by Ann Gimpel
Curiosity streamed from her in waves of brilliant blues and greens. Aegir capitalized on what felt like the slightest of upper hands. “If ye wish to know more, ye know where to find me.”
Turning, he swam fast and sure toward his island. He hoped she’d follow—now that he had information she wanted. Maybe they could trade. Why was she so protective of her name? They held power, but surely she knew he meant her no harm…
Or maybe not so surely. His knee-jerk reaction had trapped her with a magical net. He’d probably frightened her. Except she wasn’t scared enough to blurt out her name. He admired her spunk. No one had stood up to him for a long time, and the “Yes, my lieges,” grew terribly stale after a while.
Between where he left her and his beach, he ran the name Gregor through his memory banks. It rattled about, hitting a sour note or two, before he came up with a couple of candidates. One he’d met on a borderworld. The other had been highly placed in a pod to the north of Russia. Years back, that particular pod had swum in the North Sea, but for unknown reasons, they’d pushed farther and farther north and east.
He reached his island and shifted on the beach. Before he hid his skin in its usual spot, he scanned the water, hoping for a glimpse of red fur headed his way. Disappointment speared him when nothing beyond waves met his scrutiny. Convinced he’d done all he could to lure the elusive female, he walked along a path he’d cleared from the beach to his cave. Constructed with cleverly woven charms, it showed itself only to him. Anyone else viewing that stretch of shoreline would see boulders blocking their path.
Aegir nodded to himself and dismantled the illusion that protected his privacy. If Selkie No-Name showed up, she was already skittish as a newborn eel. He didn’t want her to encounter any additional problems.
On the hunt for intel about Gregor—in case the female decided to trust him—he raised his mind voice. “Krise.”
His father hated being disturbed for anything shy of a tsunami, and even that had to be sufficiently severe it would affect the underwater palace with its colorful grounds and schools of fish.
Aegir wasn’t exactly expecting a reply, and he’d pulled on black sweatpants and an oversized fisherman’s sweater before Krise’s crisp, “What?” reverberated in his head.
“Do ye know aught of the Siberia pod?”
“Nothing new. Why?”
Aegir considered how much to reveal. He could ask if his da remembered the lone female. But if he did, Krise would connect the dots. If he’d sent the Selkie packing, he’d had his reasons.
“I’m waiting,” Krise prodded. He was a good listener—so long as someone was imparting information. Patience had never been his strongest suit.
“Does Gregor still lead the Siberia group?”
“Pfft.” Krise snorted derisively. “Only because he married into their royalty.”
“He can’t be that incompetent,” Aegir pointed out, thinking Gregor had held the position for many years.
“Of course he could. ’Tis a job no one wants. Ye’ve made that clear enough.”
Aegir winced. He hadn’t exactly embraced Krise’s retirement, but shirking his duty as the heir apparent had never been a serious consideration.
“Why the sudden interest in the Siberia pod?” Krise’s question held pointed edges.
Aegir didn’t have a decent answer, so he switched tactics. “Do ye recall any Selkies who’ve breached our waters? Unfamiliar ones?”
A long, drawn-out breath filled his head. “Ye mistake diplomacy for riddles. Ye ran across a Selkie who’s not part of our pod. Ye suspect he may be from the next closest pod, which happens to be the one in Siberia.”
“Close enough.”
“I’m still not understanding what ye’re wanting,” Krise said, but at least the sharply annoyed tone had left his voice, replaced by mild curiosity.
“I’m not certain, either,” Aegir muttered mostly to himself.
“It is only one Selkie?” Krise asked.
“Aye, just the one.” Aegir didn’t correct his father’s assumption the Selkie was male.
“Let me know if that changes.”
Before Aegir could reply, Krise was gone. He didn’t blame his father. A single strange Selkie didn’t pose any particular problem—unless they were spies for a rival pod. He was almost positive the female had no such affiliation. She appeared focused on finding her father.
