by Emma Hamm
Glinting colored lights caught her eye. It sparkled like the sun through water. Her heart stopped, and she rushed across the busy street without thought. Manus called after her, but she couldn't stop. Not now that she had seen the newest, captivating find.
She ducked underneath a brightly colored sheet flapping in the wind and then skidded to a halt.
Tiny pieces of colored glass hung on strings, tangled with feathers that shifted in the slight breeze. Clinking glass mixed with the quiet hush of wings. The sun hit the softened edges, sending colors dancing across the wooden stall and spilling onto the ground.
She lifted the hem of her new dress and poked her bare toes into the light. Blue danced over her skin, familiar and yet not. It was like seeing the ocean through new eyes.
One mobile in particular caught her attention. Seashells hung next to shards, the wind singing through them and calling out to her like the ocean waves.
The man behind the counter had a kind smile that reached up into his eyes and twinkled. He wiped his hands with a white rag and stepped forward.
“Can I help you, m’lady?”
“Oh,” she murmured and clasped her hands to her chest. “I don’t know where to start. These are beautiful.”
“They hardly hold a candle to you.”
She blushed bright red at his words. The men were charming here, far more than merrow men could ever hope it be. She didn’t know how to respond to their teasing, their compliments, or their flirtatious advances.
Manus usually scared them off. But he wasn’t here now as the carriages blocked him from her.
Glancing over her shoulder, she spied him searching for her on the other side of the street.
Protection was appreciated, but unnecessary. Saoirse might be a merrow, but she could take care of herself.
She tucked a strand of ink dark hair behind her ear. “How do you make them?”
“Glass is a rare find in these parts. Do you know how we get it?”
“No.”
He gestured for her to come behind the stall. “Come around then, I’ll show you.”
“Won’t that keep you away from your other customers?”
“There doesn’t appear to be any right now, and it’s probably the wrong market to sell my wares. Haven’t gotten a single person all day who was a serious buyer. Let me show a pretty lady what I’m capable of. It’s a small consolation for such a wasted day.”
She took the arm he offered. Muscles flexed beneath the white linen shirt, a promise that this artist was a working man.
Saoirse couldn’t imagine how he could create such beautiful objects. Surely it was magic. The hairs on her arms raised at the thought.
She’d only seen a few people capable of magic in her short life. They were marvelous creatures, capable of spinning dreams into reality and worries into fantasy. Her father hadn’t wanted her anywhere near them. He said it gave girls fancies.
Saoirse already had more fancies than she could keep ahold of.
“Do you know anything about glass?” the man asked.
“No.”
“Some people think it’s magic, you know. That it’s a gift from the Tuatha dé Danann themselves.”
She lifted her gaze sharply, squeezing her fingers on his forearm. “Is it?”
“No.” He patted her hand, both in comfort and as a request for her to relax her grip. “It’s a magic from the earth, certainly, but not how you might think. Sit here, and I’ll show you.”
Saoirse tucked her hands in her lap and reminded herself not to swing to her legs. Manus had tried telling her this morning that she would need to learn how to be human. Swinging legs while seated was not lady like.
The man lifted a wooden crate and set it at her feet. “This is where glass comes from.”
With a flourish, he pushed the lid off the crate and her heart skipped a beat. Would it be amazing? Would it be some magical creature she’d never seen before?
She leaned over, stared down into the crate, and blinked. Sand filled it to the brim. White and nearly undisturbed, it might have been sand from her home.
“Sand?” she asked.
“Sand m’lady.” He chuckled at the face she made. “Come now, don’t look so disappointed! Why don’t you stick your hand in there? See what you might find.”
Stick her hands in the sand? She’d done it a thousand times. Saoirse almost told him that she’d grown up deep within the ocean, rolling across sand dunes as a child and throwing it in the faces of her sisters. She quickly shut her mouth, knowing that would reveal too much.
The sand was cool against her palms. It slipped and slid through her fingers in a way so familiar it nearly brought tears to her eyes. She had only been gone for a few weeks, and already she missed the sand more than she could admit.
Her fingers bumped against something hard with jagged edges that bit at her skin. Gasping, she yanked her hands from the sand and stared with wide eyes at the man.
“What’s in there?”
Glee made his eyes sparkle. “Oh, I don’t know miss. Why don’t you pick it up?”
“Will it bite me?”
“No, just be careful. I would feel awful if you cut yourself.”
Somehow, she wasn’t certain he was telling the truth. His eyes were sparkling too much, and he didn’t warn her the first time she plunged her hands into the crate.
Saoirse narrowed her gaze and refused to be cowed. He might expect her to flinch away from the discovery, but she had battled sharks. This human man had no idea what he was dealing with.
Again, she sank her hands into the sand and swirled the grains. The sharp object had been in the very corner, farther away so she had to lean nearly into the crate to get it.
Cold shards touched her fingers. It was larger than she expected, and not nearly as sharp as she thought. Tiny spikes dug into her palms but didn’t threaten to pierce flesh. The cold surface was smooth, solid, and yet surprisingly delicate.
