‘Well, I’ve already fought one mer-king today.’
‘I do not expect you to fight him.’
Rory’s hand landed on Fionn’s arm. ‘Whatever happens, I’m right here.’
* * *
The Aft Tower was the highest point in the palace, protruding a little from the main spire. It was the king’s private study.
Fionn led Rory up the winding spiral corridors bathed in the green glow of orb lights. He felt a jumble of trepidation and anticipation for this meeting with his father. Something had changed in the throne room. As if his father had truly seen him for the first time.
Or as if he had truly seen his father for the first time.
Rory’s hand trailed over the marks carved into the walls. ‘You said this language is Pictish?’
‘Indeed. The ones you are following tell the story of a great battle fought against a monster that came here from the fae realm.’
‘What kind of monster?’
Fionn studied the carving. ‘This one you would perhaps call a kraken.’
Rory’s hand jerked back. ‘Woah.’
They came upon the king’s study suddenly as the upward spiral ended. The doorway was covered by an intricate kelp tapestry. Fionn rang the cockle bell that floated from a hook next to the door.
‘Enter,’ called his father.
Inside, the Blue King floated with his back to them, staring at shelves of clay tablets that took up the entire rear wall. Next to him, Iomhar abruptly removed his hand from where it had rested on the king’s shoulder.
Fionn raised his eyebrows at Iomhar but said nothing.
‘I have not yet congratulated you on your serendipitous soul bond,’ the king announced, turning around. His DeepSong was the familiar flat tone that Fionn was used to. He found himself straining to listen, as if he could glean deeper meaning behind the formality of his father’s words. ‘We welcome you, RoryDouglas, into our tribe and swear to treat you as our kin.May you find much happiness here.’
‘Uh. Thank you,’ Rory said awkwardly.
‘You will be provided with quarters and provisions within the palace if you wish. Iomhar will arrange a bodyguard for you—’
‘Have you always known it was a lie?’ Fionn blurted.
His father blinked slowly. Iomhar held up a hand of warning.
‘What was a lie?’ the king asked.
‘The alliance between Redfolk and Bluefolk,’ Fionn said indignantly. ‘The peace we supposedly work for together. Have you always known that the marriage bargain was a flimsy charade that only gives them power to rule over us?’
King Aonghas steepled his fingers over his stomach, his posture proud and regal. ‘They do not rule us.’
‘Lie!’ Fionn shouted, aghast. ‘They steal sons from us and that is not domination? Tell me I heard it true from your own mouth—you did not give me willingly.’
This was the truth that had been burning a hole in Fionn’s heart since the ceremony. That maybe his father did care for him; did care to lose him.
Rory’s spines flickered, sensing his agitation.
‘Of course I did not give you willingly,’ the king sang in a hoarse whisper. ‘I do not conceive that any king has given their son willingly to this bargain, except perhaps the first. That foolish King Uradech who cursed us with it.’
Was it resentment or relief that trembled over Fionn’s skin? He knew he was turning a deeper shade of blue and didn’t care that it gave away his distress. ‘Then why have you always treated me as though you had already given me away?’
The king’s mouth dropped open.
