So now Della's beautiful hair fell about her rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet.

On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street.

Where she stopped the sign read: "Mne. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds." One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the "Sofronie."

"Will you buy my hair?" asked Della.

-- The Gift of the Magi, O. Henry (1917)

She was in Atlantis.

She was in Atlantis.

She kept wanting to pinch herself or giggle like a little girl. She'd spent the past year practicing all the ways she could invite Dare to stay in St. Augustine with her for Christmas, and he'd scooped her completely by inviting her to Atlantis. And here she was.

In Atlantis.

She laughed with the sheer joy of it, and felt Fergus pause next to her. He made an inquisitive noise without words, and she smiled.

"It's like a dream, isn't it? I mean, I know you’ve probably lived here all your life, but to us – to me – Atlantis was a myth in a fairytale story. The lost city. Almost certainly fictional. And now, to be here, to actually be here in person is just amazing." She felt like she was babbling, but she didn't mind that much. She figured it was a pretty normal human reaction to stepping into the center of a fairytale.

"Yes ma'am. Although I admit I feel a little bit that way about your place." He had a rich, kind-sounding voice, and she could hear the sincerity in it.

"Florida? I mean, St. Augustine is the most beautiful city in the U.S., if I do say so myself, but I doubt it can compare to Atlantis. Plus, you have water on all sides. We only have it on the one."

He laughed. "No ma'am, not Florida. Earth. Topside. Most of us have never been anywhere but Atlantis our entire lives."

She mentally smacked her forehead. Of course. Atlantis had been protected by a magical dome far beneath the ocean for a little more than 11,000 years, before some super magical high priest had managed to make the city rise to the surface.

She'd listen to a special about it on 60 Minutes. And she’d heard that People magazine had put cover photos of the king and queen on almost every issue for months after Atlantis appeared. There had been a huge hubbub of excitement all over social media, Meredith told her, about the king of Atlantis choosing an American bride.

"Well, you're invited to visit me anytime. And please call me Lyric. Ma’am makes me feel old," she confided, smiling.

It didn't, really. And he hadn't asked a single thing about her blindness, which was unusual and refreshing in a new acquaintance. She could feel the tense muscles in her neck and shoulders begin to relax, and she took a long deep breath in and then slowly exhaled.

Releasing stress for the universe to take care of, as Meredith would say. Thinking of Meredith made her realize how much her friend would love this place. And if only she were here, she could describe what everything looked like. She didn't quite feel comfortable enough to ask Dare to serve as Seeing Eye person just yet, and certainly not Fergus. She sighed, but then forced the thought away.

She was in Atlantis. No negativity of any sort today.

She heard voices and laughter before she heard the footsteps coming toward them.

"This is the throne room," Fergus said beside her. He cleared his throat. "The room is flanked with white marble columns, in which veins of an Atlantean metal called orichalcum—almost exactly the color of your eyes, Miss—are inset into designs of dolphins leaping and a bunch of Nereids laughing at their mermaid play.”

“And that amazing scent? What flower is that?” She inhaled deeply, wanting to walk across the entire continent, simply smelling everything.

“Ah. That’s the lava-tulips. They’re green and blue, and they smell like ambrosia,” Fergus told her. “They’re my favorites. And then the throne is set up high on that dais--"

"It sounds amazing and a little intimidating," she said.

"That's why we never hang out here," said a deep male voice. "It makes me itch."

Lyric heard female laughter from the person standing next to the man who’d spoken.

"Ven, cut it out. You’ll make our guest feel like we're all barbarians."

Lyric turned toward them and smiled. "What? I was promised barbarians. Where are the barbarians?"

“Erin. I’m married to the barbarian,” the woman said fondly.

"I’m Ven, and I can tell I'm gonna like you a lot," Ven said, laughter in his voice.

"Fergus, we're going to steal this lovely lady and take her to lunch, if that's all right with you." Erin said. "If that's okay with you, Lyric?"

Lyric didn't hesitate for a single second. "That sounds lovely. I admit I hadn’t thought of food in all the excitement, but now that you brought it up I realize I'm starving. I'm Lyric Fielding – wait. You just called me Lyric. So I guess you know who I am."

"I’ll just take your bags to your room, Miss Fielding," Fergus said. "Queen Riley has put her in the top floor suite in the east wing, Princess."

"Princess?" Lyric suddenly felt like a fish out of water; no Atlantean pun intended.

"Just Erin, Fergus. Please, don't make me turn you into a toad." There was the sound of real affection in Erin’s voice, and Fergus chuckled.

"Right. Erin. And I learned long ago not to call Lord Vengeance 'Your Highness'' or, as he repeatedly proclaimed, he’d kick my ass."

"If only everyone else were as smart as you, Fergus." Ven said woefully.

"Thank you, Fergus," Lyric said. "Would you like to join us for lunch, too?"

"Why, that's very nice of you to ask. But I have a busy afternoon in front of me and a lunch date with a beautiful girl I’ll be late for if I don't hurry," Fergus told her, patting her arm.