The artisan must have seen the wonder on her face. He chuckled and gestured with his hands, “Go on then. Pick it up and have a look.”
Her biceps flexed as she lifted the surprisingly heavy find. Sand slid off its surface and she gaped at the giant piece of glass between her hands.
It looked like spilled wax, slightly foggy, but stunningly beautiful with its spires of twisted tendrils and thick base.
“Oh,” she exclaimed in awe. “Is this what it looks like before you change it? How is it made? Magic? Must you use magic to temper it? How do you turn this into those beautiful prisms?”
He burst into laughter and held up his hands. “One question at a time lady. Although, I can likely answer them all if you’d like to come see how I work.”
She nodded, holding the raw glass close to her chest so she wouldn’t drop it. This was the most precious substance she’d seen on land so far, and she’d seen lace so delicate it looked like sea foam. What other wonders had these beings created?
The artisan carefully took the glass out of her hands and placed it back in the box. “Come with me.”
The hand he offered was covered with callouses. Saoirse realized she had only seen humans with work roughened hands.
Glancing down at her own, she hesitated a brief second before placing her velvet soft hand in his. His eyes widened in surprise for a moment. He’d noticed, she was certain he would, and didn’t know how to explain the reasoning behind her untouched hands.
It wasn’t that she hadn’t worked, she had. She wasn’t a royal, nor was she rich. The water had different ways of handling such things. Merrows didn’t feel the effects as humans did, and her palms would likely roughen the longer she was here.
Still, it felt almost shameful and embarrassing to have him notice such a thing. She ducked her head and let him lead her behind the row of stalls to where the artisans kept their carts full of wares.
“Lady,” he mumbled, “if you are some noble miss masquerading through the market, you should not be alone with the likes of
me.”
“You aren’t the first person to tell me such a thing, and I cannot understand the reasoning behind it.” She looked up and met his blue gaze. “Should I not be able to meet and speak with whoever I wish?”
“It isn’t proper.”
“Says who? Why wouldn’t it be proper for someone to meet those who create their wares, their art, the things we use every day? I should know the man talented enough to decorate my home if I was a noble lady.”
Relief spread across his face. “Then you aren’t?”
“What?”
“You aren’t a noble lady?”
“No.” She shook her head ruefully. “I don’t think I would be any different if I were.”
“You’re a rare one, aren’t you?”
Saoirse wasn’t certain the look he gave her was good. It was a thoughtful expression, his brows drawn down and his lips pursed. An expression that made her worry he was wondering who, or what, she was.
“Where are we?” she blurted out, hoping to steer his thoughts away from his curiosity.
Mud squelched between her toes, but she didn’t mind too much. Deep tracks were furrowed in the ground from carts traveling over them each day. She saw some vendors rushing back from their small stalls, carrying armloads of new wares back where customers might wish to buy something. White sheets covered most of the carts and protected the goods from the sun.
But not the cart in front of her. This one looked more like a fireplace on wheels. Round as a barrel, with a flame churning within, the strange cart caught her attention immediately.
“Is this yours?” she asked.
“You are astute; it is. Come, I’ll show you.”
The closer she got, the louder the inferno churned. Saoirse held her hands up to her ears and stared at the artisan. Her fingers shook with fear.
“Is it dangerous?”
“It is if you get too close. Come now, my lady, I won’t let you be harmed. Look inside.”
Inside? She inched forward. What was he keeping inside that monstrous creation?
“Don’t worry,” he said with a chuckle, placing a warm hand against her spine. “It won't bite you. Have you never seen a kiln before?”
“A what?”
She peered into the roaring flames and waited for her eyes to adjust. Molten glass pooled in the depths of the fire. It glimmered like starlight, holding its breath for the moment when the artisan would turn it into something new, something beautiful.
At her gasp of surprise, the man chuckled and reached for a metal tool.
“Now step back,” he warned, “I don’t want you to get burned. Let me show you what else I can do.”
The metal tweezers seemed to vibrate in his hand. Perhaps they too realized that something wondrous was about to happen.
Saoirse held her breath as he reached into the kiln and drew out a long strand of glass. It stuck to the metal, dripping like thick honey. He quickly laid it on a small metal table next to the kiln, rolling and twisting it with dual tongs until the glass gave way to a shape.
She could see what he was doing, but still had no idea what he was creating. This was magic, she decided. Not the magic she was used to with glittering lights and powers of unearthly qualities. It was the kind of magic buried so deep within humanity they didn’t know they had it.
The artisan grunted, breathed out a sound of relief, and held up the glass piece to the light.
“Come look at it, my lady. Quickly now, I’ve got to put it in a blanket to cool. I think you’ll like this one.”
She rushed forward, excitement heating her veins until she felt she might burst.
Within his hand, he held the tiniest merrow she had ever seen. The tail was fine, so delicate, that she could see the bumps of rigid scales down the thick length. Her hair floated around her head, with her arms raised to stroke the tiny fish that darted through the long length.
