Chapter 1
A heaviness wrapped her body. Dull aches began to grow and spread as the brackish taste of salt coated her mouth. Amongst the sea of harsh sensations, Emer felt a gentle tug on her braid.
Not dead then?
The hiss of rolling waves drowned out the thought, which was banished entirely by the cold water that caressed her lower body. The chill forced her eyes open to confront the reality of her situation. Her father once said the dark side of the truth was that once your eyes are open to it, you cannot return to the blissful ignorance of before.
“ Things cannot be un-seen or un-known, ” he would say.
The truth was her world had gone from vibrant to varying shades of gray. Part of her knew that had little to do with the bleak surroundings she was beginning to take in and more to do with the circumstances that brought her to this moment.
Equally unfortunate that they were.
Once her eyes adjusted to the shore, she realized the land was not actually leeched of color. It was early morning, and the colors slumbered, waiting for the sun to kiss them awake. How often she wished for the same. To sleep and not wake until life was vibrant once again.
As her consciousness seeped back in, she winced. Her cheek felt raw against the sand and rocks below her. Each stone mocked her with a sharp jab, and each grimace only encouraged the sting. Exhausted and weighed down by her sea-soaked clothes, she struggled as she rolled onto her back. Clutching at her middle, her hand searched for the small pouch tied around her waist. Her fingers brushed the rune her brother had etched into the leather.
Courage.
It was the same rune she drew at the bottom of the letter she had left for him—the only clue to what she had done.
Emer felt anything but courageous as her cold fingers delved beneath the flap in search of the small piece of fabric within it. For without it, she would truly be without hope.
Like her, it was soggy and worn, but it was still there, and she dropped her head back into the stones. Emer gripped the fabric tighter, causing her fingers to hurt and seawater to seep from between them. She did not know it was possible to feel this defeated, this alone. She also did not realize that, depending on the company, sometimes being alone was better.
Another tug at her braid signaled that she was not entirely on her own after all. She turned her tired gaze to the side, moving her aching body the bare minimum required, and found a curious set of eyes staring back at her. Pale blue and belonging to a surprisingly large white bird.
Any other day, she would count herself lucky to happen upon such a creature. It was strikingly beautiful and just peculiar enough that it seemed magical. She could not be bothered by any of those things today, though.
If her limbs had cooperated, she would have shooed him away. When she found she lacked the strength, she instead murmured, “Kindly, fuck off.” The words came out cracked and hoarse, the rawness making them sound less convincing .
The bird cocked its head. She stared blankly at it for a moment, and when it did not move, she assumed they had reached a truce. It would politely let her die before bothering her further—a small kindness.
The sun fought to break through the scattered clouds, but one of the beams found passage, and its warmth cascaded over her. For a moment, she dreamt she was home.
Home was reading in her meadow.
Home was the sounds of her brother sparring nearby—Finn never far from his sister.
Home was following their mother’s voice calling for supper and finding their father by the fire in his favorite chair.
Her daydream was dispersed by the sound of the next wave and the accompanying tug on her braid. This time, the creature tugged harder.
“Impatient bastard. Just go,” she cursed. It was a whisper, her voice still too tender for use.
The bird began hopping excitedly, the rocks shuffling beneath his talons, then silence. She exhaled but internally knew better than to show the Elders signs of her relief.
“Merrow or Selkie?” a deep voice rumbled from far too close.
There would be no meadow.
No family supper.
No fire next to her father’s favorite chair.
She knew that the moment she looked into his eyes—the stormy blue of the unforgiving sea and keen with suspicion.
A sharp burst of air crashed against her face, and when she opened her eyes once more, she saw the man—a knight if his leathers were any indication—tracking the retreating bird. Apparently, she was not worth facing off against this new opponent.
Traitor.
When those piercing blue eyes returned to her, she withered under his stare.
Alarm coursed through her as he continued to watch her, waiting expectantly for the answer to a question she could not recall. Her hands fought for purchase in the rocks as she attempted to force herself up, her body shaking in protest. He stared down at her with his head tilted, not unlike the bird, a predator admiring his prey.
Lethal and curious.
Unlike the bird, however, there was no brilliant white. He was clothed head-to-toe in black.
