Page 44 of The Dark, Dead, Deep

“Come,” Tormalugh stepped to my side and placed his hand on the small of my back. I startled as if I had been shocked by an eel.

“What are you doing?” I hissed. “Did you just use magic on me?”

“What are you talking about?” Tormalugh frowned.

I shrugged away from his hand. “Keep your hands to yourself, please.” I shuddered, trying to shake off the feeling that every cell in my body had decided to dance and scream simultaneously. “Where are the others?”

“Why?” The kelpie’s brow creased in surprise.

I sighed in exasperation. “I don’t know,” I bit back. “Perhaps because Rainn doesn’t make me feel an inch tall.”

“Well, tonight, you have me.” Tormalugh jutted his chin.

“Joyous,” I muttered.

The kelpie placed his arm behind my back, careful not to touch me, as he ushered me towards the door to the banquet hall. I allowed, straightening my spine and adjusting my shoulders as I had been taught in the etiquette classes I had taken back at the castle—before my uncle deemed that I was unteachable. Whatever that meant.

The conversation in the hall stopped abruptly as I walked in at the prince’s side. I had witnessed the same thing when my uncle appeared around his subjects. Even the ones that saw him every day.

I searched the long tables for a free space, confident that Tormalugh and the other soldiers would want me under close observation lest I gather anything I could report back to my uncle if I eventually made it back to Cruinn. When I spotted Cormac, Rainn, and Shay at one of the tables at the front of the hall, they appeared deep in conversation, unaware of our entrance. I moved to join them when Tormalugh held his arm out at chest height to stop me.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Tormalugh whispered, leaning so close to my ear that I felt his words roll over my body like a fluttering touch.

“To eat?” My statement became a question.

The prince clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “You’ll join me at the head table. With my sister.”

I tilted my head, mindful of the hundreds of eyes on us. “Of course.” I kept my eyes on him as I lowered myself into a gracious curtsy.

His eyes sparkled with amusement, but his features were as cold and distant as ever.

The walk to the head table felt like it took years, though it only took seconds. Tormalugh gave me his hand and led me up the steps to the platform. The royal table had a dozen seats, but two sat empty in the middle. Tormalugh chose for me, placing me in between him and his sister.

Elsbeth greeted me with a smile, though she was halfway through her meal, and I understood that hunger waned the desire for conversation.

“How do you like the Reeds so far?” Tormalugh asked politely as if we hadn’t just argued outside the hall like bickering children. He reached for the platter of mussels in front of him and plated up a portion.

I lifted the goblet in front of me, a spelled bubble hanging onto the lip of the glass chalice and holding the blood wine inside. “Lovely,” I muttered, my words muffled by the rim of my glass as I downed my wine as if I was trying to win a competition.

Tormalugh grunted, but the sound was suspiciously like laughter. When I placed my glass on the table, his expression gave nothing away.

Elsbeth placed her fork on the table. “I just wanted to let you know how thankful I am for what you did,” she whispered. Her awe betrayed her age. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“Why?” I was confused. “Because I’m undine?”

“Well, yes.” Elsbeth grinned. “But also because you’re—”

“Elsbeth.” Tormalugh’s stern rebuke cut off whatever his sister planned to say.

She rolled her eyes and turned back to her food.

I took the opportunity to fill my plate. The table was covered with fish of all colors, and there was a seaweed dish coated in some kind of cream.

I wasn’t often allowed to go to the royal banquet hall back in Cruinn, taking my meals directly in the kitchen or my chambers. It was strange to be surrounded by people while enjoying a meal, but I relaxed when I realized that not a soul paid me any mind as I ate.

The seating arrangements grew laxer once the food was done and the wine continued to pour. People stood up and began to mill around the halls, laughing and chatting as if they hadn’t seen their old friends in an age.

The soldier’s convoy from the Frosted Sands remained in their seats. Only the kelpie seemed to be chatting to others. Cormac, the merman, whose personality resembled that of a sea urchin, occasionally glanced at the royal table, his gaze as sharp as a dagger—as if he was waiting for something and was prepared to pull his sword at any moment. I half expected him to march up to the table and demand to be respected, but the kelpie didn’t seem to care that the mer-king was amongst them.

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