“What is Brida?” he asked.
She blinked. How to answer? She was a human, but that was obvious, and instinct told her that wasn’t really his question. Comprehension dawned. She held up her arms and flexed her biceps, feeling foolish, but figuring it was the best way to impart her name’s meaning. “Brida is strength.” She patted one arm for emphasis. “Strength.”
The merman’s fluke twitched as if it waved at her. He tested the word. “Strength.” This time the whistle he uttered was a burst of sound, short and sharp. “Brida,” he said and repeated the whistle.
She had a mer name now. Thrilled at the idea, Brida took up her flute and played the note. It lacked the melodic tones of the four-note tune the merwoman had uttered, but it was her name in a language of the sea spoken by legendary creatures from its depths.
“What is…” She played his name on the flute.
Her companion spread his arms to indicate size, then curved one in a darting motion to indicate speed.
Brida raised an eyebrow. “Your name is Fast Fish?” This communication exchange was difficult.
Like the more abstract term for “daughter,” his name defied simple translation through gestures. Brida waved a hand at him to signal it didn’t matter. She was happy to call him in the language of his folk. It seemed only fair to return the courtesy.
Hints of conversation drifted toward her. The elders were returning from their short stroll. It was time to leave.
She sighed, wishing this extraordinary meeting wouldn’t end. “I must go,” she said and unfolded her legs to stand. A muscular arm stretched out before a webbed hand gripped her ankle, and she froze, heart leaping in her chest in a mixture of fright and a feeling she hadn’t experienced in a long time.
The merman’s gaze flickered in the direction of the two men before returning to her. He released her ankle. “Come back, Brida?” He clicked at her before pointing to the sky with his free hand. “When lights shine?”
A garland of seaweed hair spilled over his arm to trail across her foot. Brida looked up at the ever-darkening sky and the “lights.” His expression held both hope and entreaty. “Stars,” she said and singled out a few of the brighter lights sailors used to navigate over the vast expanse of ocean. “The lights are stars.”
“Stars,” he repeated and clicked twice. She tried to mimic him, and they both grinned at her failure.
“Come back, Brida?” He said a second time.
“I’ll try.” She wanted very much to say yes, but such would be a lie. With Ospodine still in Ancilar and his unwanted attention focused on her, she had to be careful. And he was only one of several challenges in returning to the beach in the evening hours without attracting notice or inviting questions.
She raised a hand, beguiled by the sight of him, so strange yet so beautiful in the Gray’s shallow caress. “Goodbye.”
“Wait.” She halted, watching as he unwound a thin strip of dark cloth from around his upper arm and offered it to her. “For you from me and…” He whistled the merchild’s name.
Brida’s hand closed on the fabric, startled to discover it was the sheathe for her flute she’d lost in the waves when she carried the merchild out to her kinsmen. The cloth had seen better days, its weave unravelling in places and heavy with salt water. Something hard and weighted lay hidden in one end.
The elders were close enough now that another minute more, and they’d spot the merman where he rested in the shallows. Brida gave him a quick smile and a last wave before abandoning the ledge to meet the pair on the beach. She dared not look back, though the temptation nearly overwhelmed her.
She tucked the wet flute cover into one of the pockets of her skirt, feeling it soak through to her skin, and wondering what lay inside. A shell? A rock? A dead fish? She hoped it wasn’t the last.
The two elders gave no indication they’d seen anything odd on their stroll, though they admonished her to be careful going anywhere alone and promised to keep an eye on Lord Frantisek’s sinister guest should he choose to visit Ancilar again or the beach itself.
Alone once more in her house, she barred the door behind her, lit a few more candles, and set a kettle of water to warm on the still hot grate over the banked coals in her hearth. Her tea would be lukewarm at best, but she craved a cup, not only to warm her bones but calm her racing thoughts.
Tomorrow. The merman had pleaded with her to return tomorrow, and Brida vowed she’d find a way to do so, regardless of nosy neighbors and threatening outsiders.
She fished out the soggy bit of cloth from her pocket and set it on her kitchen table. Flickering light from a single candle cast a warm glow on the cloth and the mysterious lump in one end. Brida shook out the contents, her shocked gasp loud in the quiet room as the merman’s gift rolled across the table’s surface to fall into her palm.
A pearl, the size of a hazelnut, and perfectly round, gleamed a lustrous ivory in the candlelight. Beautiful. Flawless. Priceless. A gift of thanks that carried the wealth of kings. Brida, a widow of small worth had suddenly become Brida, a widow of significant means.
Chapter Four
The clickof the latch as she opened her back gate made Brida flinch, and she looked both ways into the quiet street. No one was about. She scurried along the edge of the cobblestone path, up on her tiptoes so as to make as little sound as possible. It was a sad day when she had to sneak out of her own house so as not to explain her business to every busybody who thought themselves entitled to that knowledge.
The merman’s appeal of “Come back, Brida?” played inside her mind For seven evenings he’d asked the same thing each time they parted. She had yet to tell him no.
A niggling of guilt plagued her. Laylam sensed something beyond the usual preparations for winter and the upcoming harvest festival celebrated by all the villages under Castle Banat’s demesne distracted her. He questioned her about it each time he saw her, and each time she lied to him without batting an eyelash.
“You’ve not been yourself for nearly a month now, Brida. What’s wrong?”
