I gritted my teeth. “Don’t call me that.”
“Sorry.” He grinned lazily. “Amica mia.”
I glared at him, knuckles white and mind whirring. “IfI accepted your offer of training... what would I have to do in return?” My stomach constricted.
A devilish grin spread across the merman’s face, and his dark lashes fluttered over even darker eyes. “Oh, I don’t ask for much. Only that you dine with me here each night. I’m a lonely man, you see.”
“If I do this—have dinner with you—will you stop killing Mer and draining their blood?”
He threw back his head and laughed, the muscles beneath his tattooed chest taut with the movement. “I do not think you are in a position to make such demands. But you always knew how to soften my heart. Perhaps after a few dinners, I could be persuaded to be more... merciful, but I will not make any promises.”
“I willnevermake a deal with you when Mer are being strung up to be consumed by the Drowned,” I snarled, letting the dark beast inside take control.
Manannán’s jaw was hard as he stared back at me. My eyes darted from his silver hair, to his obsidian brows, and muscular chest—someone this evil should not be allowed to be so attractive. The thought pulled my scowl tighter. Several beats of silence passed between us, but then he chuckled. “There’s the Siana I remember... I could force you.” Watery darkness built around him, and panic rose in my chest as his grin turned feral. “But that wouldn’t be any way to get you to forgive me now, would it?”
“I will never—”
Manannán held up a finger to silence me, the murky water wisps remaining poised at his sides. “Did you know I’m keeping the court of Mors alive in the dungeons? I bring out just one daily so my Drowned can feed on the freshest fare.”
My stomach churned. “You make me sick.”
“Yes, well, like I said—words. Now, my Drowned need sustenance. But this monstermightbe persuaded to free a Mer for every dinner you share with him.” He leaned forward, and the tattooed words scrawled on his chest flexed.
My voice was mercilessly calm despite my thundering heart. “And if I refuse to make a deal with you?”
Manannán looked at his nails as if considering this. “We have an array of dungeons for you to choose from, and just think of all the Mer who will die simply because you turned me down.”
My hands curled into fists on the stone table as I glowered at him.
“Should I ask the guards to drag you away, or do we have an agreement?” Manannán angled his chiseled jaw. “I think you might enjoy having your freedom in my court. After all, there is someone here whom I think you already know.”
The room vaulted as my heart thundered.My father.
Epilogue
Finn
Ipositioned my seaweed coronet between my dark strands.
I hadn’t lied to Morgana—I didn’t know my father was planning to kill Iona when I tracked her down. But what tortured me was that, at the time, I hadn’t cared. I’d been numb, doing his work, feeling nothing. He’d made sure of that.
Drawing myself to my full height, I strapped on my silver breastplate.
After my mother died, my father’s mind deteriorated. He tortured me with his lightning over and over again. He blamed me, and I believed him. I still do.
I clenched my fists.
Perhaps I could have saved her if I’d been stronger.
I exhaled a shaky breath, reaching for my daggers and returning to the mirror to strap them across my chest.
Years passed, and the Shadow ravaged our kingdoms. I watched as the Mer around me withered and blackened. My people, my family. The Shadow was humanity’s fault, and I despised them.
My father said the things he asked of me were meant to save our people from the Shadow, and I clung to that. It was what my mother would have wanted. Duty was important to her—amor perdot nos.
When Pisceon was brought into our kingdom as my father’s ward, we carried out the work together. He’d known great pain, and it had hardened him—left him sharp, cynical. He became my friend, my ally.
Somewhere amid all the atrocities, I lost my way. We would drink and smoke, torture and fuck humans, not thinking about the things we’d done. After years of carrying out the whims of a mad king, we no longer remembered what we were fighting for. I found a poetic kind of pleasure in the life of a cynic. Every day, I challenged the world to prove me wrong, and when it didn’t, when it reaffirmed my derisive beliefs, it offered vindication.
