“Maeve is in the Aos Sí,” Rainn continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “I want her home. Hale. Safe.”
“Tormalugh is on his way here,” Shay assured him. “There are rituals that can be done. Spells. Using our bonds, we should be able to find her. She isn’t lost.”
Rainn murmured, agreeing.
“You should sleep,” Shay told him.
The single ball of faelight, clinging to the ceiling of the tent, snuffed out. The wind whistled through the gaps in the door of the tent, ruffling the leather.
One of the Mer sat up.
A youngling with burns over her face. Her skin melted, like the wax of a candle.
Despite the injury, the child showed no reaction. Though Shay had healed her internal injuries, he hadn’t been able to do much else while balancing the dozens of other Mer, unconscious in the meeting tent.
Shay stood up, his stool falling to the floor. They both rushed down the aisle, carefully avoiding any of the patients in the crowded tent. Shay dropped to his knees and reached for the little girl.
Her eyes were black.
Mer came in all manner of sizes, but their creed had eyes like the land-fae. A dot of black, surrounded by color.
The little girl opened her mouth, revealing black, stained teeth. Her tongue, coated in a strange, thick iccor, unrolled past her lips.
She said nothing.
“You’re safe,” Rainn told her. “Can you tell us your name?”
Shay reached out, placing a hand on hers. His healing ability slipped under her skin, but he wrenched his hand back and quickly as he was able.
She was a shell.
He didn’t know how he hadn’t spotted it before.
Fully awake, looking at him, but not a thought in her head. As if her mind was unconscious, though her body was awake.
The little girl looked down at her hand, the movement slow and creaky, her body like an old, stiff door.
Rainn leaped up the moment the little girl burst into action, grabbing and clawing for Shay. Black saliva poured from her lips and eyes.
He didn’t have a weapon, save for the small dagger on his hip that he used to peel fruit or cut a bandage. He reached for the tiny blade, scoring her fingers as she attacked—but the youngling didn’t notice.
“Who can animate the dead?” Rainn grabbed Shay’s shoulders and pulled him away from the feral child.
Shay ducked a blow and stabbed the tiny knife between the youngling’s ribcage. The child fell, a puppet with its strings cut. Shay eyed the little blade and tried to decide if he could pull it free.
“The Whispering Pass.” Shay reminded him. “We need to check the bodies for evidence of Weaving. Wire, rope, anything that can hold Undine magic.”
“There’s nothing.” Rainn flung out his arms. The Selkie had been in the sick tent just as much as he had, and Shay knew he was right. All of the unconscious Mer were dressed in blankets and little else.
Further down the tent, another Mer stirred awake.
“I need a fecking sword,” Rainn grumbled.
Shay agreed.
They had almost forgotten about Arden, the siren determined to pace the shores of the village and grumble.
The winged warrior took that moment to burst through the tent flaps, bringing several of the younger male Nymphs who had taken to following the siren, in hopes of hearing unfamiliar stories.
