“Just…everything,” she said, setting down her watery oar and gesturing broadly. “My mother always said I was a fool for wanting to leave Arcas Dyrne, for having my head stuck in the clouds and at the picture show, and she was right. She was actually right.”
She laughed again, and this time, another laugh joined her.
But it wasn’t Drystan’s.
“What was that?” he asked.
More giggling. High-pitched, girly giggling, to be precise. And a lot of it. At least two girls’ worth of giggles.
“Where is that coming from?” asked Rinka.
She looked around, but there was no one in sight. She heard a small splash and turned towards the sound, but all she could see were a few bubbles on the surface.
“Is someone there?” asked Drystan.
A splash again, and more giggles.
Rinka reached for the oar on the bottom of the boat, and then she screamed.
There was a face there. It was distorted by the boat’s watery bottom, but it was a young woman’s face.
“Under the boat! They’re under the boat!”
The face burst into a huge smile and another fit of giggles that left bubbles attached to the bottom of the boat.
It vanished into the dark water below, and then a second later, another face appeared above the waves right beside Rinka.
Floating right at the surface, it was apparent what the giggling girls were.
Mermaids.
Chapter Ten
A DINNER, ENCHANTED
Alison
The cave was cool and damp, but it wasn’t dark, not completely. There was a shimmer in the air and on the walls, a glittering flicker of light that stayed in Alison’s peripheral vision with no discernible source. The glow was faint, but it was enough to illuminate the path, which wound through the narrow passages into the ground.
The only sounds were their footsteps and a faint echo of dripping water from far off.
“How far do you think it goes?” Keir asked from close behind her, his hand on her waist in case she lost her footing.
“Not far,” said Alison. Even as they spoke, the passageway ahead grew brighter, the craggy rock of the walls becoming more defined as the ground began to climb once more.
They rounded a bend, and suddenly the bright light of the exit flooded the final chamber. Alison walked towards it, Keir so near to her now that she almost stepped on his foot.
Emerging into the light, Alison realized they were no longer in the woods. The land that stretched before them wasn’t bare—it was heathland, a gently sloping open landscape covered in low-growing shrubs tinged with purple.
“It’s early,” said Keir, bending to observe the spires of lilac-colored blossoms. “The heather on our lands is just starting to bud.”
“No,” said Alison. “I think it’s late. Maybe not the season, but the hour.”
The sky, which had been bright with midday sunlight before they started on the path into the woods, was tinged with pink and gold, the hour before sunset.
Behind them, there was a strange churring sound: a high, fast strum, almost like a door creaking open or a chain pulling against stone. As Alison turned to see, the motion of a bird in flight caught her eye.
“A nightjar,” said Keir. “What a rare sight.”
