Fear the Drowning Deep(58)
“Who ordered the lamb?” Ms. Elena asked.
“I did.” As I met her eyes, her waxy hands trembled so hard she nearly dropped the plate in my lap. She banged my dish on the table, and I took advantage of her nearness to whisper in her ear. “There’s something dangerous in the water, and you know it. No one wants to listen to me or Morag, but they might be willing to hear you, if you were to try.”
She flinched, and hastily straightened as much as her stiff back allowed. “I’m nearly deaf, young lady. I haven’t any idea what you said.” She gripped the table and frowned. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have bread in the oven.”
As she tottered off, Ms. Katleen bent down and whispered, “I’m sorry about Mrs. Gill. That woman …” She pressed her lips together as though biting back the sort of remark that would make Mam use my full name. “Let’s just say not everyone here jumps to conclusions just because someone thinks they saw something funny in the water, or because Thomase Boyd is flinging accusations faster than you can say unfair. You two are welcome to stay as long as you’d like.”
When Ms. Katleen left us to our meal, I lifted my fork and glanced at Fynn’s untouched fish. He stared at his plate as though it were laced with poison. “Eat,” I urged. “You’ll need your strength if we’re going to hunt a fossegrim and help with a wedding tomorrow.”
Fynn picked up his knife and fork, chopping his supper into sloppy portions. “I thought you wanted me to stay away from your family.”
I reached for his hand but drew back before our fingers touched. “I’m still angry you lied, but I understand why you did. You knew how I’d react.”
He gave a small smile. “Just my luck that I fell for someone who can’t stand the sea. You’re well within your right to hate me.”
“I don’t, though. Knowing your secret hasn’t changed what I feel for you.” Except, when I looked at him now, I saw the beast, too.
Something Mam had said weeks ago echoed in my thoughts, chasing away my vision of his glashtyn form. “Besides, the Corkills don’t turn their backs on anyone. Your place is with us. That is, if you still want it.”
Fynn raised his eyes to mine. “Of course I do. I haven’t been sleeping on your sofa all this time out of a love of rocks and trees.” With a grin, he stole a piece of my lamb. “This isn’t half bad.” He hovered over my plate, perfectly poised to steal a kiss. I bent forward, tipping my chin up. Fynn’s breath hitched. If I moved another fraction, I could kiss him.
But not today. I drew back. It wasn’t Mrs. Gill’s threatening words, or the looks of the men at the bar that made me lower my eyes to my supper. Anger was still simmering in my veins. It would take more than the space of a meal to forgive Fynn for keeping so much hidden from me, even if he had his reasons.
As we ate, my mind wandered back through the summer’s many strange events before Fynn turned up. The drowned girl. Nessa Daley’s disappearance. The false pearl in Da’s nets.
“I have one last question.”
Fynn paused, a forkful of fish halfway to his mouth.
“The day after the girl washed ashore, I found a giant pearl on the floor of Da’s boat, and I saw a fin that looked a lot like yours. Was that—?”
“Me.” A smile lit his face. “I saw you protecting Grayse from the birds.” Fynn dropped his gaze to the berry bonnag between our plates. “Even before I lost the will to hunt, I thought you were beautiful. Warm and light. The kind of beauty a creature like me, from the cold and the dark, can only hope to grasp for the briefest moment before it slips away like water through human fingers. I just wanted to give you something pretty.”
“Then why did the pearl turn into a rock that evening?”
Fynn passed me a slice of bonnag without meeting my eyes. “Nothing from the ocean is meant to survive on land forever.”
Suddenly, I wasn’t hungry anymore.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The blast of a horn roused me early the next morning. Though its clarion cry was familiar from wedding days past, it sounded shriller than usual. More like a dying seal than a call to celebration. I leaped out of bed, tripped over the edge of our rug, and banged my hip against our bedside table.
“Happy Thursday!” Grayse chirped, throwing back the covers. Liss groaned in her sleep. “Lucky, lucky Thursday!” Grayse’s hazel eyes held no trace of tiredness, as though she’d been awake long before the horn blew. “Ready to be a bride-maid, Bridey?”
“Maybe tomorrow.” I yawned, shuffling over to the window and rubbing my smarting hip. The sky was still a canvas of indigo night and silvery moon, save for a thick line of orange smeared across the horizon. All of Port Coire’s fishermen were taking to the water, their boats gliding silently toward the open sea like ghosts retreating into obscurity.
There was no sign of a phantom fiddler hovering over the rocky waters.
As I drank in the star-studded view of the cliffs and our neighbor’s chicken coop, memories of yesterday crashed over me like the breaking waves. Fynn the glashtyn. Morag’s fear of the serpent. Mrs. Gill’s hateful words.
Another burst of noise sliced through my pounding head. I flinched and turned to Grayse. “Do you know who Mally charged with sounding the horn?”