He mixed up a drink of crushed kelp, honeycomb, and milk he extracted from anemones. A sprig of rosemary and another of cumin added a hint of spiciness to the nourishing mixture. Usually, he hunted while he was in the sea, but this morning the female’s presence had diverted him. He considered teleporting into John O’Groats for lunch, but decided to wait.
He’d hoped the other Selkie would follow him, but she hadn’t shown any sign of materializing. Drink in hand, he wandered back outside and settled on a sandy spot, looking out to sea. Dark clouds were spitting a chilly rain. If he remained here very long, his clothing would end up soaked, but he could dry the garments with magic if they grew too uncomfortable.
He scanned the waves. Tipped with white, they rolled in, breaking to foam on the beach. Maybe he should have taken a firmer stance with the mysterious Selkie.
Aye, and that would have worked about as well as throwing a net over her did.
She’d been correct when she’d said she owed him nothing.
He walked to the island’s other side. Water dripped down his face and neck; he scarcely noticed it. Should he grab his skin and return to the water? He drained the last of his drink, considering his options.
Not that he had very many.
He wanted to know more about the other Selkie. She clearly didn’t share his curiosity, though. She’d said she spent most of her time in her human form. That seemed odd to him. Every other Selkie he knew passed the lion’s share of their time in the sea.
Selkies were nothing if not linked to their heritage, yet she’d had no idea who her father was until recently. Only one explanation made sense. Gregor had stepped outside his mate bonds. The penalty for infidelity was severe. Gregor’s wife would have had grounds to banish him from their pod. No wonder Selkie No-Name hadn’t known about his identity.
He’d been so lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t been watching either waves or beach. A seal’s bark snapped his head around. He’d been expecting a garden-variety seal, or perhaps another pod member with a problem, who’d chased him down to kick options around.
The russet pelt was unmistakable. Not many seals were that color. His mouth stretched into a smile before he could stop himself, and he hurried to where the Selkie was using a combination of flippers and her stomach to move from sea to beach.
Aegir crouched in front of her. “Thank you for trusting me.”
“But I don’t,” she replied in telepathy. “I need two things, Selkie king. A robe and for you to leave me while I shift.”
“I can put your skin next to mine for safekeeping.”
Laughter hooted from her in a series of sharp, pointed yips. “No one knows where my skin is except me. No one.”
He held up a hand, palm facing outward. “I meant no ill will, but I understand. Back in a moment with a blanket. ’Twill be warmer than a robe.” He hurried up the beach. She’d clearly been tricked, forced away from her skin. Goddess only knew what had happened to her during those days—or maybe as long as months or years. If he found out who’d harmed her, he’d make certain they died a miserable death.
When he returned, a patterned woolen blanket folded and slung across one arm, she’d already shifted. He caught a glimpse of high, firm breasts, long legs, and a thatch of spiky red curls before she snatched the blanket and wound it around herself. Hair the color of ancient sunsets spilled to waist level. She had an arresting face with starkly defined bone structure. A high forehead and carved cheekbones were set off by eyes that sparkled turquoise with gold and silver flecks around the pupils.
Aegir was staring, but she was gorgeous, and it
was hard to rip his gaze from her. “Thanks for trusting me,” he said again, stammering a little.
“But I don’t.” Her voice was low, rich, musical as she repeated what she’d already said telepathically.
“Then why’d ye leave the sea?”
“I would hear more of this Arcadia. How can I find it? What purpose will it serve once I locate it?”
“That conversation willna be short. Would ye come within? I can offer simple refreshments.”
She shook her head. “No. I don’t know you. I’m safer out here.”
He bowed low before straightening. “I willna harm you. I’ve apologized for the net. Ye caught me unaware, and I reacted. ’Twas wrong of me.”
“Will you tell me of Arcadia, or not?”
“Aye. Are ye always this single-minded, lass?”
The corners of her full mouth curved into a half smile. “When I want something.”
Aegir started to ask for a quid pro quo—like her name or how she’d come by the knowledge about Gregor being her sire—but he might do better if he didn’t begin with bargaining. She was ready to bolt in a heartbeat. He saw the hesitancy in her gaze.
