Just like the rest of me.
I continue descending down to a rusted structure that’s degraded after decades of exposure to the salt and water. I have no idea what it once was—some kind of ship maybe—although it could well have been a type of weapon I’ve never seen before. I’m careful not to make contact with it as who knows what kind of magic might still be infused into the metal.
This time, I don’t avoid the enticing hole that’s formed in the structure after years of corrosion and decay.
My stash is right where I left it. Six glittering golden statues of King Wildrake himself that were obtained from some slightly dodgy sources a few months ago. I’ve got a buyer interested in them, so I cram all six into the bag. They’re all shiny enough to send a flicker of glee through me, but I can’t say I’ll be sad to see the back of them. Securing the fasteners on the cloth bag, I readjust it around my neck as my lungs begin to burn in earnest.
Kicking my legs hard, the water fills with little bubbles as I return to the surface before slipping on my sealskin once again. Noush then surges forward again, diving beneath the water with a happy flick of our tail.
Time to head back to land.
There’s the briefest moment where I can tell she wants to turn and head northwards. She always does. There’s always a faint yearning where her instinct pushes her to travel back to where we were born.
But that’s not home anymore; it hasn’t been in a long time.
Funny how we always have a sense in our internal compass that points to the place where we first grew up. Not the place we moved to as soon as we were old enough to swim long distances, or the dozens of places we’ve been in the twenty-plus years since.
Instead, we turn east, back toward Ambleby. It’s a long swim back to shore, but we plough on through the water with the statues burning a hole in our non-pockets.
We’re at the tail-end of winter, which means there’s freezing drizzle in the air when I finally slip off my skin and resurface. It immediately batters me in the face but is thankfully keeping people inside out of the elements so I don’t have to worry about being spotted.
Unlike most other beast-borne shifters, I don’t lose my clothing when I transform into my seal, so I’m still dressed in my soaking wet clothes as I climb up the steps cut into the rock, surrounded by tufted grass and brown, faded heather. The air is freezing cold, but at least I’m not naked.
That’s selkies for you. We’re unique.
One of a kind.
Much good it does us. Our removable, magical skin is one of the reasons we’ve been hunted by both human-born sorcerers, and people born with magic inside of them, for centuries.
I stifle a shudder. My skin is not only my most prized possession. It’s also part of me, my only connection to Noush. And I don’t know what I’d do without it. Without her.
Tucking my skin under my arm so that it’s out of sight, I continue to clamber up the steps toward the village. There are few streetlights and a whole lot of darkness, so I’m lucky that my eyesight is much better than a human’s, even when I’m in this form.
I pass the ruins of the ruined castle wall and the handful of houses scattered around at this end of the village. There’s a faint glow in the window of one, but all the rest are in darkness. I slip through the well-oiled gate of the single lit cottage, passing up the front path and letting myself in with the key hanging around my neck.
Stepping inside, I’m hit with a wave of warmth that’s like a soothing hug, heating my chilled bones and making my shoulders instantly drop. My fellow lodger Frannie’s even left out a cup of tea that’sperfectly steeped and still steaming, despite not knowing when I might be home.
I kick off my boots and pad through to my bedroom, sipping tea as I go. I then slide my skin into the warded box under the bed, which should make it impossible for anyone to get inside. Once it’s safely tucked away, even more tension melts from my spine, and I crack my neck before pulling on some dry clothes.
Now all I need to do is drop my haul for today, which means a trip to the shittiest pub on the east coast of the kingdom.
Chapter 2
Reva
The pub is located right in the centre of Ambleby village, sitting right between two buildings that look like a strong gust of wind would send their roofs caving in. The pub itself has a grim, grey exterior as though it hasn’t been washed in a century, with a wooden door that’s sticky to the touch.
Heading inside, I’m instantly hit with a wave of heat and noise combined with the scent of ale and sweat. I have no idea how the pub is always so packed at this time of night, especially when the rest of the village is quiet as the grave the rest of the time. I’ve never seen half the people in here before in my life, despite having lived just down the road for close to six months now.
There are a handful of people huddled around the long bar, manned by the single harried barkeep who shoots me a glare as soon as he spots me. I return the gesture with a jaunty wave, and my heart starts to pound as I spot my buyer in the corner of the inn. He’s a shifty-looking bearded guy who’s wearing a hood inside, despite it being a million degrees in here. But so long as he doesn’t draw too much attention my way, I don’t care how he’s dressed.
Sliding onto the bench opposite him, I pull the bag of statues from my pocket under the table.
“Two hundred for six, right?” he mutters in Yarrovian.
“Two hundred for five,” I reply in the same language.
“Well, all I’ve got’s two hundred. Take it or leave it.”
