Page 54 of Fletcher

The king reached down and took hold of the ropes of pearls around Bered’s neck.

He gripped Merrick’s wrist. “What do you?”

“Now? I disown you.” He jerked his arm, breaking the cords and scattering the gems in the sand around them. “No longer shall you name yourself my cousin, my heir, or next in line to the throne. Your property and possessions, they’re forfeit. You’ll leave the small palace at once, and never again claim the title of prince or my heir. If you’re brought before me again for any crime, I shall exile you for life.”

He stared after Merrick as he walked into the sea, and then looked up at Jamaran. “He cannae do such. I’m of royal blood. I did naught wrong.”

The commander sighed. “Tethys repeated everything you said to him and the others, and you vowed you’d stand by his word. ’Twas your suggestion that a mortal female forcibly taken and changed might gladly embrace her new life, and that seeing such happiness ’twould change the king’s mind about how the Selseus acquire mates, aye?”

Now he saw the careful trap Merrick had crafted; one that he had walked into so blindly. If he denied what he’d said and called Tethys a liar, then the lad’s assurance that Bered had advised them against abducting the female would be rendered worthless.

“’Twas but words,” he protested. “I didnae act against the law by speaking.”

“Planting the seeds of rebellion in their minds prompted those lads act against the law.” Jamaran’s pale eyes glittered with contempt. “By your words you’re the source of the violation. Be sure to leave your horde of pearls in the palace. They’re the king’s now.”

Chapter Seventeen

Serving her new master Duxor taught Fiacail much about his character, which along with being petty and selfish included some significant power, thanks to the strange violet-gold pendant he wore. He seemed obsessed with finding something buried on one of the islets near Caladh, and often went there to dig after dark, although so far his furtive searches had proved fruitless. To relieve his frustration over his failures, Duxor regularly took out his anger on Erskin, whose cringing, spineless nature doomed him to forever serve as their master’s scapegoat.

Oddly the master seemed reluctant to do the same with her. She knew he watched her closely for some reason, but never revealed why.

This day he had summoned her and Erskin to the caves on the mainland, where he ordered Erskin to remove Freja’s rotting remains from the cage, and drop them out in the depths. Once he left with the half-conger’s body clamped in his teeth, Duxor then regarded her with a decidedly suspicious gaze.

How may I serve? Fiacail asked him.

You’ve yet to prove your worth. He swam around her, inspecting her from all sides. You changed shape as a landcrawler. Show me how you did thus.

I cannae. She wondered if he’d gone addled. I’m no longer Cait Sith.

You’ve no attempted change yet, Duxor countered. Try now.

Since Freja’s memories had remained with her, Fiacail also wondered if she could shift into the old woman’s shape. She recalled a memory of her chasing after the young, white-haired male she’d favored, and reached for the power she’d always possessed as a halfling. Astonished to discover it remained with her, she sent it out through her distorted body, which began to writhe.

The change came with no pain, only an awareness of becoming something more than herself. When it ended, Fiacail glanced down to see herself in the old woman’s mortal body, and reached up to touch her face. Silver hair floated around her head as she probed the deep wrinkles of her altered countenance, and marveled at the sweetness of taking on the shape of a mortal again.

You can still shift. Duxor grinned widely. Now take on my shape.

For that I must drink your blood, take your memories and then slay you, Master. Fiacail enjoyed seeing him flinch away as she came closer. You dinnae wish me end you, aye?

No, of course not, you silly wench. He gestured at her body. Return to your transformed shape, then.

Shifting back into the halfling shark creature required only a flick of thought; another revelation Fiacail found interesting. Transforming her shape on land had required more time and effort, and the distortion of her own flesh and bones always caused some pain. With her new body she had the ability to change without a single pang of discomfort.

Duxor nodded. Now change again to Freja.

After several more back-and-forth shifts, the only effect Fiacail noted on her body was a deepening of the hunger that forever gnawed at her insides. Her master seemed more enchanted with each change, but finally seemed satisfied that she could become Freja on command.

Can you change to a male shape? Duxor asked as the other half-shark swam back into the cave.

If you give me the male you wish me to replace, aye. As Erskin gaped at both of them, she added, I’ll need his blood and memories.

Wait here, the master said before he jetted out of the cave.

You dinnae mean take my place, Erskin said, sounding relieved.

Why would I wish to? You stink of rot. Fiacail circled around him. Did you eat her? Dinnae bother lying to me. You’ve some of her hair caught in your teeth.

The half-shark bowed his strange head. The master hardly permits me hunt, and the beast, ’tis ever starving.