Fionn raised his voice. ‘Why do we place our fate in the hands of the Redfolk? Why not take command of our own safety?’
Ah. In this new silence Fionn detected familiar disapproval.
His father’s voice, deceptively soft, resounded across the chamber. ‘Hold your tongue. Such words spoken before Redfolk would be taken as treason.’
‘There are no Redfolk here,’ Fionn replied petulantly, listening to the uncomfortable shuffling from the small crowd. ‘If this were a true alliance, they ought to applaud a desire to defend ourselves.’
‘The bargain defends us,’ the king sang calmly, though to Fionn’s ears it was laced with condescension.
Fionn ripped off his blindfold. He was faced with a floating kelp curtain, a secondary visual obstacle. He burst through it, provoking a ripple of alarmed gasps over the assembly.
‘The bargain imprisons us!’ Fionn declared. If the first gasps had been loud, the second were deafening. ‘We rely too much on hiding in our small corner of ocean. We daren’t face the wider world for fear of what’s out there. Yet if we remain so isolated, it shall surely come for us anyway.’
There’s something of Rory in this,Fionn thought while exhilarated by the freedom of his song. The ocean was much larger than he could comprehend and there were problems greater in it than the ones faced by Minchmen alone.
‘You know nothing of the dangers of the deep oceans, young prince,’ the king answered flatly. It seemed his gaze flicked briefly to Iomhar, who floated a few yards to the side of the throne. ‘Or of the relentless tide that is humanity, that can now sweep away our very existence like sand from the shore.’
‘Then do something,’ Fionn all but spat back. ‘Do something more than sit on your throne, auctioning off your son.’
For the barest, unthinkable second, his father looked as though he’d been struck. The entire throne room went still, gills collectively closed in apprehension.
Fionn took his chance and ran.
With a mighty kick and a deft spin he avoided the first guard who dared lunge for him and was soon soaring out of the outer arches into open water. He heard Iomhar calling his name. Fionn raced into the current, swiftly calling it to carry him far, far away.
To Loch Broom, as it turned out, because that’s where his mind was fixed on. The body of water next to which Rory lived. Where his soul mate, maybe, or at the very least the man he admired greatly, lived.
Fionn drifted listlessly for a while, staring up at the darkening sky above the surface.
A couple of hours passed. Long enough for a few hot, angry tears to be spilled and long enough for Acha to find him and nuzzle her nose into the crook of Fionn’s arm.
‘Hello, friend.’ Fionn cuddled her close. ‘At least you do not reject me today.’
Out of the swirling murk, Iomhar’s voice reached him. ‘You have more people fighting in your corner than you realise, little sprat.’
Fionn rolled away from him. ‘Are you here to bring me home?’
‘No.’ Iomhar swam above him, blocking out the moonlight. ‘But you understand that you cannot run from this.’
Fionn pouted. ‘Why not? What is stopping me from leaving the Minch tonight?’
‘Wrath and ruin to your people,’ Iomhar said simply. ‘And I know you will not forsake them. At best, the Redfolk would rescind the magic that keeps us safe and hidden. At worst,they would declare war and try to conquer us entirely for themselves.’
Fionn scratched dejectedly behind Acha’s ears, staring into the cloudy water. ‘They might as well have, already.’
‘No,’ Iomhar said firmly. ‘We send them tribute, yes. But they stay out of our affairs and we stay out of theirs. It is symbiotic, like a clownfish and anemone: we feed, they protect.’
‘Then why should I also become tribute? Is my value equivalent to one basket of shrimp, or three?’ Fionn knew he was being too flippant and that this argument would get him nowhere, just like every time he and Iomhar had discussed the matter. But for now the familiarity of it was almost comforting.
‘No one condones this bargain, Fionn. It was made by a foolish king of centuries past. Your father thinks—’
‘I do not care what my father thinks,’ Fionn cut him off.
Iomhar looked away. He touched a hand to the centre of his tattooed chest as though contemplating something, then shook his head.
‘Your father does understand the burden of the marriage bargain,’ Iomhar sang quietly. ‘Do not forget, he had to watch his own brother accept the same fate.’
‘And I am sure he was as actionless then as he is now.’
