Chapter 15 Seven Years Ago
Seven Years Ago
“Caspian,” a female voice rasped from the dark, “what were you thinking, going inland?” A trembling hand settled on his shoulder. “Don’t you realise what you’ve done?”
“We needed to eat, Thalassa.” The words pushed out of Caspian, worn thin from being rehearsed too many times in his head. “I brought food—food you fed to our children.”
Thalassa shuddered. Her slender fingers curled around a strand of her hair that had fallen over her shoulder. She always twisted it when she was nervous. “We don’t go inland,” her voice cracked. “You could’ve exposed us… and our babies.”
“The Islanders are weaklings.” Caspian uncurled the hair from between her fingers. “They wouldn’t know how to fight us even if they knew we existed. They’re blind to creatures of the Otherworld.”
“You’re sure we’re…” Her breath faltered; she swallowed hard. “Safe?”
“Yes.” Caspian ran his fingers down her back to soothe her, the same long, steady strokes he used when she birthed their young. “I had to feed them. The fish are gone, and there were too many people on the shore to take someone without being seen.”
He stroked the face of their newborn daughter, fast asleep against Thalassa’s chest. Her tiny features scrunched as she stirred. Pride surged through him, warm against the cool air of the night. He’d done what needed to be done. Providing for his family was his duty—at sea or on land.
“I had no choice. We need to be strong before we return to the sea.” He nodded towards their young sons, curled together on a nest of fishing nets, chests rising and falling in perfect tandem. “We leave at dawn. Just one more night, then home to the sea.”
Thalassa nodded, though her gaze flickered to their sons and lingered, something tight and aching behind her eyes.
“It was one child fishing on the river. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“But his family—” Thalassa’s voice snagged. She twisted the strand of hair again, knuckles whitening.
“We must think of our own family.” Caspian pulled her against him, and they lay together.
Thalassa pressed her forehead to his jaw, and for a moment they simply breathed—their sleeping children warmed between them.
Caspian drank in Thalassa’s scent: salt and crushed shells.
He kissed her temple. “You and the children are all that matters.”
Latharna’s south-west coast had been their birthing spot for centuries, but the world pressed in. People everywhere, forcing the Selkie inland, into recklessness. He’d begged the elders to leave before disaster struck. Tradition must be honoured, they argued. End of discussion.
Silver shards of moonlight seeped through cracked boards overhead. The moon sat too high in the sky. The tide wasn’t right; they couldn’t leave until dawn. Wrapped in the warmth of his family, Caspian drifted into uneasy sleep.
When he woke with a jolt, the moonlight had dissolved into thin, pale fingers of morning sun.
A scream tore through the boathouse.
Caspian sat upright, heart hammering. Thalassa was still asleep beside him; the children curled around her.
A metal clatter rang out like a warning bell. Caspian shook Thalassa awake, pressing a finger to her lips. Another scream followed, closer this time. Far too close. He rose, not knowing if he was preparing to fight or flee, but Thalassa seized his arm, shaking her head.
He slid a small dagger from his seaweed belt and pressed it into her palm. It had been in his family for so long, no one could remember where it came from. The sapphire gems on the hilt sparkled in the morning light. Thalassa’s eyes widened—the same blue as the gems.
“Take them.” Caspian nodded towards the opening. “Stay low and don’t look back.” Thalassa roused the children with trembling hands.
Caspian lifted a chunk of driftwood and crept towards the noise, hugging the wall. The stench hit him first: blood and fear, thick enough to taste. Then he saw him—a man, dark hair plastered to his face with sweat and streaks of blood, swinging an axe as though he’d been born with it in his grip.
Bodies lay scattered across the floor. Slaughtered before they could defend themselves. Selkie were graceful, gentle creatures. They’d never stood a chance.
Caspian’s breath caught. Every instinct screamed at him to run, to get Thalassa and the children out. But the man lifted the axe again, turning towards a huddled group in the shadows—his parents.
Caspian crouched low and flanked him. A snarl tore through him as he lunged, slamming into the attacker with everything he had. They hit the floor hard; air burst from his lungs. The axe swung wild, the blade missing his cheek by a hair’s breadth.
His parents slipped through the hole in the wall and into the sea. Relief punched through him so sharply it stole his breath. They were safe. But the human was already dragging himself upright, chest heaving.
