ribbons of red-orange and fuchsia. He’d seen so few sunsets, the spectacle still awed him. It did not, however, dull the cold or the pulsing ache in his tail. The scaly silver-blue membrane was growing more brittle by the moment. Underneath, he could feel legs, feet, and toes taking shape.
As Cordelia drew nearer, he shifted his focus to the basket she carried, hopeful it contained more salmon…or cockles and carrageen. Meredith used to make a jelly-like pudding with carrageen he found surprisingly flavorful and satisfying.
Meredith’s memory made his heart hurt, so he returned his attention to Cordelia. Like Meredith, she had a fine figure, bonny face, and hair as red as the setting sun. As she pushed back a windblown strand, he saw her fingers had no webbing. Webbed fingers were a dominant trait occurring even in mixed-bloods of his race. She was not, then, part Glauckodai.
What else might she be then? Ashray? Sprite? Selkie? Mermaid? Nereid? Oceanid? A half-blood Nereid was a good possibility, as they were human in appearance and mated with mortal men. Cuan made a note to himself to ask Cordelia about her parents, particularly her mother. Once they could more easily communicate, of course.
Fortunately, he had a gift for picking up languages—or so Meredith had told him. How he wished now he’d paid more attention during his English lessons.
Cordelia stopped before him and spread the blanket over his tail. He met her gaze with a visceral spark. She was comely, to be sure, but was she beautiful enough to be part Nereid? Maybe…and maybe not. He only knew she was lovely enough to awaken desires in him he’d prefer remained asleep.
Kneeling beside him, she set down the basket and opened the lid. As she leaned over him, he caught a whiff of her hair. The salty ocean smell wafting from her head further confirmed his suspicions. Still, even if she was part merrow, she’d have to swear to tell no one about him. Otherwise, he’d be forced to take her life regardless of her bloodline.
Drawing a deep breath, he searched his mind for the English word for keeping a confidence. He was sure Meredith had shared it at some point, but could not for the life of him bring it forward. Giving up, he let out a sigh and spoke the Gaelic word.
“Secret?” she asked, surprising him.
He couldn’t help smiling. “Secret” was the very word he’d been reaching for. How did she know? “Do you have the Gaelic?” he asked, recalling at least that much from Meredith’s lessons.
“Yes, but only a little. My mom, who was from Orkney, taught me a few phrases before she died.”
He understood some of what she’d said, mainly that her mother came from Orkney and had crossed into the Underworld. Robharta also was from Orkney, so perhaps her mother had been a selkie. Or, gods forbid, one of the Finfolk of the Vanishing Isles. Being young and beautiful, she could easily be the offspring of a Finmaid and a human man.
“Your mother,” he began with hope in his heart, “was of the sea?”
She looked at him strangely. “My mother drowned in the ocean…and was human. As far as I know, anyway.”
His hope sank, but only for a moment before floating back to the surface. Perhaps the half-blood came from her father, who might be a Finman. Given her beauty—and that her mother was Orknian—it was another distinct possibility. Finmen had a bad habit of carrying mortal women off to Finfolkaheem, the finfolk equivalent of Tír fo Thuinn .
Unfortunately, the Finfolk were sworn enemies of the Glauckodai, though not foes on the same scale as humans. Fins were selfish, scheming creatures, but still showed respect for the sea. For the most part, anyway.
“And your father?”
“My dad, I’m afraid, was about as human as it gets.” He understood only the word “human,” which undercut his theory. “For starters, he grew up in Castroville, a small town in central California. On an artichoke farm.”
“Art-a-choke?” he repeated,
As Cordelia drew nearer, he shifted his focus to the basket she carried, hopeful it contained more salmon…or cockles and carrageen. Meredith used to make a jelly-like pudding with carrageen he found surprisingly flavorful and satisfying.
Meredith’s memory made his heart hurt, so he returned his attention to Cordelia. Like Meredith, she had a fine figure, bonny face, and hair as red as the setting sun. As she pushed back a windblown strand, he saw her fingers had no webbing. Webbed fingers were a dominant trait occurring even in mixed-bloods of his race. She was not, then, part Glauckodai.
What else might she be then? Ashray? Sprite? Selkie? Mermaid? Nereid? Oceanid? A half-blood Nereid was a good possibility, as they were human in appearance and mated with mortal men. Cuan made a note to himself to ask Cordelia about her parents, particularly her mother. Once they could more easily communicate, of course.
Fortunately, he had a gift for picking up languages—or so Meredith had told him. How he wished now he’d paid more attention during his English lessons.
Cordelia stopped before him and spread the blanket over his tail. He met her gaze with a visceral spark. She was comely, to be sure, but was she beautiful enough to be part Nereid? Maybe…and maybe not. He only knew she was lovely enough to awaken desires in him he’d prefer remained asleep.
Kneeling beside him, she set down the basket and opened the lid. As she leaned over him, he caught a whiff of her hair. The salty ocean smell wafting from her head further confirmed his suspicions. Still, even if she was part merrow, she’d have to swear to tell no one about him. Otherwise, he’d be forced to take her life regardless of her bloodline.
Drawing a deep breath, he searched his mind for the English word for keeping a confidence. He was sure Meredith had shared it at some point, but could not for the life of him bring it forward. Giving up, he let out a sigh and spoke the Gaelic word.
“Secret?” she asked, surprising him.
He couldn’t help smiling. “Secret” was the very word he’d been reaching for. How did she know? “Do you have the Gaelic?” he asked, recalling at least that much from Meredith’s lessons.
“Yes, but only a little. My mom, who was from Orkney, taught me a few phrases before she died.”
He understood some of what she’d said, mainly that her mother came from Orkney and had crossed into the Underworld. Robharta also was from Orkney, so perhaps her mother had been a selkie. Or, gods forbid, one of the Finfolk of the Vanishing Isles. Being young and beautiful, she could easily be the offspring of a Finmaid and a human man.
“Your mother,” he began with hope in his heart, “was of the sea?”
She looked at him strangely. “My mother drowned in the ocean…and was human. As far as I know, anyway.”
His hope sank, but only for a moment before floating back to the surface. Perhaps the half-blood came from her father, who might be a Finman. Given her beauty—and that her mother was Orknian—it was another distinct possibility. Finmen had a bad habit of carrying mortal women off to Finfolkaheem, the finfolk equivalent of Tír fo Thuinn .
Unfortunately, the Finfolk were sworn enemies of the Glauckodai, though not foes on the same scale as humans. Fins were selfish, scheming creatures, but still showed respect for the sea. For the most part, anyway.
“And your father?”
“My dad, I’m afraid, was about as human as it gets.” He understood only the word “human,” which undercut his theory. “For starters, he grew up in Castroville, a small town in central California. On an artichoke farm.”
“Art-a-choke?” he repeated,
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