"How is that granddaughter of yours, Fergus?" Ven laughed. "You can tell she definitely gets her looks from her grandmother."

"Ah, yes. Princely humor,” Fergus said with amusement. “Did I mention how lucky we all are that you were born second?"

Lyric gasped, but nobody heard her in the burst of laughter that followed, and she realized they must all have been joking with each other. This didn't sound at all like any kind of Royal/servant relationship she'd ever read about.

She had to admit, she really liked it.

Her stomach picked that embarrassing moment to growl quite loudly, and she clapped her hand over it and could feel herself blushing. "Oh my gosh. I'm really sorry."

"I feel the same way,” Ven told her. “May I take your arm?"

She nodded, and he gently took her hand and put it on his arm. "Food, Erin. Onward."

They ate at a table on a small terrace that Ven told her overlooked the garden. It was one of the most delicious lunches Lyric could ever remember eating. The main course was a spicy white fish wrapped in pastry, and there were so many vegetables and fruits to choose from that she was too full to eat another bite long before the dishes stopped coming.

“All of this is from our own gardens, and of course we have a fleet of people very happy to be able to fish again,” Ven said.

“Sounds amazing,” she said honestly. She thought she could happily be a gardener in Atlantis for a while.

Erin, who’d been increasingly quiet during lunch, cleared her throat. “So. Lyric. When did you first realize you’re a gem singer?”

Lyric dropped her spoon out of suddenly nerveless fingers. “A—a what?”

“My wife is a witch, yes, but she’s also a gem singer,” Ven said gently.

“I recognized you, of course. Like calls to like. When did you first realize?” Erin’s voice was kind but also implacable. She meant to find out everything, Lyric realized.

But, witch or not, princess or not, Erin had never tangled with Lyric Fielding before.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Lyric said blindly. “I never sing, except in church. Speaking of which, I hear you’re planning your first Christmas here this year. I have a stellar recipe for a mean gingerbread cookie, if you’re interested.”

Erin blew out a breath. “Okay. I get it. None of my business. But if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here.”

The kindness in her voice made Lyric feel a little guilty, but not guilty enough to share the most private secret in her life. Maybe sometime, but not just yet.

A cold wind swept across the table, and she shivered. “It’s suddenly quite cold, isn’t it? I should have brought a sweater.”

“No need. That’s just Alaric,” Ven said. “Hey, bro. How’s it hanging?”

A deep voice that sounded like an avalanche spoke next. “I’ll ignore you as usual, Ven. Why is there a gem-singing artist at your table?”

“Lunch,” Erin said sweetly. “Perhaps you’ve heard of it. It’s a meal civilized people eat between breakfast and dinner.”

“Sometimes there’s second breakfast,” Ven pointed out.

“Only if you’re a hobbit,” Lyric added and then couldn’t believe she’d spoken up with scary demanding guy looming over her, blocking what little bit of the sun she could sense.

Alaric bent down closer to her—she could tell because the cold sensation of magic he’d brought with him intensified—and took her chin in his hand, moving her head around as if she were an interesting specimen.

Of course, to him she might be.

She swallowed, hard, but then yanked her face out of his hand. “I beg your pardon.”

“Most do,” he said dryly. “It never helps them, though. Have you tried magic – either from the witches or from a healer – to heal your eyes?"

Lyric clenched her fists in her lap so as not to punch him in the face. That probably would cause an international incident. Or her impending demise. But she was a little tired and a lot overwhelmed, and she wished Dare would show up. She was too much of an introvert to really enjoy extended periods of time with large groups of people she didn't know. And this – this was a very personal question.

Apparently, however, there were no barriers to what Atlanteans felt like they could ask one lone human woman.

She put a little steel in her voice and answered him. "Please step back. You are invading my personal space. Yes. I've consulted with witches and other types of magical healers. It's not possible for my eyes to be saved; there was too much damage."

“Alaric might be able to help you,” Erin said quietly. “He has more magic than anyone I’ve ever known or heard about.”

“I am magic,” Alaric said flatly. It wasn’t even arrogance; that’s what was so scary. It was simple statement of fact to him, she was sure.

“Hate to admit it, but he’s telling the truth,” Ven put in. “He has more magic than any high priest in the history of Atlantis, which is to say more magic than anyone in the history of the world. If he says he can fix you, he can.”

And there it was.

It took Lyric a long time to hit tilt, but when she did it was an explosive blast. And right now she was pulling out the matches and lighting the TNT.

“I beg your pardon, Your Highness. Mr. Magic. I do not need to be fixed. Blindness is not a defect. It's simply another state of being. Kind of like the state of being where you exist in a higher plane of arrogant assholishness and presume to know whom you should go around fixing."

There was a long silence, and then Ven whistled. "She's got us there, man. I think she just handed me my head."

“And you deserved it,” his wife said coldly. “I think all of us have tried to strong arm our guest enough today. She probably hates us all, and we’d deserve it. Damn. I’m just as bad as they are. I’m sorry, Lyric.”

"Nobody thinks you're defective, Lyric," Ven said quietly. "We may be big, strong warriors but we bumble around like orangutans on caffeine sometimes. But we meant well, so please don't take offense."

