "Sarah, please! Hear me!"

Then he heard it. Laughter.

"Sarah!"

He glimpsed a shadow in the mist, the flick of a skirt.

"It's so close, my love," came her voice, muffled in the fog.

Then he saw her, running towards the cliff's edge, towards the sea. He felt sudden panic well up in him.

"I'm so glad you've come."

Bran's throat closed as he watched her skid to a stop at the ledge, a giggle bubbling from her lips. Her feet knocked sand and rocks over into the black depths of the abyss below, where the sea churned in violent anticipation.

"Sarah! Stop!" he called.

She turned back with a smile that painted her features sinister in the shadows of the moonlight.

"Oh, Bran," she said. "How you love me. Like a bird in a cage." Then she flung her arms wide and spun on her heel.

"Come away, Sarah." It came out as only a breath. His heart beat so hard it shook his chest. He reached for her. Terror blinded him. What had he done? His beautiful Sarah, he should never have brought her back to the sea. How could he have not seen this? Why had he not been more careful?

Sarah froze and hovered over the lip. Her body wavered. Her hair hung down like strings of amber seaweed, damp from the misty air.

"You know I can fly," she said. "The waves are my wings. I could teach you." He heard a smile in her words and it sent chills across his skin. She seemed to stop and listen. "Bran? Can you hear it? The stirring. They sing to me even now."

"Please," he whispered. But he could move no closer to take hold of her. Even as she teetered over the edge, even as her foot left its purchase, he stood frozen, arms outstretched.

Her skirts billowed, snapping with the sudden rush of air as she disappeared. The sound of the waves below grew deafening. A gull cried in the distance, or perhaps the cry was his own.

He fell to his knees, crawling to the edge, clutching at the mossy cliff. Below, all was churning darkness. He watched the foam stir around the jagged rocks, waiting for a glimpse of his love.

Then he saw her.

A flicker of moonlight. Scales reflecting the silver colors of night. The pale skin of a shoulder emerging from sea-grass hair. He could not see her face. She would not look back, this he knew. She was going home. Without him.

He watched the last of her color vanish beneath the black waves. Tears stung his throat, choking him.

No! Sarah.

Bran, came a whisper. Follow me.

The sound of the sea against the rocks slowed, becoming a lullaby.

Come, my love. Fly with me.

Bran's fists released the moss and he stood, looking down at the torrent of water. A fresh waking of determination stirred within him. He could not let go. He could not breathe without her.

As his feet let go of the earth he called out: "Sarah!"

Come, my love. Fly with me.

And he flew into darkness.