Page 31 of Fletcher

“In my home country, yes.” Lark’s heart twisted when she saw the way Idonea squinted at her, but she kept her sympathy off her face as she stepped forward and held out her hand. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Mistress. My name is Lark.”

“You’ve manners, I’ll grant you.” The seamstress took hold of her hand, clasping it briefly before she turned it over and examined it closely, pressing the tips of her first two fingers, and rubbing the side of her thumb. “You’ve the callouses of a hard worker, aye.”

“I’ve only been sewing professionally for a few years,” she admitted.

“You’ve used your time well.” Her gaze then drifted over the gown Lark wore, which she had altered to better fit her small, short body. “You’ve a fine hand at seaming and hemming.”

“I had very good teachers,” she told her honestly. “Still, I couldn’t roll the hems as tightly as you do, Mistress. I’m used to having pins to hold the folds in place while I stitch.”

“Our blacksmith cannae forge them thin enough for my liking,” Idonea said, scowling. “Like nails, ever they turn out. ’Tis why I took to cutting thorns from old bramble canes.” She gestured toward the bottom of the skirt. “Here, you see thus? They’re smooth-sided, so they dinnae snag the linen. For wool I use a board and tenterhooks to hold a margin of seam straight as I stitch.”

As Lark talked about hemming with the seamstress, she heard Meg murmur a farewell and leave the room. A short time later she went with Idonea into the open adjoining room, which was empty except for a long table and a few chairs by a series of window slits that allowed some sunlight into the chamber.

“Mind no’ to press the thorns in too far, for they’ll score your other hand as you stitch,” the seamstress said as she laid out the skirt Lark was to hem, and then watched her tightly fold the edge. “The laird’s wife bid you come and aid me, aye?”

“She mentioned you might need another pair of hands,” Lark said. “Most of the clothing I made for my work is not wool or linen, so I’m by no means an expert.”

“I’ve served the MacMar since I was younger than you, you ken. Indeed, I’ve lived in that room there since old Gerta passed away.” She gestured toward the door on the opposite side of the work room. “Now they worry I’m losing my sight, and rightly so.” Idonea gestured toward her eyes. “I cannae sew by candle or lamp light these days, for the stitching seems to disappear along with the sun.”

“This room is pretty dark for me, too.” Lark thought of the high, wide windows in the great hall, which Valerie had said was only used for the morning and evening meals. “What if we work together downstairs, where the light is better? I’d be able to watch you and see what you do while I sew, too.”

The seamstress chuckled. “Seneschal shallnae want us cluttering up his hall.”

“Let me have a word with Fletcher,” Lark said, smiling. “I think I can persuade him.”

Fiacail spent her first day in her new body adapting to remaining underwater, and swimming as easily as she had walked on land. She no longer suffered the weakness or queasiness that water had always inflicted on her as a Cait Sith. Instead her new world provided endless fascination with the variety of colors, life and beauty in and around the reefs and bays where she went with Duxor and his minion. Swimming seemed as effortless now as walking, and she quickly learned how to choose the strongest currents to aid her in crossing long distances. She no longer needed to sleep, it seemed, and even when she rested nothing troubled her thoughts.. She’d also sensed the memories she’d acquired from the mortals she’d slain in her former life slipping away from her, as if she were shedding everything she had been.

I’m free of them now.

Her new master watched her closely for a few days, and often she could sense his presence in her own thoughts, as if he were poking about in her skull. His other transformed creature, Erskin, stayed at her side, speaking to her through his thoughts, which she could hear in her own head. He had been the one to show her many knacks to living beneath the waves, including how to hunt for food. Despite his grotesque appearance he seemed friendly enough, and certainly eager to please their lord, who largely ignored him.

The males led her from the deep ocean to an inlet on the mainland, where a series of caves formed by the tides lined the bottom of a sheer cliff. She followed Erskin into the largest, which should have been dark, but instead glowed with soft, rippling waves of violet light. It twisted and turned, branching off in several directions.

’Tis our lord’s magic that brightens the cave. He halted and held out his stump-ended arm to keep her from swimming around the next bend. Wait here until he bids us attend him.

It seemed they were always waiting on Duxor. He’s no’ like us, aye? What makes him live underwater and breathe like a fish?

’Tis his nature. Erskin’s thoughts grew uneasy now. He’s no’ a mortal, but something like a merrow, only with great powers. You mustnae defy him.

Since her master would know the moment she tried to thwart him, Fiacail had no desire to challenge him. You shouldnae fear him. He saved you, didnae he?

Cease your prattling and attend me, Duxor said inside her head.

Together with Erskin, Fiacail entered the cave, and looked down to see barnacled bones scattered all over the floor; whatever dwelled in here had been a voracious eater. Then she heard a piteous sound, and Duxor’s voice came again into her head, ordering her to hurry and aid him. When she swam around the corner she saw him floating in front of a huge, rusted iron cage that held another bewildering creature.

By the gods, Erskin thought to her.

Once it had been an old woman, Fiacail guessed, for it still had silvered hair and wrinkled skin. Somehow her master had transformed the crone so that she had the head of a woman but the long, limbless body of a giant conger. As soon as she saw them, the grotesque, eel-like creature battered the bars of the cage with her snakelike body. The force of the blows made flakes of rust drift from the cage to the cave floor.

I promised you a maid, Freja, Duxor thought to the bizarre creature. I’ve brought her to you. Now you shall cease your wailing and take your place among my army. Obey me, and once I take the throne I shall transform Jamaran to become your new mate.

It seemed this one needed persuading, Fiacail thought, fascinated now. She also wondered how she could attend a female who had no arms or legs. Simply garbing her would present difficulties.

Never shall you touch my darling lad. For a moment the conger’s human eyes met Fiacail’s, and in them something like desperate love burned. Nor shall you prevail over Merrick. All Selseus despise you. The moment you return they shall stand against you and your hideous creations.

Master, must Fia serve her? Erskin thought. She shall spend all her days keeping that crone’s claws from your throat.

Teeth, brother, Fiacail corrected. For claws one must possess fingers.