Caspian’s relief died in an instant. He searched for his family—and froze. They were still where he’d left them. Right in the path of the beast who’d butchered his Saltkin.
A cold dread snapped through him. He scrambled to his feet so fast his vision blurred. He threw himself between the attacker and his family, ready to take any blow meant for them.
“I’ll protect you.” His voice shook, but his stance didn’t. “Whatever comes.”
The man raised his axe. Caspian didn’t flinch. If this was where he died, then he would die standing—exactly where duty, honour, and love commanded him to be.
“You killed my son!” The man roared, voice raw. His eyes—dark and wild—locked onto Caspian’s family with murderous intent.
It didn’t seem to matter which Selkie took his son. Every Selkie was guilty. Caspian’s stomach dropped. This wasn’t just anger—this was a parent’s rage.
Thalassa clutched the children tighter, her breath hitching.
“I had to feed my family.” Caspian opened his palms. He wasn’t sorry for feeding his young—but guilt sank its teeth into him all the same. Looking at his mate, his baby and his sons… he felt the sting of a truth he’d never admit aloud.
Thalassa was right. He never should’ve gone inland. The bloodshed in the boathouse was on his hands, not the attacker’s.
“You were supposed to stay on the shoreline!” The man bellowed. “You came inland and took my son!” He wiped his face with the back of his hand—smearing blood and grief together.
“I— I was desperate,” Air snagged in Caspian’s throat. His gaze never left the axe. “I was trying to protect my sons.”
“By killing mine.”
The man’s breathing slowed, deepened. His eyes flicked past Caspian to the younglings. And something in him cracked. Rage faltered. Grief seeped through, softening his gaze—an animal recognising another animal protecting its young.
“Have mercy on them.” Caspian motioned to his family. “They’re innocent. Thalassa will take them to sea. They’ll never return.”
Thalassa nodded, tears streaming. The baby whimpered; the boys clung to her seaweed-wrapped frame.
The man’s shoulders sagged. His axe lowered. Then the axe fell to the floor with a heavy thud.
Thank Poseidon.
Caspian closed his eyes, exhaling deeply. He’d done enough to save his children. That was all that mattered. He turned to Thalassa, chin trembling. “Take the children and go. Keep them safe, and know that I love you.” He forced steady breath into his voice. His sons were watching.
Thalassa’s face crumpled, but she held the children tighter. The baby cried and she stepped back—instinct overtaking devotion.
Caspian straightened, offering his sons the soft smile he saved only for them. Tears streamed down their faces. Thalassa backed towards the opening.
A clatter echoed at the far end of the boathouse. The man jerked, eyes flicking to his axe.
Caspian roared—a battle cry fierce enough to rouse Selkie ancestors from the deep—and launched himself forward.
The man drew a knife from behind his back. Caspian threw himself onto the blade. Cold metal tore into his abdomen, heat roaring through him. They crashed to the floor together.
Thalassa’s scream shattered the air.
“We all have a right to live,” Caspian wheezed, warm blood cascading onto the floor. “Let them live.”
He pinned the man, staring into his face. Beneath the grief and fury… something else flickered. A thread of the Otherworld humming faintly in the man’s soul. No wonder he was able to butcher almost the entire shoal.
The man gently pushed Caspian off. Caspian rolled onto his back, lifeblood seeping out of him.
“Go.” The man pointed the knife at the opening. Not a threat—a warning.
Thalassa looked at Caspian. His vision blurred, but he smiled and nodded. A soft warmth eased through him the moment they cleared the opening. His body stilled. He would not see his boys grow, but they would grow. That was enough.
The man loomed over him. Caspian’s own blood dripped from the knife, bright against the concrete floor. Latharna has as many monsters on land as it does in the sea. The attacker would realise that one day.
Caspian drew a long, steady breath as fire burned through his abdomen. His limbs trembled, the edges of his body loosening as the form he held began to slip. Scales shimmered beneath his skin. His fingers curled, webbing flickering between them. The tide tugged at his bones, calling him home.
The transformation crept through him like a final mercy—the sea claiming him on unforgiving land. His legs weakened, dissolving into the ghost of a tail he no longer had the strength to form fully. Salt rose in his throat. The taste of home.
There would be no more death on Latharna tonight—except for his.