“Long ago,” he began, “at the beginning of the world, Druids carved out a place for themselves in what is now Scotland. They’re guardians of animals and the natural world, plus they’re immortal, so their interest in this tiny bit of the world ensured it wouldna fall to evil spirits, demons, or other hellspawned beasts.
“Arcadia is the bastion of good magic. I believe it predates the world, but I’m not certain. Some of the Druids moved from Scotland to Arcadia a verra long time ago and set themselves up there. They built a castle and continued to watch over animals and trees. Under their care, Arcadia developed healing energy. Perhaps ’twas always there, but they brought it out, made it more apparent.”
Interest lit her face, and she leaned slightly closer.
He didn’t blame her. Magic made for fascinating tales. “Over time, other beings who wielded power discovered the Druid’s private enclave and its healing aspects. We would visit there to renew ourselves and recover from traumatic events.”
“This healing, how long does it take?” she asked.
“Depends on what ye’re healing from.” He narrowed his eyes in speculation. Scanning her with magic would answer many of his questions, but she’d take it as intrusive, an invasion of her privacy.
“Too bad Mother didn’t know about it,” she murmured.
“I could bring her here,” Aegir offered.
“Too late. She’s dead.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too. We weren’t close this last century, but at least now I understand why.”
Aegir waited for her to clarify her statement, but she didn’t say anything further. When the gap in conversation was starting to feel uncomfortably long, he said, “Since ye’re here, maybe ye might want to…” His words ran down. They didn’t know one another well enough for him to suggest she might benefit from Arcadia’s healing energy.
“Is this”—she spread her hands to both sides—“Arcadia?”
“Nay. Where we are just now is Scotland.”
“How do you travel from here to there?” Before he could answer, she added, “I thought you said you were here to protect Arcadia. How can you protect it if you’re not there?”
“I’m close enough, the Druids could call on me if they had need.” He took a measured breath. “Many of those with White Magic spend some time here. So there is always at least one of us close by. The Shifter Council coordinates things, and it’s based in John O’Groats.”
“Shifter Council, eh?” She skewered him with her direct gaze. “Sounds impressive, but I bet some of them are part of your pod.”
He offered a sheepish grin. “Nay. We spend as little time as possible on land. Actually, we’re quite territorial, and the next nearest pod is north of the Asian continent.” He stopped shy of mentioning that the father she sought was probably there. The omission was pure selfishness on his part because he didn’t want her to leave. Not yet, anyway. Not until they’d gotten a chance to know one another better.
She closed her teeth over her lower lip and frowned. “Who actually has the final say about Arcadia? You or the Council?”
Aegir laughed. “The Council. Ye give me far more power than I lay claim to. If I feel verra strongly about something, I might take a stand, but it hasna happened yet. Ye ask a lot of questions, and then pile more on the heap afore I can answer them all.”
“Sorry. It’s one of my many failings.” Her smile was infectious.
“Back to Arcadia. If ye wish to travel through the barrier, I can show you what ye must do. ’Twill require ye trust me for a short time.”
“In what way?”
“Ye must speak your name to enter.”
Her smile widened. “Raene. My name is Raene.”
Chapter 4
Raene regarded the other Selkie. If he meant her harm, he’d cloaked his intent, buried it so deep she couldn’t tease it out. He was comely. Wet hair, black as midnight, streamed down his body. He was built like an athlete, tall and slabbed with muscle visible even through his loose-fitting clothing. But his eyes were the best part. They changed color, reflecting the many moods of the sea. At the moment, they were a deep, mossy green, with silvery highlights.
She was almost certain theirs had been an accidental meeting. She hadn’t been taking care to conceal herself, and he’d sensed her magic and come to investigate. If he was truly king to his people, it was a very liege-like thing to do. As they talked—and it was mostly him offering her information about Arcadia—she started to relax.