Her eyes darted around her surroundings as if she hoped to find her voice.
Nothing. She recognized nothing.
The knight cleared his throat to pull her attention back
“It is not common to find a maiden emerging from the sea, and I know some silly little girl from the Isle of Rest did not just wish herself here. So, I’ll ask again… Merrow or Selkie?”
Distracted by his voice, Emer did not dwell on the slight. The unfamiliar lilting brogue signaled that this shore was not a sanctuary after all. She had been far safer at the mercy of the sea and its monsters than the one looming over her now.
While the cloak hid the length to which violence had refined his body, it only drew attention to his tall frame and broad shoulders. His features were severe for a man of his age. He was young in years, only a few more than Emer, but they were clearly harsh. With eyes that spoke of the beasts he had battled, and scarless, cruel features that were proof he had won.
He did not approach her as a man intent on rescuing her, or attempt to pull her from the hard ground she prostrated herself on. He did not even give her reprieve from the water still greedily reaching for her.
While it was growing increasingly clear that he was not there as her hero, it remained to be seen if he would be her villain instead. The uncertainty sent another spike of fear through her blood, which felt sluggish and chilled.
The knight’s full lips pursed together, and his dark brows pinched. He evaluated each movement, feature, and wound. A strategist trying to piece together her story.
Emer’s brother once told her that it was okay for her heart to falter as long as her glare didn’t. She bit back her fear as she shifted her weight and lifted her hand to him.
She was not beautiful in the traditional sense but in the same wild way that the sea is beautiful. Despite its beauty, the sea was also deadly and, just like a Merrow, could devour him without a second thought if it pleased.
“Mortal,” she forced out the word as she met his eyes.
The knight’s lip twitched as he assessed her glare, though it was unclear if he was hiding a smile or a snarl—she would not ask, and he would not tell.
He extended his hand to her. A foreboding rune inked in the center of his palm, waiting for her to take notice. But Emer did not look at his hand, denying him the recognition that would have flashed in her eyes if she managed to pull her gaze away from his.
One look was all it would take to draw out her fear, just as it only took one look at her to conjure his suspicion.
Overreaching, he slipped his long fingers under the cold, green fabric of her sleeve and over her icy skin, allowing his calloused fingertips to rest over her pulse point. The beat was rapid, which was not entirely surprising given that the sea had swallowed her and then spat her back out.
Pain radiated through Emer as she shifted her weight and tested her muscles. The knight held her firmly, making no attempts to acknowledge her struggle as he guided her out of the reach of the waves.
“While you certainly curse like one, I suppose you are not seductive enough to be a Merrow.” He paused to study her with a raised brow. “Nor are you naked enough to be a Selkie.”
“Excuse me!” Her lips stuck together and stung as she forced them to form the words, but her shock dulled the pain of her outburst .
Despite not being able to stand independently, she tried to pull her arm free of his grip.
“I did not write the legends, Bonnie,” he explained. He tested the way the pet name felt on his lips and then shrugged. “That’s just how the lore goes.”
Her muscles tensed beneath his fingers.
“The legend is wildly inappropriate,” she countered.
He shrugged again. “That may be true, but not as wildly inappropriate as being so captivated by you that I stole your seal skin so that you would be mine forever, which is the fate of most Selkies caught lounging on the shore. Again, according to legend,” he said, clearly intent on keeping her off balance.
Dazed and unwilling to grant the stranger any further reaction, she stared blankly ahead. There was nothing to indicate why he was there or where he came from, and it enraged her to think she was so unlucky that he would have stumbled upon her in a remote location.
The Elders are assholes.
Emer collapsed into the lush growth, running her wrinkled fingers through the clovers that swept across the space, starkly contrasting the rocky shore that greeted her.
“I’m curious how you found yourself on my shore?” He grunted as he lowered himself onto the grass beside her, holding the panels of his cloak closed. Tossing his dark curls from his eyes, he looked at her once more.
“I was not aware that anyone could just claim an entire shoreline,” she murmured.
Although he did not correct her, there was a slight shift of his expression, an added smugness, that told her she was wrong.
