Page 26 of The Dark Sea Calls

Moira’s brow furrowed. “I didn’t see you until later. You arrived much later than everyone else.”

I laughed without humor. “There was something in the blood wine.” I hunched over and pushed my fingers through my hair. “I fell to the seabed, was taken to the Skala beach, and left for dead. They beat me, Moira. Undine guards, under orders from my uncle. I thought that I would truly turn to foam on the sand. I reached for the lake, and the lake answered. It called them to me.”

“Who did it call?” she asked softly.

“Them. The princelings.” I pressed the heels of my palms against my eyes. “Cormac, the Mer-king. Tormalugh, the Kelpie Prince. Shay Mac Eoin of the Nymphs. And, of course, Rainn. The Selkie that is currently being interrogated by the Siren Queen at this very moment.”

“Maeve,” Moira warned. “Each of those males are enemies of the Undine. Your uncle would kill them on sight if he knew their locations.”

“I know,” I said gravely. “But, why should I care who my uncle’s enemies are? Surely he didn’t care when he made an enemy of me?”

“King Irvine might be an ass, but he was chosen by the High Throne.” Moira slanted a look my way. “I know you hated the lessons he gave you. I know you thought he was checking up on you to ensure you didn’t succumb to whatever madness lay in your mother’s mind, but we were children then. Do you really think he would send guards to kill you?”

I reached up and pressed my fingers against the scar where my crescent pearl had once sat. “The guards said as much as they left me dying.”

Moira looked like she had swallowed something foul. “And the princelings? As you called them. What of them? They found you?”

“Yes.” I closed my eyes, feeling the burn of tears. “Once I was well enough to take to the water. They let me go. I found my way back to the migration easily. Though the Kelpie prince had suppressed my memories of ever meeting them. He said that it was for their safety and mine.” I let out another humorless laugh. “They followed me to the Frosted Sands. It's my fault that everyone died. I just…” I let the words trail off.

Moira made a scoffing sound of disbelief, halfway between a cough and a squeak. She reached out and gripped my chin, forcing my eyes to meet hers. “It’s not your fault,” she growled, full of righteousness.

I knew she would fight me if I argued that point, so I remained silent. Her words wouldn’t change the miasma of guilt that clung to me like the smell of rotting fish.

“After the sands,” I cleared my throat. “I saved the Mer-king's life and was repaid by being placed in the dungeon. I escaped, but it wasn’t as easy as I made out. I had to leave; I knew the Mer would kill me if they found out I killed the dowager queen.”

Moira’s hands flew to her mouth. “You killed—”

I interrupted her. “Rainn is the seventh in line for the Selkie throne. He is the only one of my captors to show kindness to me.” I lifted the blanket I had rescued from its hiding place in the dead willow. “And he gave me this.”

Moira’s eyes flicked down to the blanket as if she was seeing it for the first time. “You don’t think…”

“It’s not his skin,” I told her. “He said that it isn’t, and I believe him. What would he have to gain from becoming my mate besides increasing his likelihood of being enslaved by my uncle.”

Moira didn’t look convinced. “Do you think he came here for you?”

“For me?” My eyes rounded in disbelief. “He said he wouldn’t drag me back to the lake.”

“No.” Moira nudged my shoulder. “Foryou.”

I grimaced, thinking of Cormac’s proposal. “If any of them feigned interest in me, they were trying to use me.”

Moira cocked her head to the side. “To end the war or to fight it?”

“Does that make a difference?” I wondered.

“Of course.” Moira brightened her face with a smile. “Even I have heard about your mother’s prophecy.”

“Didn’t you hear a word I said?” I asked, exasperated.

“Yes, yes.” Moira waved a hand. “They want to use you. I say you should usethem.”

“Right,” I snorted. “Likeyouslip out at night to use Arden for his body.”

Moira’s cheeks pinkened, but she didn’t deny it. “It doesn’t mean anything. I can’t find my Shíorghrá until I reach my magical majority,” she pointed out.

My lips pursed as a thought crossed my mind.

Moira caught on the moment an idea bloomed. “What?”

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