Children of the Sea 01 - Sea Witch by authors_sort
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solidly of earth, as firmly grounded as an oak tree.
As for his sister, Lucy, well . . . Margred sank deeper into the tub.
She could not dismiss the punch of power that had greeted her arrival or wash away the niggling suspicion there was more to Caleb’s sister than her shy welcome and anxious eyes.
How much more?
You are selkie, or you are not , Dylan had said.
If either Caleb or Lucy were selkie, if they had ever experienced the Change, Margred would know. It did not take any great magic to sense the aura of another elemental. She could smell it. Neither Caleb nor Lucy had betrayed any awareness of who they were.
Any recognition of what Margred was.
She felt a queer twist of heart. What was she now? Now that her pelt was gone.
She fought a flutter of panic. The children of the sea lived in the moment. She was not used to having to think, to weigh and calculate and discard her options.
But she could not lie here like a pup on an ice floe waiting for the hunter’s club. She had to plan. To act.
Was there any way to restore what had been taken from her?
90
Conn would know, she thought. The king’s son had made a study of magic, or at least had studied as much as any of the sea folk. Margred herself had learned to read, despite a scarcity of books. Sea water was not kind to pulp and print. Conn maintained some sort of library at Caer Subai, but generally knowledge among the mer was passed on parent to child and mind to mind.
When it was passed on at all. For along with their birth rate, the selkies’ aptitude for magic had been declining for years. Centuries.
The sea king’s son warned about the slow wane of the selkies’
power, but his preoccupation with his people’s fate was not a popular topic. The children of the sea counted themselves among the First Creation, elemental, immortal, inviolate in their primacy. What need did creatures of magic have for spells and enchantments?
Well, she needed something now, Margred thought.
She needed . . . help. Not human help, although she was grateful to Caleb for sheltering her.
She had to contact Dylan to find out what, if anything at all, Caleb and Lucy knew about their heritage.
And she needed to get word of her plight to the prince. Tomorrow she would go down to the sea to summon a messenger. Conn would tell her what to do.
If anything could be done . The whisper licked along her nerves like flame.
She sat up in the tub, water sluicing from her bare shoulders. She would not think that way. She was enough of a fatalist to accept that what would be, would be.
And enough of a survivor to take her pleasures in the meantime.
Reaching a hand for one of the pretty colored bottles along the edge of the tub, she unscrewed the cap and sniffed.
Caleb was climbing the stairs when the smell smacked him like a wet towel.
91
A cloud of scent and steam rolled from the bathroom and enveloped him. Cucumber, melon, apricot, strawberry, mixed and mingled together.
His head swam. Like a fricking bomb had gone off at a farmers’
market.
He cleared his throat. “Maggie?”
“In here.” Her throaty voice purred through the open bathroom door.
Hell, he knew she was in there. Wet. Naked. Vulnerable, he reminded himself.
“Do you, uh, need anything?”
“Yes.”
He waited.
Nothing.
He released his breath. Okay. He’d seen her naked before. Recently.
Just because she sounded like a wet dream and smelled like a whole roll of Lifesavers was no reason to lose his mind or his cool.
He shoved his hands in his pockets, as if he was approaching a crime scene. Don’t touch . “Right. Coming.”
The door stood open. He walked in and there she was, naked in the bathtub, her dark hair damp on her bare shoulders and her breasts just below the bubble line.
“Well.” He focused on her face with an effort. “You look
As for his sister, Lucy, well . . . Margred sank deeper into the tub.
She could not dismiss the punch of power that had greeted her arrival or wash away the niggling suspicion there was more to Caleb’s sister than her shy welcome and anxious eyes.
How much more?
You are selkie, or you are not , Dylan had said.
If either Caleb or Lucy were selkie, if they had ever experienced the Change, Margred would know. It did not take any great magic to sense the aura of another elemental. She could smell it. Neither Caleb nor Lucy had betrayed any awareness of who they were.
Any recognition of what Margred was.
She felt a queer twist of heart. What was she now? Now that her pelt was gone.
She fought a flutter of panic. The children of the sea lived in the moment. She was not used to having to think, to weigh and calculate and discard her options.
But she could not lie here like a pup on an ice floe waiting for the hunter’s club. She had to plan. To act.
Was there any way to restore what had been taken from her?
90
Conn would know, she thought. The king’s son had made a study of magic, or at least had studied as much as any of the sea folk. Margred herself had learned to read, despite a scarcity of books. Sea water was not kind to pulp and print. Conn maintained some sort of library at Caer Subai, but generally knowledge among the mer was passed on parent to child and mind to mind.
When it was passed on at all. For along with their birth rate, the selkies’ aptitude for magic had been declining for years. Centuries.
The sea king’s son warned about the slow wane of the selkies’
power, but his preoccupation with his people’s fate was not a popular topic. The children of the sea counted themselves among the First Creation, elemental, immortal, inviolate in their primacy. What need did creatures of magic have for spells and enchantments?
Well, she needed something now, Margred thought.
She needed . . . help. Not human help, although she was grateful to Caleb for sheltering her.
She had to contact Dylan to find out what, if anything at all, Caleb and Lucy knew about their heritage.
And she needed to get word of her plight to the prince. Tomorrow she would go down to the sea to summon a messenger. Conn would tell her what to do.
If anything could be done . The whisper licked along her nerves like flame.
She sat up in the tub, water sluicing from her bare shoulders. She would not think that way. She was enough of a fatalist to accept that what would be, would be.
And enough of a survivor to take her pleasures in the meantime.
Reaching a hand for one of the pretty colored bottles along the edge of the tub, she unscrewed the cap and sniffed.
Caleb was climbing the stairs when the smell smacked him like a wet towel.
91
A cloud of scent and steam rolled from the bathroom and enveloped him. Cucumber, melon, apricot, strawberry, mixed and mingled together.
His head swam. Like a fricking bomb had gone off at a farmers’
market.
He cleared his throat. “Maggie?”
“In here.” Her throaty voice purred through the open bathroom door.
Hell, he knew she was in there. Wet. Naked. Vulnerable, he reminded himself.
“Do you, uh, need anything?”
“Yes.”
He waited.
Nothing.
He released his breath. Okay. He’d seen her naked before. Recently.
Just because she sounded like a wet dream and smelled like a whole roll of Lifesavers was no reason to lose his mind or his cool.
He shoved his hands in his pockets, as if he was approaching a crime scene. Don’t touch . “Right. Coming.”
The door stood open. He walked in and there she was, naked in the bathtub, her dark hair damp on her bare shoulders and her breasts just below the bubble line.
“Well.” He focused on her face with an effort. “You look
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