His tone was flat when he spoke next. “Ignorance does not excuse the offense.” Tilting his head back, he studied the clouds. “Basking, perhaps?” he asked.
“Basking requires the sun, does it not?” Her words came out heated despite the fact that there was frost forming on her bones .
He plucked a clover from the ground and examined it before tossing it over his shoulder. “Can’t say. I’m not well-versed in the practice. If you were not basking, can you explain why I found you amongst the waves?” There was a subtle edge to his voice that betrayed his feigned disinterest. His words were growing sharper. All the better to carve out the truth.
As if slipping back into a nightmare, the images of the night before flashed through her mind.
The sounds of the screams.
The feeling of falling.
The silence that followed as the sea stole her away.
A tentative pull against her fingers brought her back to her senses. Her gaze dropped to see him uncurling her fingers and inspecting her hand. Red half-moons lined the pale skin of her palm from where her nails had dug too deeply. Emer ripped her hand from him and pulled it close to her chest. The knight’s eyes narrowed.
She was under no illusions that interlopers were welcomed on Isle Basalt, and his attention was certain to prove problematic. The details of how she came to be in her current state would endanger her and any of the men who managed to survive the ambush. If any of them made it to shore, it was not this one. She silently prayed to the Elder of Endings that he had spared them, that there was still hope for a cure—hope for her father.
To make matters worse, there was no way to know if the man next to her or his brethren was responsible for the attack.
“I don’t know what happened,” she whispered.
Lie.
His eyes grew cold before his attention shifted to the abrasion across her cheekbone, and her fingertips moved to where his eyes came to rest. “You’ve been in an accident.” It was an observation rather than a question.
Her unease grew with every passing moment she was subjected to his scrutiny, and instinct told her that if she did not leave soon, there was a strong chance she would not be leaving at all.
Emer rose to her feet, stumbling back when the knight followed, only saved from falling by his firm grip on her wrist. There was a warning in how he looked at her then, releasing her from his bruising hold one finger at a time.
“Off so soon?” His tone was pleased, drinking in the desperation of her features like nectar. Sweet and stolen.
“Yes,” she answered, stepping back and collecting clovers in the skirt of her dress.
He watched as she took several more steps away with an excitement in his eyes that had her fighting the urge to run for fear that was exactly what he wanted.
“Thank you for that… and for coming to my aid earlier, but I must be going,” she said, giving him her back once more.
He cocked his head, amusement rather than rage creasing his brow.
“Where?” His warm breath was on her neck, having quickly and silently closed the distance between them. She reeled from his proximity as she turned back to face him. Her height brought her gaze level with the clasp of his cloak, and she was forced to tilt her head to meet his stare.
“I am on my way north for… my family,” she muttered.
“And how far north will you go, little Merrow?” He decided the earlier name had not suited her.
“That is none of your concern, and that is not my name,” she barked, deflecting his question.
“You’ve given me no name. What is it that I shall call you then?” His voice was thick and dark.
“Also, none of your concern.”
Her glare slowly left his eyes and down to the now visible knife sheathed at his side. Her hand twitched almost imperceptibly. It had not escaped him that rather than fearing he had a weapon, she immediately considered how she would take it from him. This time, he did not even fight the corner of his lip as it curled up.
“Merrow it is,” he remarked smugly.
“I’m sorry?” she questioned.
“There seems to be some disagreement regarding what is and is not my concern.” He stepped forward, asserting both his size and authority. “ You, for example, are very much my concern. It’s not wise for a maiden to wander alone.”
Both knew the deception of his response. She didn’t believe he was concerned. He didn’t believe she was helpless.
Regardless of what lay beyond the shore, Emer was certain it had to be safer than this.
“I will be sure to send word if I encounter one.” Her smile as she spoke the words was painted on with practiced strokes.
He laughed. It was a deep chuckle that surprised even him.
Emer stiffened at the sound, recognizing it for what it was—a warning.
“Do you know the easiest way to tell if someone is being deceitful?” His tone was mirthful, yet she knew she would find little humor in his musing. He stalked around her and it took a conscious effort not to follow his movement. “Some will say it is in the person’s voice; others will swear by the eyes. Do you know how I know you are lying, Merrow ?” he exaggerated the last word in a teasing and honeyed voice.