And she felt stupid for being so intransigent about withholding her name. Granted, names had power, and a canny sorcerer could use her name to locate her skin, but Aegir was another Selkie. If anyone understood how critical her pelt was, it would be him.
“The portals to enter Arcadia are located in a few key spots,” he continued after telling her she’d have to trust him to pass the boundary. “This island holds one of them, which is why I settled here. Follow me. I’ll teach you the incantation needed to cross the threshold.”
“Will you come too?”
“Only if ye wish me to.”
Raene nodded, her mood suddenly serious. She hadn’t undertaken much that was magical over the course of her life—other than shifting to her seal form. “My blood is not pure. Will it matter?”
“Nay. Ye’re more Selkie than human, or ye’d not be able to shift. ’Tis all that matters. Arcadia’s borders are open to all who wield White Magic.”
“I’m guessing there’s dark magic,” she murmured.
“Aye, lass.” He lowered his voice. “Everything has an opposite, and so a balance is achieved. But Black Magic is verra real, and a potent threat. ’Tis why we protect Arcadia, though the land has ways of caring for itself unless it is beset from too many sides.”
He started walking toward the island’s high point; Raene fell in behind him, digesting what she’d heard. Midway there, he stopped dead, turned toward her, and held up a hand, fingers spread in the universal sign to wait. Magic sparkled and flared around him, turning the air incandescent. She felt the bite of power, like miniature lightning bolts, shoot through the air toward Aegir. Even though she wasn’t the target, a few nipped her on their way through.
A worried expression replaced his earlier smile. “There is trouble,” he said. “I must go, but if ye remain here, I’ll complete the instructions to enter Arcadia upon my return.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“Fae and Black Witches teamed up. They’re attacking Arcadia’s protections. If we canna stop them, they may breach her borders.”
“Who’s we?”
“Myself, other Shifters, and several resident Druids.”
Raene didn’t want to hold him up, but she needed to understand. “Last question. Promise. What happens if Arcadia’s barrier is ruptured?”
His h
andsome face turned grim. “Its magic will leak out, and humans will die. The magic that nurtures us will kill them, and ’tisn’t a pretty death, but a long, slow painful one.”
She’d heard enough. Maybe because she’d lived among humans, she valued them and didn’t want any to suffer unnecessarily.
“I want to help.”
“Are ye trained as a warrior?”
Not unless he counted whipping recalcitrant dough into line. Raene thinned her lips. “Nay, but—”
He raked a hand through his wet hair. “Please. I canna risk splitting my attention. Magical battles play out quickly. I’ll return afore ye know it.”
Raene offered what she hoped was an agreeable expression. “I’ll watch closely while you craft magic to cross the boundary.” She didn’t bother to add she’d be right behind him.
Aegir’s attention was clearly elsewhere. He bent the magic still shimmering around him into a shiny arc, chanting low in the Selkie’s language—a combination of Gaelic and Latin with a few other bits and pieces she’d never been able to tack down with any precision.
That she knew the language at all was courtesy of her insistence. Her mother hadn’t wanted to teach her anything about magic, let alone the Selkie’s language. Her one brush with them after getting her pelt back convinced her that her mother had been right. Learning about Selkies was worse than a waste of time.
That was then, though. Perhaps her rusty linguistic skills were about to become useful.
She waited for a reasonable interval, perhaps five minutes, after Aegir vanished in plumes of magic-imbued smoke before mimicking the bones of his casting. It rose to her command. Not quite as quickly as it had responded to the same spell from him, but she’d been worried it wouldn’t work for her at all.
She might not have shaped much magic, but what little she’d done had convinced her there was a nexus, an intersection point where the type of spell and who was summoning it came together. Either there’d be sufficient power to fire the casting.
Or not.
Her skin prickled with an electric sensation so strong the fine hairs at the back of her neck stood on end. The scent of the sea tinged with ozone and rocks heated by the sun filled her nostrils. Odd since the sun in the British Isles rarely grew warm enough to create the baked-stone smell. The only reason she even recognized it was from a trip to Greece several years before.