Page 33 of The Dark, Dead, Deep

“Eat,” the dark-haired male repeated, standing up to push a platter of seasoned mussels across the table.

Cormac Illfin barked a laugh, sloshing wine over his bare chest. “She’s bound, you fool.”

“Untie her then, you fool,” the dark-haired male retorted.

“By all means.” Cormac gestured with his glass. “But the undine are slippery, and the Cruinn’s are the worst. Be prepared for a dagger between the ribs,Tormalugh.”

Tormalugh bared his teeth and lifted a knife from the table. “Call me Tormalugh again, and it will bemydagger between your ribs.”

The selkie stood up, holding his hands up in a disarming fashion. “I’ll untie the Cruinn,” he stated, taking his time as he swaggered around the table. When the selkie finally made it to me, he bent down, adjusting the chain around his waist so that his skin was out of my reach. On his knees, at my side, the selkie took his time to untie me. He brushed his fingers over the harsh wire binding on my wrists, hissing in disdain when he noticed that the skin had broken and begun to weep.

Whoever had captured me, a fae named Toddy, I believed, had used fishing wire to bind me.

I had not reached my magical majority, so my body would not heal quickly with the aid of magic. I was condemned to feel the effects of their cruelty and to suffer the pain afterward.

The selkie’s touch lingered on my wrist, and my stomach flipped—though I told myself it was nerves and hunger. His eyes met mine, searching for something. Whatever he found in my gaze angered him, though he smothered it quickly.

Standing up, the selkie took his time as he unwrapped the gag between my teeth. The cloth was sodden with my saliva, and my jaw ached in its absence.

“My name is Rainn,” he stated, his sky-blue eyes roaming my face. “And you’re Maeve.”

My brow furrowed in confusion. I had no idea why he offered his name if he planned to kill me. I felt Cormac Illfin’s gaze on my face, though I refused to look at him. The merman’s anger thickened the air like fog.

Tormalugh, the angry kelpie, cleared his throat. “Eat. We have a long journey back.”

“Your spell—” Rainn replied.

“After food,” Tormalugh interrupted, not looking up as he speared a clam and pried the black purse apart to get the meaty flesh inside.

Rainn scoffed and wordlessly lifted the platter of flame-cooked trout and began to fill my plate. Rainn stood back, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked down expectantly, waiting for me to eat.

I didn’t find any modicum of happiness in the idea of eating. In fact, it filled me with dread.

I reached forward and tried to wrap my hand around my fork, but my fingers were numb from my bindings, and the utensil clattered off the table and landed on the sand.

Rainn made a whining sound at the back of his throat, though I wasn’t sure he meant to make it, and turned his back to the table, marching back to his seat on a mission.

I continued staring at the trout, my hands shaking though I couldn’t feel them.

Someone cleared their throat. The selkie had returned with his chair, placed it next to mine, and scooted over. He took a fork from the table and loaded it with food, holding it in front of me like I was an infant.

“Have you gone mad?” The words burst from my lips before I thought about them.

The silver-haired man eased himself back in the chair, an expression of confusion and annoyance on his cherubic features. “Pardon?”

“Unless the fish is poisoned, I can see no reason why you should be feeding me. I’m a captive!” My voice hitched with hysteria.

“Maeve…” He placed the fork on my plate.

“And how do you know my name?” I turned back to the table. “I’m not who you think I am. I have no value to the king, so kill me or send me back as a message, but I can assure you that whatever your plan is, it won’t have nearly the impact if it involvesme.”

Silence reigned, broken only by the clink of silver utensils as the males at the table began to eat again. Losing interest in whatever show Cormac and Rainn were providing.

“Tell me…” The male directly across from me cleared his throat. His braided hair clicked as the braids began to sliver and wake.Nymph. “What is the purpose of the migration?”

“Pardon?” I cocked my head to the side, confused.

“The migration,” the braided male clarified; the shells in his hair rustled in indignation. “What is its purpose? Why risk sending so many younglings to this unknown lagoon in the height of the Battle of the Reeds?”

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