Determined to deprive him of her attention as he circled her, Emer made herself stare at a single cloud in the distance. It looked like a skull, and it was entirely unhelpful in keeping her nerves. She hated this place.
Leaning forward, he tilted his head next to hers.
“Your neck,” he whispered against the shell of her ear, prompting her to take a hurried step forward. “More specifically, the pulse of your heart, which I can see in your neck.” He ghosted his finger up her throat.
“In case you have not noticed, I am having a bit of a day. Have you considered my elevated pulse is simply a sign of annoyance? Or do you just think you are that charming?”
“Oh, I have noticed many things. Since you refuse to be honest, allow me to be brutally so.” Brutality was one of his finer qualities, so it seemed like a fitting place for his pause. “You’ve been in an accident, which you allude to not remembering. You’re visibly injured either from attacking someone or being attacked.”
“I didn’t—” he interrupted her protest by raising his finger to his lips.
Her eyes flared with indignation.
What. An. Ass.
“You are nearly frozen. You have clearly spent the night in the water and are most certainly not from here. Despite all those observations, do you know what I find the most curious about you?” he asked.
She stood there, stunned, unable to understand how things had gone wrong so fast and how she could escape this situation. Escape him .
“It would be more fun if you tried to guess,” he teased, and there was a playfulness in his voice.
As Emer watched his delight at her defiance, she knew she was the toy.
Scowling, she bit down so hard, she thought her teeth might crack. “I have no interest in your games,” she said sternly.
His eyebrow tipped up.
“You have not asked for my aid. Not. Once. That is what I find quite curious.”
The accusation caused her stomach to sink into her boots. Anyone else in her position would have asked for help, but she was only focused on getting away.
“The role of victim doesn’t suit you, so why don’t you tell me why you are really here,” he sneered.
She dropped her eyes to her feet, the knight still standing at her back, and she knew it was time to decide. Emer’s heels dug into the earth below, and she ran.
The sound of a sword being unsheathed caused her blood to run cold, and she cursed as she prepared to meet its even colder blade. Her feet kicked at the heavy skirt of her dress, but rather than moving forward, she stumbled. Falling to her knees, her fingers again embedding themselves deep into the clovers. Confusion swelled as she lunged forward, and the bodice of her dress acted like a net, tethering her in place.
Reeling around, she found his sword driven through the skirt of her dress and deep into the hillside. Despite the cries of the fabric as she worked to tug herself free, the sword remained in place.
Although he released the hilt, his arm casually draped over his bent leg, he remained on one knee as he watched her. A smug grin pulled at his lips as he shook his head from side to side slowly. “We were not finished,” he chimed.
Enraged, Emer lunged for the sword.
Counter to what she had expected, he did not flinch or withdraw as she advanced, and the distance between them reduced to nearly nothing.
“You have gold in your eyes,” he observed aloud.
Flecks within the green that seemed to illuminate, to burn brighter, as her frustration flared and a faint pink taunted her cheeks.
He winked.
She snarled.
Fueled with an anger she had never known, Emer freed the sword and leveled it at its owner.
Slowly, he rose to a standing position, allowing the tip of the blade to drag down the fabric of his cloak as he stood. Despite willing her hands to steady, he ran his thumb over his lip as though he could taste her fear.
Bravery is something rooted deep within the bones of those with no fear. Courage is in the marrow of those whose bones shake with fear, but they force their bodies to keep moving despite it. While she was not brave, she was courageous.
His smile widened like he could taste that too.
Taking an unhurried step back, he raised his hands, revealing the thick black lines of the tattoos in the center of his palms—runes, the language of the Elders’ magic.
The Elders, being neither malevolent nor benevolent, required some form of payment, offering, or sacrifice to call upon their magic. While the meaning of the tattoo inked on the left palm was obscured, Emer was certain of two things about the one on his right. The rune represented death, and his preferred currency was blood.
Though her arms were tired from clinging to the debris, her hands screamed at her for gripping the hilt so tightly, and her legs shook with fear. He would not get to see the pain on her face or the satisfaction of drinking in her terror. She would only allow him to see the rage churning inside her. He did not let her run, so she would fight.
