Page 54 of The Dark, Dead, Deep

A strange scent tinged the air. Burning wood coupled with roasting meat.

Our group broke through the trees. Smoke curled into the darkening sky, and rows of cloth houses circled a roaring fire. The shadows of dozens of people flickered against the canvas teepees as the smoke tickled my nose. The ground was frozen solid, but none of the people appeared to care. I had never seen so much skin on display.

I glanced at Shay, but he was a closed door, and I could not glean any emotion from him. The difference was so jarring that it made me shudder.

It seemed that each of the princelings wore masks with their people.

Shay straightened his shoulders, and the others did the same as we marched towards camp as if we weren’t tired and in pain from traveling on land.

As we drew closer to the tents, a heavy drum beat wove through the air to greet us. More subtle perfumes joined the smell of cooked meats. Flowers, rain, and the thick scent of lust. I smacked my lips together, unsure how I identified such a scent. Something primal inside of me recognized that which had no smell under the waves.

Shay’s braids stilled for the first time since I had met him as he led us through the camp before finally settling at the fire. Half a dozen other fae basked in the glow of the flames—their conversation stopping as soon as they caught sight of us.

I wasn’t sure what welcome we would receive until the oldest woman I had ever seen in my life stood up with creaky bones and hobbled toward us. Sídhe, for all intents and purposes, were immortal, save for a select few, but appearances were deceiving.

“Shay Mac Eoin.” The old lady smiled, revealing a mouth filled with needle-like teeth. Her wrinkles shadowed in the firelight. “Come and join us by the fire.”

“And what of my guests, Vidalia?” he asked, amused.

Vidalia waved her hands towards us. “Them too.” She turned towards the fire before pausing. Tasting the air, she rotated as if she floated above the ground until our eyes met. Her brows arched in surprise. “Oh my.” Her smirk grew until her eyes twinkled. “Shay Mac Eoin, you brought me agift.”

Tormalugh pinched the bridge of his nose and turned away, saying nothing, but his entire body screamed of his exasperation.

Vidalia’s weathered smile grew, which I didn’t think was possible. “And the kelpie too?”

“He isn’t a gift,” Shay grumbled. “Your old bones couldn’t handlethatsteed.”

Vidalia patted Shay’s cheek, but she had to stand on her toes. “Darling boy, you always speak before you think. Come, sit by the fire, and have something to eat.”

Shay glanced back at us as Vidalia tugged him towards one of the logs surrounding the bonfire at the center of the village.

Tor, Rainn, and I stood on the edge awkwardly before settling on the other side of the fire. As they burned, the pop and crackle of the logs was enough to fill the silence before the nymphs’ interest in our arrival waned, and they returned to their dinner.

Our guards stood sentry behind the circle of logs, but the nymphs showed no signs of noticing them.

“When are you planning to wed, Shay Mac Eoin?” Vidalia accepted a plate from another Sídhe and pressed it into Shay’s grip. “Should I buy new slippers for the occasion?”

“Why does she keep saying his name like that?” I whispered out of the side of my mouth and hoped that Rainn alone would hear me.

“Names have power,” the selkie replied cryptically.

Tormalugh shifted, putting some space between us on the log as if the press of our thighs together was uncomfortable for him. My brow creased, and his dark eyes met mine before turning away.

Coward.

His head snapped back, and his midnight eyes narrowed as if he had heard me.

My eyes widened in a dare. He wasn’t the wronged party. Tormalugh had charmedme. He had stolen my memories. All of the princelings had used and tricked me into revealing the Frosted Sands to the enemy. For some reason, it hurt more that Tormalugh was responsible for stealing my memories and muddling my mind.

Perhaps it was because we had sat side by side at the Reeds and actually got on as if we could have been friends in another life.

I liked his sister, Elsbeth.

I had never had siblings, but she was the kind of sister I had wished for.

Tormalugh had implied that I was his shíorghrá even though I knew such a thing was impossible. For one moment, I had been struck dumb by a world of possibility. Of being wanted, needed, and belonging to someone else. A man with enough power that even my uncle could not reach me.

As that thought occurred, I took a moment to study the other princelings. Each was a very different man, let alone a different creed of fae.

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