Page 26 of Nyall

She uttered a sour laugh. “Why should my princess wish to take revenge against those she’s saved and protected? ’Twas a vicious fool like you sired and abandoned us. Derdrui only ever saved the Cait Sith.”

I sired only sons, Halfling. The prince’s expression grew sad. Often I wished for a daughter.

The darkness vanished, and Speal found herself standing in front of the stone again, as if the encounter had been entirely imagined. Perhaps it had been, she thought as she turned away and began to walk back to the shore. The light seemed much dimmer than it had when they’d arrived on the island, but clouds cloaked the sky now. She hadn’t slept more than an hour since leaving Insii Orc, and the weight of her responsibilities as well as her deceptions had grown more onerous by the day.

Tomorrow, after the change, I shall put Teine in charge and rest.

She found Dearg curled up in a bed of moss, her young face so pale for a moment she thought she might be dead. Then she saw how the tips of her fingernails had grown pointed, and glanced at the horizon, where she caught a glimpse of the full moon between two clouds. Behind it the sky had already turned violet.

“Fack me.” She grabbed the little Cait Sith, tossing her over her shoulder as she hurried to the skiff. Praying the wind would get them to the boat in time, she placed Dearg in the center of the small vessel before she pushed it out into the currents.

The change began halfway back to the vessel, but Fiacail had taught Speal how to resist it long enough to get to a place of safety. Dearg had never learned to hold back, so when the moonlight touched her body her black Therion fur began to sprout all over her flesh. She opened her eyes, the pupils of which shrank to slits, and screeched as she jumped up and stared around her.

“’Tis twilight,” she said, staring at Speal as fangs elongated from her mouth. “We’ll go mad and drown.”

“You shall sit down and control your urges,” she told her. “The boat, ’tis just there. We’ll reach our sisters in time.”

Tremors danced over her skin as the moonlight silvered them both, and the time of transformation arrived. The wind suddenly grew fierce, hurling the skiff the last stretch of water and then slamming it into the hull.

Speal grabbed Dearg by her neck and flung her up onto the rope ladder before climbing on behind her. As the little shifter screeched for help Teine and several others reached down for her, catching her taloned hands and pulling her over the railing. All was left for her to do was climb the last rungs, she thought, and then she would let go.

Or I may let go now, and drown.

Glancing down at the water that had swallowed up Fiacail made Speal’s grip on the ropes loosen. She’d often thought about ending her miserable life, but her eldest sister had always sensed it, and used her love for the others to persuade her to remain. She was sorry for the other Cait Sith, and what they would likely suffer in service to Derdrui, but she’d grown so tired she couldn’t remember why she should share in that.

“Sister.”

Speal looked up to see Dearg, who had not yet completely transformed into her true form, holding out both arms over the railing. “Must I?”

“Aye, for Teine shall surely butcher me if you’re gone from us.” Something like love glowed in the little shifter’s feline eyes. “If I may yet find reason for living, then so shall you.”

Hearing one of Fia’s favorite sayings coming from the blackened lips of her killer should have ended it all for Speal. Instead, it reminded her that no one would ever love her as her sisters did—even when that came from the most damaged, twisted shifter of them all.

As black fur rippled over her flesh, she reached up and took hold of Dearg’s paws.

Nyall surprised the men on duty at the stronghold tower by appearing without notice, but as he’d expected they all stood watch in their proper positions, prepared as ever to sound an alarm if any enemy approached the island or the stronghold. Once he’d spoken with the duty chief, who reported nothing unusual of occurrence, he went back downstairs and made his way to the infirmary.

Duncan sat in front of an over-built fire, his tartan wrapped over his head and shoulders as he cradled a steaming brew in his hands. The misery evident on his face came from his mortal weakness, which caused him to suffer for a time the same pain as those he attended. To preserve his pride Nyall and the rest of the clan pretended to be unaware of his affliction.

As soon as he saw him the healer straightened and shrugged off the plaid, behaving as if nothing bothered him. “What now?”

“Mistress Parish cut her hand last night.” He could see Duncan was in no condition to look in on Caroline, which meant he’d have to do it. “’Twasnae a grievous injury. Give me some healing salve and bandages, and I’ll attend her.”

“Why then didnae you come last night?” The healer rose, favoring one shoulder and hobbling a little. From his shelves he collected a small crock and a roll of clean linen, putting both in his hands. “If ’twere anyone else asking, I’d reckon them using such as an excuse so they might see the lady.”

“She’s no lady,” Nyall said without thinking. “Mistress Parish doesnae wish us coddle her. I mean only give her what she needs keep the wound from festering.”

“Ballocks you do.” Duncan’s dark eyes lit up with amusement. “Bid her wash the cut well with soap and water before you apply the salve. ’Tis best she keep the bandage loose.”

That reminded him. “When Fletcher’s wife wore Lady Joana’s ring, she healed quickly, didnae she?”

“That wound on her head when first she came scabbed over within hours, aye.” The healer frowned. “Lady Valerie’s bruising after she arrived faded quite swiftly as well. You reckon the ring heals the wearer?”

“If the thing could do such, Lady Joana would yet live.” Duncan’s suggestion made him uneasy, however. “I shall look after the lady.”

“If the wound festers, bring her here,” the healer called after him.

Nyall thought of a hundred reasons to wait until morning before he saw Caroline again; his reaction to her admitting her refusal of Jamaran still shamed him. He knew it unseemly to go to her chamber, and yet there his feet took him without hesitation. As he stood before her door he imagined turning and walking away which, given his reactions to her, would be both wise and prudent. He would not further complicate his situation with her or the Finfolk commander by any means that could be so easily avoided.