Once more standing on the other side of the bluff, with retreating tide stroking her feet, and the red edge of dawn just cresting the horizon, Brida blew a kiss to Ahtin. He returned the gesture.
“Come tomorrow, Brida.” His farewell carried a tone she hadn’t heard before, an unspoken promise, an assurance of deepening emotion. It made her soul dance and her heart clench.
“I will,” she said. For as long as he and his kinsmen lingered in these waters, she’d return.
She watched him turn and dive into the waves, a flicker of pearl and smoke that quickly disappeared into the Gray.
The beach was littered with shells and empty of people as Brida made her way home. She’d gone a little past the tidal pools where Ahtin had stranded himself when a familiar, four-note tune drifted toward her from the sea. She spun around, lifting her skirts to jog in the direction of the sound, drawn by a powerful need to answer its call.
A merwoman swam toward her, and Brida recognized her as the obvious leader of the group who’d come to rescue Ahtin. If her guess was right, this was theapof his family.
The two women, human and mer, met in the shallows. Brida regretted not bringing her flute with her. It made it much easier to communicate with the mer.
She needn’t have worried. Her mouth fell open, and she gaped at the merwoman when the other told her in perfect, articulate words that any might hear in an Ancilar meeting hall “You are Brida. Ahtin told me about you.”
If Brida didn’t already possess proof of the fantastical, she’d swear she dreamed this scenario. “Are you hisap?” She did her best to repeat the front-forward sound Ahtin had made when he described the mer matriarchs.
The merwoman nodded. “And the grandmother of his grandmother. I’m called Edonin in human tongue.”
Brida marveled at Edonin’s mastery of human speech, wondering who had taught her. Another human? Or another mer taught by a human? Or had she listened to the conversation of sailors and fishermen who sailed the Gray? “I wish I knew the language of the mer as well as you know ours.”
Edonin’s grave expression didn’t change with Brida’s compliment. Her features, lovely in the way of the mer, grew even more stern the longer she stared at Brida. “You put Ahtin in danger every time you meet him in the cave,” she finally said, the statement more of an accusation.
Brida stiffened. She didn’t need another to tell her what she already knew. That worry had fractured her sleep and plagued her thoughts during the days when she worked and wondered about him. However, neither she nor Ahtin were children, nor did they need a minder. Despite her irritation, she kept her voice neutral. “I don’t mean to. And is it not dangerous in your world? Even more so? He told me what happened to his mate and child. The sea is no different from the land in that way.”
Theapslapped her fluke against the water, revealing her own annoyance. “You saved him. I and mine are in your debt. You will always be safe with us in the sea, but Ahtin isn’t yours to keep.”
“He isn’t my prisoner. His will is his own,” Brida shot back.
“His will is to be with you. He can’t.” Another fluke slap. “He is merfolk. You are land dweller.”
Brida had expected this from the moment the conversation started but was still disappointed by its appearance. “And no lesser for it.”
Edonin’s severe expression suddenly softened with a pity that made Brida’s stomach twist a little. “You haven’t asked what I told you those years ago when I saw you grieving on the shore.”
Brida wasn’t sure she wanted to know now. “I’ve always wondered,” she said, careful not to reveal too much of her curiosity or her dread.
Judging by the enigmatic look in her double pupil eyes, the merwoman wasn’t fooled. “I told you ‘Edonin shares your grief, land woman.’ She nodded when Brida’s eyebrows arched in question. “I once loved a land dweller. When he was killed, a part of me died with him. He died because we refused to part, even when we knew no good would come of it.”
The twisting in Brida’s gut only worsened at the revelation. Edonin’s warning didn’t come from a place of familial intrusion or protection but from old heartbreak that, if theap’stone was anything to judge by, still had not healed.
At Brida’s silence, Edonin continued. “Our mistakes stay with us all our lives. Don’t make the one I did. If not for Ahtin, then for yourself.” She raised a hand. “Farewell, Brida.”
The merwoman was nearly out of sight when Brida remembered something she had meant to tell Ahtin but forgot. Edonin’s translation of her four-note tune to Brida alarmed her even more now that she knew what they meant. She called out to Edonin, relieved when the merwoman heard and swam back to her.
Edonin had warned that Ahtin courted danger by courting Brida, but Brida wondered if maybe theapherself was at more risk and unaware of it. “I don’t know if this will mean anything to you, but there’s a land dweller in Ancilar who I think searches for the mer. Searches for you specifically. His name is Ospodine.” At Edonin’s puzzled look, Brida clarified. “Ospodine means ‘horse of the sea.’”
A sound, desolate and stricken, erupted from Edonin’s mouth. Her skin turned the shade of old hearth ash. Desolation, mixed with terror, darkened her eyes. She shuddered, the motion traveling from the top of her shoulders, through her tail, and into her fluke.
Shocked by the extraordinary reaction, Brida waded toward her. Edonin raised a hand to stop her. “Again, I’m in your debt.” Her voice no longer carried the lyrical quality Brida had learned to associate with the merfolk. “I beg you, please, if you care anything for Ahtin—anything—stay away from him. If you care for your own life, stay away from the one you call Ospodine. I know him well, and wish with all my soul I never did.”
At that, theapsped away, the wake of her quick departure a cut in the waves that marked the direction of her path to the deep from which she’d come.
Brida, thoroughly frightened now, for Ahtin, for Edonin, and for herself, sprinted home, throwing the bolt to her front door as soon as she closed it behind her. Her body, still throbbing from Ahtin’s lovemaking, now shivered as much from fear as from chills. Her instincts regarding Ospodine had been right. She had no idea what terrible thing existed between him and a merfolk matriarch, but Brida had no doubt that Edonin’s reaction had not been overly dramatic or unjustified. Ospodine was dangerous. She only wished she knew exactly why.
She checked all her locks twice before changing into warm night clothes and crawling into bed. Brida didn’t know why she bothered. She’d have to be up in a couple of hours, and there was no chance her spinning thoughts would allow her to drift off. Moments after she nuzzled into her pillow she was asleep.
A sharp pounding awakened her to a bedroom bathed in punishing sunlight. Her throat was on fire, and every swallow was like downing a handful of ground glass. The incessant pounding came from inside her skull, but also from her front door.