Lyric blew out a long breath. "I'm sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m a guest here, and that was unspeakably rude. Thank you for your concern, Ven, Erin. Alaric. I'm sorry to be prickly about it. I just get awfully tired of that particular point of view."

Alaric pulled out the chair next to her and sat down. “May I touch you?”

She was startled by the grave courtesy in his voice, especially after “assholishness,” which was a new low, even for her. Damn. She’d probably end up on 60 Minutes next, as the American who ruined diplomatic relations between the U.S. and Atlantis.

“Miss Fielding?”

Alaric’s voice startled her out of her mental ramblings. In spite of very serious reservations, she felt like she had to agree.

“Yes. But don’t do anything to me without my knowledge and explicit consent,” she warned him.

His touch, when it came, was feather light and only lasted a few seconds.

“I am truly sorry, Miss Fielding,” Alaric said. “The damage is too extensive. There is nothing I can do.”

Even though she’d expected nothing—even though she wasn’t sure she’d accept ‘fixing’ if offered, the bleak words were like a punch in the stomach and she literally doubled over in pain.

Erin leaned over and touched her shoulder. “Lyric! Are you all right?”

Lyric managed to get her breath under control and nodded. “It’s just…it’s just the loss of the possibility. I don’t--"

A horrible thought occurred to her. “You didn’t…you didn’t say that because I was so rude to you, did you?”

“The rudeness was my own,” Alaric said softly. “I apologize for it, but it had nothing to do with my conclusion. The trauma is not something I can heal. I will contact you immediately should I ever discover a way to change that, if you would be agreeable.”

“I—yes. Thank you. I really…would it be possible for someone to take me to my room? I’m quite tired,” she said, clenching her jaw shut tight to keep herself from breaking down.

“There you are,” Dare called out from across the terrace; she could hear his footsteps rapidly approaching.

She blew out a breath, her entire body relaxing at the thought that here he was: haven. Sanctuary.

Dare.

He strode across the terrace directly toward her, and she pushed back her chair and started toward him.

“I found you--" he began, but then his voice hardened. “What is the matter? What happened?”

“I…nothing. I’m just--"

He reached her and pulled her into his arms, and she’d never been so glad to be anywhere.

“Please, can we go to my room? I need to not be in the middle of strangers right now,” she whispered.

“Absolutely. But here, hold this for me for luck. I brought it from my private collection just for you.”

He took her hand and placed something in her palm, and then folded her fingers around it. It was the size of a quail egg, maybe, and felt cool at first, but then heated up quickly.

“What--"

“It’s an amethyst. I thought it would be good…it would help you paint. Or something,” he said, his voice trailing off and suddenly—if she hadn’t known better—she would have thought he sounded shy.

“I want you to have it.”

“Oh, Dare, I can’t take this…Wait.” She inhaled sharply as the stone heated up even more quickly, to the point where it was nearly, but not quite, burning her hand.

Erin was shouting something, and Ven or maybe Alaric was yelling, too, but it all faded into a dreamy background of white noise as the gem’s tones pulled her into its magic, and begged her to sing to it.

“Lyric? Lyric!”

Someone was holding her arms and shaking her, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t matter. Only the magic. She was holding the magic and it wanted to hear her song. She smiled and twirled around, laughing and crying, and then took a deep breath and began to sing a song she’d never heard before, and the world burst into brilliant, blinding light around her.

She sang, and she cried, and she clutched the amethyst to her chest, dancing on the terrace, on the lawn, on air. It was as if she’d opened a door and walked directly into an Impressionist painting by one of the masters of the form; as if she danced inside the paint on the canvases at the Musée d'Orsay in Paris she’d visited with her parents when she was a child.

She laughed out loud, delighting in the shapes and the colors and the light—oh, the lovely, spectacular light—and then he was there. Holding her in his arms.

Keeping her safe.

“I know you,” she told him, smiling with utter and complete joy. “You are important to me.”

The light tried to take her again, and the stone demanded her song, so she tried to pull away from him, no matter that he was important, no matter that she…loved him?

The amethyst pulsed again, against her heart, and she suddenly saw him. She saw through the starburst of color and light – so much light – to his dark silhouette directly in front of her. She reached out to touch his face, but unknowingly she'd reached out with the hand holding the gem, and the moment the back of her fingers touched his skin, a jolt like a lightning strike ran through her, and she could see his face.

She could see his face.

The shapes and angles of it – the colors. His hair was so black to be almost blue, and his eyes were the deep, drowning blue of the ocean seen from St. Augustine Beach in the middle of summer.

He was beautiful – he was beautiful. Entirely masculine, from the planes and angles of his face to his sensual lips to his straight, Roman nose. Even the dark lashes that surrounded his unbelievable glowing eyes contributed to his beauty.

Her knees gave out, literally gave out, like she was a swooning maiden in a children's tale.

She didn’t care.

“I can see you, Dare. I can see you.”

She didn't know she was crying until she felt the tears running down her face.

"I can see you," she repeated. "And you're beautiful."