Wickedly Wonderful (Baba Yaga, #2)(10)
It wasn’t anything they did or said, simply who they were. The guards who walked behind each of them were nothing; a habit, perhaps, a display of power, or merely the caution of the long-lived. But the two in front . . . it was just as well that the beach was empty at this late hour, because no one seeing them could have mistaken them for anything less than what they were: royalty out of legend, risen up upon a shore not their own.
On the left, the Queen of the Merpeople wore a gown of green and blue that swirled around her ankles, the pointed tips of the hemline dragging over her bare, slightly webbed feet as they slid effortlessly across the crusted sand. A silver belt entwined her slender waist, and a bejeweled diadem twinkled atop the crimson flame of her hair.
To her right, the King of the Selkies strode in muscular grace. His attire was more muted: brown and gray with tiny glints of light from layered scales, as though his pants and tunic had been crafted from some exotic deep-sea creature whose subtle armored shell could be formed into everyday attire. No crown sat on his straight black hair, but he carried a scepter in one hand with a large emerald at its tip.
Beka took a few steps forward and executed a sweeping bow. Strictly speaking, a Baba Yaga didn’t need to bow to anyone except the High Queen of the Otherworld, before whom all paranormal beings bowed (at least, all those with any sense of self-preservation). But as her mentor always said, it never hurt to be polite.
“Your Majesties,” she said. “You wished to speak to me?”
Queen Boudicca inclined her head slightly. “And so we did, Baba Yaga. We have need of your services, and have come to ask for your aid.” Her pale face was proud and stern in the moonlight, but worry haunted her almond-shaped green eyes. The Irish lilt in her voice bespoke the Celtic origins of both the underwater races who had migrated to the New World along with those who once believed in them.
King Gwrtheyrn growled an agreement, sounding like a bull seal warning off a rival. “We tend to our own, most times,” he said. “With no need of meddling from those who left us behind when they fled this plane of existence. But the Babas have always been a friend to our people, and I’m not ashamed to say that the Selkies are in dire want of a friend, just now.”
“And the Merpeople as well,” Boudicca said, shaking her head a little at her fellow royal. “After all, it was my woman who came and told us the tale of the Baba Yaga rescuing her child this day, which put the idea into our heads in the first place.”
The King snorted, waving one hand in that “settle down, woman” motion that was the same both above and below the sea.
“Are the mother and her baby okay?” Beka asked, trying to avert an argument. The King and Queen might share an underwater kingdom, but they (and their people) spent more time squabbling than a school of tiger sharks. Sometimes with as messy results. “I couldn’t see them from the boat once I was aboard, so I hoped that meant they’d gotten away without any further problems.”
Boudicca gave a narrow, pointy-toothed smile. “Both are doing well, thanks to you, Baba Yaga. But the same cannot be said for our people as a whole. We face a calamity the likes of which we have not experienced since our ill-considered move to these shores.”
Beka could feel her heart rate pick up. “The Merwoman I met said that something had happened to the water in the trench and you’d been forced to relocate all your subjects. Is that really true?” It wasn’t that she’d thought the Mermaid was lying, exactly; it just didn’t seem possible. And then, of course, a large, attractive fisherman had distracted her from the issue.
The King’s austere face creased with concern. “It is true, Baba Yaga. Something poisons the fish, the plants, and the more vulnerable among us. Two children have already sickened greatly, and others show signs of ill health. Our wise men and healers can find no reason for this, our mages have tried all their tricks, and yet, the problem persists.”
Boudicca sighed, head drooping as though the weight of the delicate crown she wore was suddenly too heavy to bear. “After one of the eldest of our tribe died suddenly, it was finally decided that we had no choice but to leave our homes. We found another deep trough, closer in to the shore, and we have cast all the magical protections around it that we can, in hopes of keeping the Humans away.”
“But the trench where we have always lived was never discovered by the air dwellers; it appears on no map, and no diver has ever returned from its treacherous depths.” The King’s slightly predatory smile made Beka shudder, although she made sure to hide the movement. “This new place is visited from time to time by those they call scientists. We cannot safely stay there forever.”
“And so it is we turn to you, Baba Yaga,” Gwrtheyrn said in formal tones. His voice took on the cadence of one about to invoke the Old Rites: magic and tradition that bound as tightly as any chains.
Beka glanced wildly around the beach, as though some miracle might come dashing through the fog to carry her off, out of the danger of obligations she might not be able to fulfill. But none was forthcoming.
Boudicca laid one long-fingered hand over Gwrtheyrn’s, and their heavy gazes filled with the magnitude of their request. The temperature on the beach seemed to drop, and Beka shivered.
“We ask, Baba Yaga, that you undertake the task of discovering the cause of this mysterious illness that afflicts our lands and our peoples, and if it is possible, cure it. Find a way for us to return to our homes before it is too late and the air dwellers discover us.”