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Rainn eyed me strangely. “My mother is very old and powerful. Just as yours was.”
I frowned. “That can’t be right. My mother met my father on the frosted sands on the day of her majority. She died when I was a youngling. She wasn’t queen for long.”
Tor barked a laugh. “The frosted sands, though sacred, weren’t only used for the migration. They used to be a place where one could commune with the gods. To worship and harness power. A place of magic.”
“Queen Caroihme had long since been on the throne when my mother was crowned,” Rainn informed me, his face knit with worry.
Anger flashed through me like a tidal wave. “That sea snake.” I hissed. “Irvine must have removed any record of her from the castle. Rewritten his own history. He is—was—a weaver. A spell of forgetting, maybe?”
“Confined to the Cruinn city walls.” Tor nodded in agreement. “I wouldn’t put it past the bastard.”
Once we’d eaten, we made our way up the rickety staircase, following the wood-carved signs to match our room name with the key in my hand.
It took longer than expected to find our suite. The log inn was much more spacious inside than outside, and we wandered through hallway after hallway before finding success.
The room had none of the decorations that water fae preferred—driftwood, seashells, and shiny baubles. Instead, the four-poster bed was hidden behind heavy drapes that I later learned were velvet—a material that would be almost impossible to swim in.
We kept our belongings close, not bothering to unpack save for a change of clothes.
I pulled out a wrapped bag of soap-silt before Rainn informed me that there was a bathtub. A mini hot spring confined to a white tub.
Being on land meant sweat and dirt. Things that didn’t occur under the waves. A fine layer of grime had accumulated on my skin, and I needed to wash it off.
I excused myself, ducking into the bathtub room. I tried waving my hands over the basin, but it didn’t fill with water. Tor caught me speaking softly to the taps as if to coax them to life before he leaned over and twisted a handle. Water burst from the pipes, filling the tub.
Tor crossed his arms over his chest. “Land living takes a while to get used to.”
“But you’ve gotten used to it?” I eyed the steaming water as it grew in the bathtub.
“This is the inn nearest the Reeds. They have a pact with the kelpies, so we don’t drown guests who wander too far.” Tor tilted his head toward the window and the sliver of lake visible from our room.
“I imagine that would be bad for business.” I bit back a smile.
Tor reached for a glass bottle on one of the shelves and upended the contents into the water. A moment later, foam began to form and spread. Growing like fungus and rising to the top of the bathtub. It smelled like flowers, but anything that grew that quickly was something to be wary of.
“How do you feel about Shay?” Tor took a seat on the stool in the corner of the room. He knitted his hands together, eying me patiently.
I ignored the question. “I need to turn the water off.”
Tor nodded and gestured to the taps. After a moment, I managed to stop the flow of water but eyed the bath as if it would bite me. Tor didn’t seem compelled to let my desire for silence stand. He watched me, waiting for an answer to his question.
Finally, I loosened a breath. “I don’t know Shay well,” I admitted. “My time with the nymph can be compounded by my kidnapping and then our journey across the lake. He was smug. Irritating. Though not as arrogant as Cormac Illfinn, he would have come second place if there were such a competition.”
Tor snickered. “We can agree on that.”
I lifted my hand, rubbing my chest to soothe the phantom ache. “But, this wedding doesn’t feel right somehow.”
“Because Shay did not want to marry?” Tor eyed me as if the answer mattered to him very much.
“Yes.”
“And?” Tor’s dark eyes sparkled.
I reached for the clip at the top of my selkie-coat cape and let it drop from my shoulders, revealing my knee-length linen dress. I sniffed, tilting my chin and eying the ceiling as I turned back to the bath.
“And nothing,” I muttered. “I know what it is to have your future decided for you. For your life to be subject to the whims of others. Shay Mac Eoin may be chieftain of the Nymphs, but—”
I stopped myself. Did he deserve happiness? After what he had done?
