Only the soldiers knew where the hidden staircases were. Carved into the rock, descending into darkness.
Not many Kelpies used the barracks for anything but storage. The armory was stocked, though many preferred to fight in their equine form.
Too many had lost their lives in the War under the Waves since the Mad Queen died. The remaining Kelpies were families, younglings, and females that had skills too valuable to allow them to fight.
As younglings, Tor and Elsbeth had used the barracks as their personal playground.
Elsbeth had made sure to stop off at the kitchen on their way to the barracks. Tor’s arms were filled with boxes of various staple foods. Seaweed-wrapped fish and roe.
“Slade mentioned that our guests are having trouble acclimatizing.” Tor kept his voice light.
His sister, skipping at his side, pursed her lips. “None of them has spoken. If that’s what you mean.”
“None of them?”
“Well,” Elsbeth tapped her chin. “The big one did. With the scar.”
“Rian Swiftgait,” Tor said. “I believe he is the leader of their herd.”
“The grumpy one.” Elsbeth’s eyes sparkled.
“Don’t needle,” Tormalugh warned his sister. “These Kelpies have spent years under the Dark King’s rule. Likely longer than you or I have been alive. They are to be handled with care and respect.”
“Brother,” Elsbeth placed her hand on her chest. “I am the picture of a good host, as our mother raised me to be.”
Tormalugh snorted, the sound remarkably equine. “Better you and me. I was trained to be good with a sword, but not much else.”
Elsbeth’s brow furrowed. “Father never thought—”
“He never thought I would be king.” Tormalugh finished her thought, but there was no emotion in his voice. Only cold, hard truth.
Finally, they arrived at the rooms assigned to the outcasts. Comfortable and clean, but unusually silent.
Elsbeth balanced the tray on her arm and knocked on the door with the others. A long moment passed, and then another.
The door opened just a crack.
Elsbeth flashed a bright smile, though her genuine emotions were hidden behind a wall so thick that Tor would struggle to penetrate it. “We brought food!”
The eye peeking through the crack in the door disappeared. Footsteps shuffled, and the water slammed the door shut of its own accord.
Elsbeth and Tormalugh waited.
Rian Swiftgait opened the door and took the tray.
He did not thank them before placing the food on the table by the door and joining them in the hall, closing the door behind him.
The three kelpies regarded each other tensely.
Rian and Tor shared a similar height, both dark in coloring, though that was where the similarities ended. Though Tor had curled hair that licked his ears and stuck up in all manner of directions, Rian’s was long and pin straight. Rian was scarred, and Tor found himself feeling relatively young next to such a weathered male.
“Well?” Rian Swiftgait crossed his arms over his chest.
Elsbeth plastered a smile on her face, a mask if Tor had ever seen one. “Are you settling in well?” She asked demurely.
Rian eyed her like a particularly colorful bug. “We are comfortable.”
Elsbeth nodded, tapping her hands against her legs. “Well, I’m going to—” She shot Tor a look and jerked her head towards the door.
