Fionn’s clam knife caught his eye in the cabin. Rory picked it up. It could be mistaken for a regular clam shell with an extra smooth edge. But, testing it against a spare piece of rope, Rory discovered it was wickedly sharp.
He made this,Rory thought, staring at it blankly.What have I ever made?
And then his mind wandered back to the spear and Fionn’s apparent hunting skills. He didn’t want to admit that it sent a shiver down his spine to imagine the merman hunting down a shark in the dark depths.
Rory shook the image out of his head. But as he dropped the next line of creels, working more or less on auto-pilot, his unsettling new feelings about Fionn ticked over in the background anyway.
Was it wrong that Rory kind of wanted to see him again? That he was sort of curious about Fionn’s life underwater? That maybe, possibly, he’d enjoyed being pursued for a moment back there?
I’m just horny,Rory told himself.It doesn’t mean anything.I don’t ever want to see that blue prick again.
Chapter Ten
Fionn spent the rest of the day in the palace courtyard training with his spear. He moved through a series of carefully timed combat movements, transitioning fluidly from one form to another. Defence to offence; static guard to moving charge; precise jabs to sweeping slashes. When he’d finished one set of drill he swam two laps around the courtyard then back to the middle, ready to start all over again.
Years ago, when Fionn was a child, his brothers would have joined him in training. They’d made for a fast trio that Iomhar struggled to keep in check, constantly swimming rings around him. Those had been good days. Good years.
Lately, Brudus and Drostan rarely visited the palace. They were given duties that took them to the outer reaches of the Minch, overseeing the parts of the kingdom that stretched around the shores of the great western islands. Further than Fionn was allowed to roam.
Even Rory had travelled to farther waters than Fionn. The radiant image of the reef had been tantalising. For a moment Fionn had sensed a great urge for adventure that excited him.
And then Rory had become bafflingly angry. The feeling of receiving his hostility still coursed hotly through Fionn’s blood. He hated it. It felt like losing. Like making a mistake. Like being a failure.
Training with his spear reminded Fionn that he wasn’t. If only Rory could see him now, moving with such poise and purpose. If only anyone could see him.
Fionn was three hours into this and starting to flag when Neacel showed up. The young forager emerged from one of the many tunnels leading into the courtyard space, looking around tentatively as though not sure he was allowed to be there.
Fionn paused mid-swipe and beckoned him over. ‘I see the guards let you in with no trouble.’
He hadn’t invited Neacel, not exactly. He’d just offhandedly informed the younger Minchman that he would be welcome at the palace in the future. And then he’d told Neacel about his plan to speak to Rory earlier that day.
‘They told me this was where I’d find you,’ Neacel said, swimming into the cavernous space. He took a moment to admire the grand circular wall which, as it reached for the light of the surface with rows of arched openings at many levels, gave the effect of a colosseum. Then he looked inquisitively at Fionn and his spear. ‘So… how did it go?’
Fionn performed a series of deft swings, pretending to be unconcerned by Neacel’s question. ‘Less than good.’
Despite Fionn’s feigned concentration on his manoeuvres, Neacel’s troubled tilt of the head didn’t escape him. ‘How so, Your Highness?’
Fionn finished with a plunging stab downwards and let the drag of water slow his momentum. ‘He’s difficult.’
Neacel swam closer, now that the whirling spear was out of action. ‘Difficult, or just human?’
‘Good one.’ Fionn pulled out a cloth and began polishing the already-perfectly polished spearhead. ‘He told me to fuck off back to my castle.’
Neacel pursed his lips. ‘Did you say anything that might merit that reaction from him?’
‘Of course not.’
What had Fionn said, really, except the truth? He’d voiced his distaste for human hunting practices, and Rory had responded unreasonably. He’d argued back like he thought Fionn was the uncultured ignoramus—as though trapping lobsters in pots was thebetteroption.
Fionn pulled a face, guiltily recalling all aspects of the conversation. ‘He may have been annoyed to learn that I was destroying his fishing traps.’
For a split-second, he read Neacel’s expression as practically insolent. Neacel even went so far as to rub his forehead in exasperation. ‘Fionn. Your Highness. I would suggest that might be a reasonable cause for him to be, as you put it, difficult.’
Fionn suppressed an annoyed huff. Hehadinvited Neacel’s counsel, he reminded himself.
‘He also seemed annoyed that I hadn’t challenged him to a fight over other matters,’ Fionn added petulantly. ‘Although I’m not certain I understood everything he said about that.’
‘Perhaps there lies the key. You must understand him better.’ Neacel kicked his legs, slowly turning upside-down while deep in thought. Something silky began to fall out of a pouch from his waist. ‘You might endeavour to learn about his work? Perhaps start with a gift of goodwill…’
