Page 6 of The Dark, Dead, Deep

I turned back to the stall and the beautiful black water-horse inside with a heavy sigh. The mare exhaled a flurry of bubbles, retreating on dancing steps as I pushed open the door to the stall.

A shiver raced through my body from top to webbed toe as I crossed the threshold.

“Where did they find you?” I whispered, lowering my head as I spoke to the water fae.

The young mare tilted her head, her eyes filled with pain and sadness. She exhaled but didn’t move as I got closer.

The water pulsed around her as if it was churning with anger. I reached up to her muzzle and let my hand hover over the bridle, hissing when I felt the nefarious magic.

The kelpie was a juvenile.

Kelpies didn’t mature like the undine did. They were wild fae, with both an animal and a two-legged aspect. They didn’t have to migrate to find their magic; it was woven into the fabric of their being.

Whoever the kelpie was, she was trapped on four legs and unable to change form. Suppressed and subdued by the magical bridle.

“Who did this to you?” I whispered. “You’re a child.”

Someone cleared their throat behind my back.

I turned, straightening immediately.

It was my uncle, the king—and by his side stood Liam, with a smug tilt to his lips and his arms, crossed over his chest as if to say:

I told you so.

Chapter 2

“You are meant to be preparing for the migration,” my uncle snapped as he paced behind his desk, shooting me a look filled with daggers every time I allowed a sigh to escape my lips

I would have replied, but I had long since learned that my uncle had no desire to hear excuses or explanations.

“The migration happens tomorrow at first light. After the celebrations, you will be led with the group to the edge of Cruinn and make your way to the frosted beach on the edge of the lake. The swim is arduous and grueling,” my uncle continued as if he was rehearsing a speech he had given dozens of times. He might have, but I had long since learned to tune him out.

King Irvine loved the sound of his own voice.

“The migration is the most important rite an undine can perform.” My uncle crossed his arms over his chest and turned to face me. “What, in the name of Belisama, is more important than reaching your magical majority?”

I lifted a shoulder and let it drop.

My uncle tilted his head to the side and studied me for a moment, letting out a deep sigh. He slowly drifted around his desk, his webbed feet kicking out behind him as he approached me. My eyes moved, but no other part of my body did.

My uncle never rounded his desk.

“Your mother was nervous about the migration as well.” King Irvine offered a gentle smile, clenched his hand into a fist, and pulled it back to his side.

“She met my father on the frosted beach?” I reached up and pressed my thumb against the iridescent scales under my right eye. The same scales that my mother had once had.

“The lake chose your mother.” My uncle nodded staunchly, ignoring my question. “Not many people can become the Heart of the Lake. The throne was hers from the moment she opened her eyes.”

“And then she died,” I stated blandly. “What good can come of being chosen by the lake? She died, cold and alone, at her own hand. Driven made by the High Throne.”

My uncle blinked, and an unknown emotion crossed his cloudy eyes. “Is this little outburst the beginnings of your own madness?” My uncle didn’t look at me as he asked the question.

I looked down at my fingers—to the webbing near my knuckles and the dusting of scales on the backs of my hands. Each finger tipped with a shining black claw. I didn’t know how to answer him.

I felt the lake. I felt its heartbeat. I felt every drop of blood as the battles outside of Cruinn raged, and the disharmony of the lake rippled like an orchestra playing out of key.

Everything inside me ached to reach out and fix the lake, but something held me back. The spark inside of me waited but hadn’t been ignited. I knew what it was.

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