Page 80 of Crownless Heirs

“What’s so funny?” she asked, her face scrunching in confusion.

“Fergal. Fergal is a half-god? Of course the self-righteous bastard is a half-god.”

Sorcha was beyond confused. She also noticed that Kyron and Maelan were just as concerned and confused. Fergal looked like he might leave at any moment. “Niall, this is serious. Let’s go talk to him.”

“What god?” Niall asked.

“Why does that matter?”

“What god, Sorcha? Humor me.” he pleaded.

“I think the Dagda. He looks so much like him.” She replied.

Niall looked insane now as he howled with laughter. He wiped his tears and turned to Fergal. “Come here, ya beautiful bastard!”

Fergal and Niall walked side by side toward the seaside tavern. The tavern sign creaked in the wind, swaying in the salty ocean air. Sorcha could make out a fish, its mouth open, swallowing the words The Sea Hag. All Sorcha could think of was the Bog Hag. Her body tensed. It’s just a name, she told herself, though the Bog Hag’s crooked smile flashed in her mind as she twirled and danced after stabbing Kyron.

Niall glanced back at the three, matching their pace, then smiled while pushing open the tavern doors.

The tavern opened into a two-story chamber. An iron-curling staircase led to iron-railed balconies. A massive chandelier made of sea shells hung in the center. At its core, an iron-sculpted mermaid held it up with raised arms. Sorcha’s eyes moved with the conversations, the swaying lanterns, the rush of sea air. Polished wood gleamed beneath their boots. Gilded lanterns swayed from dark beams above. Large double doors opened to a wide balcony above the ocean. More tables stood outside, arranged to face the open water.

Glasses clinked and voices rose in chorus. The scrape of stools on the floor mixed with the faint hum of sea shanties. Sorcha’s fingers twitched at her side, nerves still awake from the memory. Oyster-shaped stools lined a driftwood bar, its top carved from ocean green granite. The stone shimmered in the light, its veins holding the history of long-buried tides. Scents of yeasty beer, warm whiskey, and grilled fish mingled with the faint perfume of citrus and wood smoke.

A fire roared in the back hearth, sculpted from sand and sea shells, casting golden light along the walls. Niall and Fergal stepped to the bar and spoke to the women behind it. One smiled, warmth and kindness shining in her face.

Sorcha made her way to one of the tables outside, watching ships drift in and out of the harbor. Out where the shore met the sea, she noticed something strange, an odd darkness swirling just beneath the surface. At first, it looked like seaweed had washed in, but the shape twisted unnaturally, creeping onto the sand in silent rolls.

From below, voices carried up from the docks. Sailors spoke in hushed tones. She leaned forward, straining to catch their words. They spoke of sea creatures, strange and unseen. One man claimed something had swallowed an entire ship, taking twenty men with it. Only one survived. A chill crawled up her spine. Sorcha knew she needed to learn more. She leaned so far over the railing she nearly lost her balance. Just as she straightened to listen closer, a hand clamped firmly between her shoulders.

Kyron’s breath brushed her ear as he whispered, “What’s so interesting you’d risk falling into the sea?”

She startled, tipping forward, but Kyron caught her in one quick motion. He pulled her back against him, spinning her around so they stood chest to chest. His grip lingered, firm and deliberate, his breath warm at her cheek.

“Careful,” he murmured, eyes locked on hers.

From behind came a trio of pointed throat-clears. Maelan, Niall, and Fergal stood at the table, arms full of plates and cups. The dishes clattered louder than necessary as they set everything down.

Kyron didn’t move right away. Then, slowly, he let his hand slide down the curve of her back before turning to join them-smiling like he knew exactly what he was doing.

She rolled her shoulders back, forcing her feet to move, and joined the others at the table like nothing had happened.

Kyron didn’t look at her, not directly. But the corner of his mouth tugged upward as he reached for a drink.

All eyes flicked to her as she sat down. She grabbed a piece of fish and spoke like she hadn’t almost gone over the railing. “I heard something down by the docks.”

That was enough to get everyone’s attention. They leaned in and listened. She recounted the conversation from the voices drifting up from below, the sailors whispering about a ship swallowed whole, only one survivor. Silence settled for a beat.

Then Maelan spoke. “And we’re still going into it?”

Sorcha nodded once. “We have no choice.”

Kyron leaned back in his chair, studying her now. “So what’s the plan?”

Sorcha pulled her bag into her lap and unfolded the list. The parchment caught the sea breeze, edges flapping until she pinned them with her fingers. She looked at Fergal.

“Your name is on this,” she said. “Not in Ironridge. Not anywhere near here.”

Fergal frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”