Fear the Drowning Deep(57)
“What were you doing near Port Coire when the serpent attacked you?”
He regarded me solemnly, shaking his head. “Other questions?”
“Fynn, this is important. There are monsters in the water waiting to kill my family and friends. Were you coming to help the fossegrim? Or the serpent?”
His lip curled. “No. Glashtyns and serpents hate each other. Always have. But if I tell you what I was doing, you have to promise not to think less of me.” He took both my hands in his, and a slight tremor passed between us. “I’d gone on land in human form—not this island, but another close by—to hunt a girl.”
I reached for Fynn’s glass and lifted it to my lips. He raised his brows as I took a gulp of the bitter liquid. It made me cough, but warmth spread through my chest. “Right. Because glashtyns drown women.”
Fynn sighed, his breath grazing my cheek. “It’s our nature.” Seeing my stony stare, he hurriedly whispered, “I would never hurt you. You really did save my life that day on the beach. Glashtyns know of places deep underwater where we can sometimes heal, if we reach them in time, but the sea had spat me out and left me to die …”
He fell silent, as though the memory pained him. Then he met my eyes and continued, “When I woke after the fight, there you were. I should have wanted to carry you off into the water, yet all I longed to do was wipe the worry from your eyes. I can’t explain why I’ve lost the urge to hunt. But I have no desire to harm you. Never have, even when I took you swimming.”
I took a second sip of the ale, then pushed the glass toward Fynn. I’d had enough. “I can explain the change. Well, a little.” Morag’s tale of blood magic was still fresh in my mind. Seeing Fynn’s wide-eyed look of amazement tugged a reluctant smile from my lips. “I’ll tell you later. Right now, I want to know more about—”
“More about what?” a sharp voice asked.
Mrs. Gill stood by our table, her arms folded across her chest. “Bridey Corkill, does your mam know you’re here? I daresay she wouldn’t approve of the company you’re keeping.”
I clenched my hands on the edge of my seat, not daring to glance at Fynn. “Mam’s the one who suggested Fynn stay with us. We’re not the first family that’s hosted a tourist here, I might remind you. She trusts me to make my own decisions.”
“Well, I’m keeping an eye on you.” She spun on her heel and strode away.
I had an urge to chase her, to grab her bony shoulders and shake some sense into her head. But instead of drawing even more unwanted attention our way, I took another sip of ale to wet my bone-dry mouth.
Fynn scrubbed his hands through his hair and sighed. It seemed to have cost him a great effort not to shout at Mrs. Gill. When he finally looked at me again, he said in a soft voice, “Where were we?”
“We were talking about what brought you to the Isle. And the serpent.” A cold wave washed over me, sweeping away the warmth of the drink.
“Right.” Fynn grabbed the glass, pushing it back and forth between his hands. “I was hunting on land, and when I returned to the water with my catch”—he frowned at the look I gave him, and quickly amended—“with a girl, I encountered the serpent. It wanted my kill, and we fought.” Fynn ran a hand gingerly down his injured side. “Needless to say, the serpent won.”
Picturing Mam’s painting of the two beasts facing off over the drowned girl’s body, I frowned. “Had you ever fought a serpent before?”
“No. The ocean is vast, and I’ve never strayed far from these waters.” Fynn paused to take a sip. “I wonder why the serpent is keeping close to this island, anyway. The fossegrim is easier to explain. It likely followed the serpent here, picking off the remains of the larger beast’s meals. Or, if it’s the same one that murdered your grandfather, it may have remembered this spot as good hunting grounds. But serpents never stay in one place for long.”
I told the story of Morag’s foot and the half-blind serpent’s desire for revenge while Fynn drained his glass.
“Wish I knew why people drink this stuff.” He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “It’s disgusting. And I wish I knew how we could get rid of the damned fossegrim before anyone else goes missing.”
“And the serpent, someday,” I added softly. It had to be stopped eventually, though until it started luring people into the water like the fossegrim, the fiddling monstrosity was our sole concern. “Morag reckons she may have found a way to be rid of the fossegrim. Piercing its heart with steel may kill it. How are you at stabbing?”
“Probably the same as you.”
“Hopeless, then.”
Fynn shook his head. “Not hopeless. You’re strong. Stronger than me, I’d wager, while I’m still healing.”
Maybe he was right. I did all that wood chopping for Mam. But I couldn’t take the life of a living being, even one as cruel as the monster who took my grandad away. I couldn’t even spear a single snig the day Morag sent me scouring the shore. Just thinking about killing gave me a feeling like spiders scuttling across my skin. “We’ll find a way.” I managed a smile. “At least, I hope so.”
“I know so.”
I was about to ask Fynn whether he’d ever encountered a fossegrim before this one when Ms. Katleen and her mam appeared at our table with our supper and our cake.