There was no color, but it didn’t need the embellishment. The merrow was perfect in all her clear glory. An homage to the magic which brought them to life, and the beauty underneath the sea. Water would reflect through its surface and give it life with coral reefs, schools of fish, and the echoes of whales.
“How did you—” She glanced up and realized he didn’t know what she was. His gaze was on the merrow, not her. Eyes wide with reverence, he stared at his newest creation as if wishing it could come to life.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered. “You have a rare gift.”
“Thank you. I rarely receive such compliments.”
“Do you sell them?” She desperately wanted the tiny merrow for herself, but also knew it would fetch a considerable amount of money. The man deserved to be paid for his efforts, and she had little.
“Few people are interested in such things here. My art isn’t practical. It's breakable, and it's difficult for the folks in these areas to buy something they know they can never use, only look at.”
“I would fill my home with them if I could.”
Her adamant declaration was so forceful that it made him rock back a step. The shock in his gaze warmed to a heat she had only seen from Manus.
This artisan wasn’t a terrible looking man. His eyes were blue as the sky behind him, his facial hair carefully combed. Though he wasn’t nearly as dark as Manus, he was still intriguing in his own way. His hands had been graceful as they twirled the molten glass and created life with his fingertips.
If she hadn’t already been in love, she might have liked this man quite a bit.
Her gaze softened, and he reached forward to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re a rare beauty, my lady.”
“Why do you keep calling me that?”
“Certainly, you are a royal disguised as a peasant. If you are not, then you are one of the Fae masquerading through our streets, and as such deserve all the respect I could possibly give.”
“I’m not tall enough to be Tuatha dé Danann,” she said with a blush. “If only I were one of the royal Fae.”
His fingers tightened on the strand of hair in his grasp. “What—”
“Saoirse!” Manus’s voice barked. “There you are.”
She hadn’t heard such a tone in his voice before. It rang with darkness, rage, and an underlying hurt. He didn’t know merrows could hear emotion in voices, it was why their own voices were so beautiful.
Heart pounding, she glanced over her shoulder. “Hello, husband.”
Manus stalked towards her, all lethal power and barely controlled aggression. “Hello, wife.”
“Wife?” The artisan dropped his hand. “My apologies, sir.”
Saoirse thought perhaps Manus’s bared teeth would be considered a grin in some cultures, but it made her shiver in fear.
He ground out, “Not your fault. We haven’t bought a ring for her yet, how would you have known?”
His hand dropped onto her shoulder and tightened. Had she done something wrong? Was she supposed to announce herself to the world as his wife?
She couldn’t. Perhaps he didn’t understand the way of the Fae, but ownership over another creature was as good as a name. His name could control her, just as much as her own now that they were married.
Wincing, she patted his hand on her shoulder. “This kind sir was showing me the glass. Isn’t it magical?”
“It’s just melted sand.”
She latched onto his hand and forced him to stay when he moved to leave. “Manus, look at it!”
A muscle on his jaw ticked. She watched the rapid grinding of his teeth until he finally turned. “I’ve heard there was an artisan here who spins glass like silk. I assume that is you?”
The other man cleared his throat. “I’m not quite so talented, my lord, but I appreciate it.”
“I’m no lord.”
“I thought—” Again the artisan cleared his throat. “No matter. Have a look before I lay it to rest.”
Manus took the offered metal tong and turned the merrow in a slow circle. The winged crinkles at th
e edges of his eyes deepened for a moment. “She’s beautiful. Almost as stunning as the real thing.”
“The real thing?” The artisan’s eyes darted between them. “Are you… Could you be saying… Sir?”
“Don’t think about it too much, you’ll hurt yourself.”
Manus handed the art piece back to the other man, planted his palm against Saoirse’s back, and hustled her back through the stall and onto the street.
“Wait!” she cried out. “I wanted to see if we might take something home!”
“We’re not buying anything of his.”
“Why not? The glass was beautiful, Manus, and there was the most stunning piece with seashells and all the colors of the sea—”
“Saoirse enough!” Manus’s voice was low, but it felt as though he slapped her.
She blinked up at him, willing the tears to remain in her eyes. She hadn’t done anything wrong, and yet he was yelling at her with all these people looking. All she wanted was something pretty that might remind her of home. She’d given up her home to be with him, to make a new home with him. Did he not see that?
Manus made a pained sound, sighed and stepped away from her. He ran a hand over his hair while his eyes flicked from the tears in her eyes to the ground.
“Did you not see how much danger you were in?” he growled.
“I wasn’t in any danger, he is a kind man.”
“This one might have been kind, but the next man who pulls you into an alley won’t be. Good god, woman! You nearly gave me a heart attack!”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“Saoirse.” He grabbed her arm and swung her around. Cupping her face in his hands, he pressed his forehead to hers. “Humans are not kind creatures. Everyone here is like your merrow men, looking for the next person to take advantage of. You cannot leave my side.”
“You shouldn’t be so quick to judge others,” she replied. “Some of them might surprise you.”
He released her with a muttered curse. “I need a drink.”
“Manus, your hands are shaking.”
She watched his fingers curl into fists that clenched so hard his knuckles turned white.