Page 23 of Connal

“They’re half-mortal like us, and harder to end. ’Twill prove tiresome.” Dearg pouted for a moment. “Why doesnae our lady ken where the clan hides? She’s full blood Fae, and an enchantress. Cannae she cast a spell to find and kill them?”

“Her magic, ’tisnae the same in the mortal realm.” That much Fiacail knew, for she had already witnessed Derdrui’s frustration when she had attempted a seeking spell, only to watch her power spread in a thin mist before vanishing on the sea winds. “Whatever protective spell Mar cast, ’tis faded. You ken the islands, aye? On which would the MacMar seek refuge?”

The little Cait Sith held up a finger. “I dwelled on one isle. One. ’Twas when I favored hunting Pritani. I’ve no’ returned since the last tribe died out.”

Fiacail knew her small sister liked to roam, but seldom did she stay long where she had no sport. “What killed them?”

“I did. ’Tis a facking cold place, and after I finished butchering their sheep and cattle I grew bored.” Dearg glanced at the weathered planks above them. “She wakes now. I can hear her claws splintering wood. You truly didnae bring any mortals?”

Fiacail grabbed Dearg by the nape and carried her up the ladder, ignoring her furious yowls as she marched into the deck cabin with her. In the shadows she saw the glowing red eyes of the enchantress, and dropped on her knees while forcing her smaller sister to do the same.

“You rise early, my princess,” Fiacail said, keeping her voice soft and low. “We’ve left the mainland and now make for Yetland, ah, the Island of Cats–”

“Insii Cait,” Dearg muttered.

“Insii Cait,” Fiacail echoed quickly. “We should reach the island on the morrow, and there we shall question the ferrymen and fishers.”

For a long time Derdrui said nothing, and simply watched them. Slowly the red glow of her eyes shifted slowly into the brilliant jewels of her mortal form. Only then did she step out of the darkness, her tall, voluptuous body wrapped in the linen from the captain’s bed. She walked over to loom over them both, and nudged Dearg with her bare toes.

“I remember this little beast,” the enchantress said. “Stand and behold your sovereign, Runt.”

Dearg shook off Fiacail’s hand and planted her feet before she straightened and glanced up at Derdrui. Her small bottom lip trembled, but she wisely made no sound.

“You look as if you wish to make a request of me.” The Fae made a languid gesture. “You may speak.”

“I wish kill something,” the small Cait Sith said.

“In your honor, of course, Princess,” Fiacail added quickly. “We should also secure a supply of live mortals for your pleasure before we reach Insii Cait.” She regarded her small sister. “’Tis another island closer to the mainland, aye?”

Dearg nodded. “Insii Orc, ’tis much closer.”

“The isle of pigs? You wish me stop for pigs?” Derdrui demanded. “Have you any notion in your thick half-mortal skull how repulsive it is for me to abide in this realm, even here, where the air is clean and free of the stench of mortals? Now you would land me in a pigsty?”

Before Fiacail could retract the suggestion the little Cait Sith laughed merrily.

“Oh, my princess, you havenae changed. The realm, ’tis one enormous sty, for all mortals, they’re pigs. ’Tis why they’re so skilled raising the four-legged kind.” Dearg gestured toward the porthole. “From here ’tis another day before we reach Insii Cait, yet we’re but a few hours from Insii Orc. Permit us dock and question their sailors.”

Derdrui frowned. “You said you wished to kill something.”

“There I shall, and bring some back to the boat as well. They’ll be yours to feast upon, or torment, or whatever may give you pleasure.” She drew her favorite weapon, and spun it through her clever little fingers. “Shall I hobble them for you, or do you want stretch your legs a bit?”

For a moment a flash of red passed through the enchantress’s eyes. Then her full lips curved into a sweet smile.

“I like the way you think, Runt. A pity you were not born full-blood Fae.” Derdrui regarded Fiacail. “Make for this island of pigs.”

Chapter Eight

Valerie refused to keep Merrick’s gift in her chamber, so Connal agreed to place the dawn pearls in the clan’s treasury. That required him to seek out Fletcher, who had retreated to the prince’s scroll room to make use of the instruments with which he kept the stronghold’s ledgers.

“Aye, my lord, I’ll lock away the gift,” the seneschal said without looking up from the accounts he was writing.

Connal saw how stiffly he held his shoulders, and knew his youngest brother was deliberately ignoring him. He dropped the clamshell in front of him on the desk, scattering a few pearls that spilled out. “Do that now.”

Fletcher lifted the edge of the shell, saw the hoard, and quickly stuffed the errant pearls back into it before regarding him with wide eyes. “’Tis a facking king’s fortune.”

“’Twas a facking king’s gift.” Connal watched him empty a box of parchment fragments before stowing the shell inside. “I need your help with another matter. Mistress Baker doesnae wish wed me.”

Fletcher closed his eyes for a moment. “How may I serve?”