The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two—and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves.

Jim stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face.

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

Dare stood on the deck of the Luna, her bow pointed into the wind. He'd been sailing for hours, with a skeleton crew, calling out to Poseidon.

The thing about gods, however, was that they showed up when they felt like it. They answered your call if they felt like it, and sometimes not at all. Apparently, this was one of the times that Poseidon didn't feel like answering.

He'd sailed through the sunrise, even though he wanted with every fiber of his being to head back to port, head back to the palace, and climb into bed with Lyric. Or, if she were still painting, to sit quietly across the room. Not disturbing her, just watching her. Not intruding, just being part of her world.

But she was probably asleep, exhausted from the hurricane of painting she’d been so compelled to do. And he still had a goal to accomplish out here.

"Poseidon," he shouted. "Get your capricious sea god ass over here and talk to me about Seranth right now."

Behind him Smitty gasped. “Captain! You’re gonna get us killed. Don’t you know better than to challenge the gods?”

Smitty wasn’t even Atlantean but, like all other sailors, he had a healthy respect for gods, superstitions, and prevailing winds.

"No, he’ll just smite me, if he’s going to do any smiting. He’s pretty fair, as gods go.”

I AM GLAD TO HEAR YOU ESTEEM ME SO GREATLY. YOU KNOW HOW MUCH YOUR GOOD OPINION MEANS TO ME.

Poseidon's thundering voice made the mockery sound like cannon fire.

Dare realized he was in a lot of trouble.

“I need Seranth,” he shouted up at the giant face floating in the sky above him. “You gave me Luna; now give me the sea spirit. You know I’m only half as fast and half as good without her, and what I do, I do for you and for the benefit of Atlantis."

WHAT YOU DO, YOU DO FOR YOURSELF. ANY EXTRA BENEFIT IS PROBABLY ACCIDENTAL AND CERTAINLY INCIDENTAL.

Behind Dare, Smitty dropped to the deck and covered his head with his hands. “Don’t hurt me.”

Dare gritted his teeth. “Poseidon. I ask this boon. Return Luna to me and Seranth to Luna. At least grant me that. You know she belongs with this ship—she’s part of it. This must be hurting her even more than it hurts me, and I know that’s not what you intended.”

DO NOT PRESUME TO TELL ME WHAT I INTEND, PIRATE. YOU WILL ONLY ANGER ME, AND YOU WILL ALWAYS BE WRONG.

TAKE THE SHIP; YOU PAID FOR IT IN SWEAT, BLOOD, AND GOLD. I WILL NOT GIVE YOU THE SEA SPIRIT, HOWEVER. YOU DO NOT DESERVE HER.

Dare roared out his frustration and then smashed his fists down on the railing. “Without her, the ship alone is only half of my heart,” he shouted.

PERHAPS YOU LOOK FOR YOUR HEART IN THE WRONG PLACE.

And then Poseidon vanished.

Dare turned the ship around. When he reached Atlantis, he headed straight for the tavern.

* * *

It was mid-afternoon by the time the tavern owner’d had enough and thrown him out. Dare knew it had been a close call about half a bottle of whiskey earlier, when he’d broken that chair over somebody’s head, but it was a hangout for low-lifes, after all, and he fit the bill.

He’d spent enough of his gold there over the years that it took more than a broken chair—or a broken head—to get him kicked out.

“And it’s a broken heart that sent me here,” he said, full of expensive whiskey and expansive melodrama. Maybe a little self pity thrown in for good measure.

Without Seranth, he and Luna were just another pirate and ship, no longer the best on the high sea.

Without Lyric, what does it matter?

The thought knocked him sideways, and he stumbled and almost fell. Well, maybe it was the whiskey knocking him sideways, but the thought of life without Lyric…

He needed to talk to her. To explain – he wasn't exactly sure what he wanted to explain. That he needed her? That he didn't feel like he deserved her?

That he loved her?

He froze right in the middle of the path. He loved her?

Yes. By the gods, he did love her, and he knew she felt something for him. He tried to gather his alcohol-soaked wits to figure everything out logically, but it wasn’t working, because:

1. She was an artist, and she lived in Florida, where she had her home, her studio, and her business. All her friends were there.

And

2. He lived in Atlantis, and was sworn to Poseidon, the rat bastard. He couldn't leave without breaking that oath, and the sea god was not known for kindness to oath breakers. He’d be dead before he could get the words out.

He could visit her?

He shook his head. No, after having her in his arms, he knew that mere visits would never be enough.

Enough already with the agonizing. Was he a man or was he a sniveling idiot? He needed to see her. He needed to talk to her.

But first, he needed some coffee.

* * *

By the time Dare stopped at a different pub to pound down three cups of coffee and then made it to the palace, it was dusk. He heard singing coming from the throne room, and he headed in that direction. Maybe Lyric would've come down for the songs. He felt a wave of shame wash over him that he’d left her alone all night and day while he wallowed in self pity. Poseidon had just cause to refuse him Seranth, he finally admitted to himself. He’d taken his ship into dangerous waters and risked them all for nothing but profit, adventure, and greed.

If he couldn't be a better person and a better captain, he didn't deserve any of them. Not Seranth, not Luna and her crew, and certainly not Lyric.

Lyric, who was the light to his darkness. The beacon by which he’s steered his ship for the past several years, even though he hadn’t known it at the time. He loved her.

He loved her.

He turned the corner into the throne room, and then stopped and stared at the sight before him. The king and queen were sitting on cushions in the middle of the floor, surrounded by children of all ages. The parents – at least he assumed that those were the parents – were arranged around the edges of the room. The queen seemed to be telling the children a story about a town called Bethlehem.

Wait. He knew this story. Poseidon’s warriors at the time had brought back the amazing tale of the birth of the Christ child.

"What's frankincense and myrrh, your Majesty?" It was one of the smaller children had asked the question, but Dare could see that many of the others had the same look of incomprehension on their faces, and he enjoyed listening to Queen Riley explain the story of the three kings and their gifts.

He couldn’t see a clear path to get through to the staircase to Lyric’s room, so he leaned back against a wall, drawn into the story. It was a story of hope and love, and ultimately a story of healing and forgiveness.

His throat tightened and he swallowed, hard.

Love, hope, and forgiveness. As if drawn by a homing beacon, his gaze swept the room for a glimpse of the woman with whom he wanted to share all of this. Share his life.

There she was, standing on the other side of the room, her eyes closed and a faint smile on her face as she listened to Riley’s story of the King of Kings. As soon as the story ended, in joy and grace, Dare made his way around the perimeter of the group with single-minded intent. He had to reach her. Nothing else mattered. He had to tell her – he had to explain

He needed to make her love him back – whether he deserved her yet or not, he would vow to spend a lifetime trying.