Page 10 of The Dark, Dead, Deep

I hated my uncle a little more every time I sat on the throne.

My mother had worn her crown and taken the burden of the throne with pride—though I doubted that it hurt a fully matured Sídhe as much as it hurt me.

The throne would only accept Cruinn’s blood.

It just so happened that mine was easier to spill.

It wasn’t until I was far from the tower that I wondered how many of my people might die because I protected a single kelpie.

I’d locked myself away in my room for as long as I could, watching the procession of undine arrive at the castle. The bridge over the Abyss, from Cruinn to the courtyard, sparkled with hundreds of fae lanterns—glowing orbs of magic that turned the water golden and bright.

Besides the promise of magic, the migration meant potentially finding a shíorghrá. I was certain that every young undine felt excited about possibly finding their true mate on the Frosted Sands.

Young undine, all the same age as I was, wore dresses of braided reeds with pearls and decorated beads of sea glass. The men had painted chests with glowing whorls and flicks, mimicking the fabled patterns of the shíorghrá—a tattoo that only a true mate could see.

The twang of the fiddle as the band began to set up drifted through the open doors of the castle as the younglings filed into the palace in a single file line. The route took them through the courtyard and into the main ballroom.

I sighed, resting my chin on my hands.

Exhaustion clung to me from my time in the tower. Each lesson got closer until I was sure there wouldn’t be a day when I wasn’t asked to sit on the High Throne and spy on the enemy.

If magical majority meant no more nose bleeds and days wasted on sleep after sitting on the High Throne, then perhaps I should have greeted my magical majority with excitement instead of dread.

The excited hum of the procession drifted up to my window. My own outfit had been chosen for me but not by me. A woven mesh of reeds and pearls to match my freckles. The beads I had woven into my hair that morning completed the look.

A night of dancing, drinking and laughing before we would all be dragged to the edge of the Abyss and told to swim to the Frosted Sands.

The door to my chambers opened, and Moira poked her head around the side. Her copper hair was woven into a crown on the top of her head, and a series of shells formed a halo around her face. Her dress was similar to mine, but it had a fringe of cowry shells gripping the strands instead of pearls. Each shell glowed, painted with the same bioluminescence the men in the courtyard had used to adorn their chests.

“You look amazing,” I told her, turning from the window.

Moira brushed her hands down the front of her dress. “You think?”

“So amazing,” I reiterated, meeting her nerves with what I hoped was a reassuring smile.

She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Don’t worry,” I told her. “When we reach the Frosted Sands tomorrow evening, youwillreach your magical majority. Belisama isn’t blind. He knows your worth.”

Moira waved her hands and glanced towards the door. “It isn’t that.” Moira tugged the high neckline of her dress away from her throat.

“Okay?” I elongated the words.

“I’m worried, okay?” She reached up and fixed her hair, even though there wasn’t a strand out of place. “My mam said that you aren’t yourself when you reach the Frosted Sands. That the magic makes you want things, makes you lose your mind a little.”

I frowned. “I didn’t know that.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “My brother said it’s like a stag going into a rut. He bragged about taking seven females before he found Sorsha, his mate.”

I pumped my fist without enthusiasm. “Go, Broden?”

Moira nudged my shoulder. “Broden’s orgy aside, what happens if I suddenly attack Liam on the sand. What if he rejects me?”

I stepped closer to her, lowering my voice. “You like Liam?” I whisper-hissed.

She jabbed her finger into my bicep.

“What was that for?” I asked, rubbing my arm.

---