Emer caught her reflection in the blade’s steel for the briefest moment. She did not recognize the fierce creature staring back at her, but she was grateful for her. The girl from the meadow would not have fought him, but the one who emerged from the sea was going to draw blood.
The knight nodded to himself, seeing her expression harden with resolve.
“Truly, I cannot decide if I am delighted or annoyed,” he mused. His thumb rubbed across his lip as he pondered her. It was the why that made her dangerous and the why that prevented him from letting her go.
He stepped forward, his eyes fixed on her, no longer bothering to look at the sword she wielded. “Do you know one of the most important rules of sparring, Merrow?” He watched her intently as he tilted his chin up and unclasped his cloak. The fabric slid down his body, revealing the muscled form wrapped in dark leather, a black tunic, and weapons fixed to various limbs. “Know your opponent.”
Emer's lips parted as she surveyed the additional weapons hidden beneath his cloak—a sight that would cause most to stand down. She did not.
Either because she believed she could beat him.
Dangerous.
Or she had a secret worth dying for.
More dangerous.
“You’ll fight me?” His voice was softer but threatening all the same.
She readied her stance and secured her grip on the sword.
“While you may be the most beautiful creature to wield a weapon on this Isle, I promise you, I am the deadliest. This is not wise.” His words were a startling mixture of threat and flirtation. In the same breath, he unsheathed the other sword he carried. “Last chance,” he offered.
When she did not answer, he brought his sword down in a thunderous crash as it met her guard. The collision traveled the length of the blade and through her bones. It was violent enough that she feared her limbs would shatter, and she let out an unintentional groan.
Despite the ringing in her ears, she heard him huff. He was not fighting her… he was mocking her. Her blood began to boil, fusing and hardening her insides. Pride was a dangerous thing and something she intended to use against him. He made another half-hearted movement to engage her, and instead of blocking, she spun out to the side, carrying her weight through the spin and swinging towards his side.
Reckless .
He had been reckless in underestimating her. As he silently cursed for allowing himself to be distracted, he darted back. He almost managed to escape the path of the blade completely. Shifting his weight, he lowered his sword in another powerful arc and disarmed her.
With a dull thud, the sword fell unceremoniously to the grass, and she recoiled at the fire that radiated up her arms. His lethal gaze fell on her, watching as she panted through her grin.
“Do you always smile when you lose?” It sounded more curious than haughty.
“You were never going to let me leave. I only wanted to make you regret it.” Her chest heaved as she spoke.
It was as though her words triggered awareness of the pain he had not yet registered.
Elders ’ tits …
His hand traveled to his side, finding torn fabric and a sticky warmth. A deep, guttural sound crawled up his throat. The wound was too shallow to put him in any real peril, but it would scar—a reminder that he should not have mocked her. On top of that, it was damned inconvenient. He pulled his finger back and studied the blood that painted them. For a brief moment, he almost smiled back.
“Does your achievement somehow overshadow the fact that I may now kill you?” he asked with a raised brow.
Her smile faltered, but only slightly.
“That was as much a possibility before as it is now,” she argued.
“You may have tipped the odds, sweetheart. You see, you proved me right. You aren’t nearly as innocent as you pretend to be,” he countered. Emphasizing his point by waving his sword in her direction.
“Then perhaps you will think twice about trying to keep me,” she said, raising her chin higher .
“I assure you, I want that more than before.” His grin was unmistakable now.
A captive was better than a corpse. At least the fate of the former could be changed.
Her task was to reach the Well and beseech the Elders’ magic to heal her father, and while she had failed, she could at least ensure the knight did not learn of the others who were sent for it. If he was preoccupied for long enough, then any survivors would have a chance to disappear further inland. She gathered all the confidence she could muster.
“Perhaps some dry clothes and food would aid in my recollection,” she suggested.
He smirked.
“Do you always lie so sweetly?”
He motioned his head, instructing her to walk, and she scowled. His eyes narrowed in warning. Not seeing how this situation could get much worse, Emer asked with a saccharine smile, “Do women always heed your every command without question?”
“No,” he said quickly. “ Everyone does.”