‘Oh.’ Rory’s brow tightened in confusion, his perfect mouth frowning within its nest of stubble. ‘Why?’
Fionn sighed deeply. He didn’t want to repeat it. Didn’t want to spend another minute in Rory’s presence. Didn’t want to watch him frown like that, or think about how much he would miss that frown and the serious eyes that went with it. ‘It is magic that ignited our soul bond. Not fate. We were only drawn together because of your heritage that was unknown to us at the time—’
‘I think I got that.’ Rory’s DeepSong gained strength, and it occurred to Fionn that he’d probably worked out how to sing around his new teeth. ‘Why it’s a bad thing is the part I’m having trouble with. Doesn’t this get you out of your marriage problem? Not that I was looking to get married right away,’ Rory added hastily, like he’d just registered the words he’d sung. ‘Or at all. If you even want to. I mean if this was long-term I’d— I don’t want to assume anything but I thought we—’
‘It is a lie!’ Fionn exploded. The current gushed at Rory, forcing him back a few feet. ‘Don’t you see? Everything we’vefelt for one another. It has all been influenced by this bond. By this curse. None of it is real.’
Fionn’s voice cracked, his rapid ascent to anger plummeting to misery just as fast. ‘I do not love you. Even though I think I do.’
‘You love me?’ Rory’s cheeks coloured as he cleared his throat, tweaking his tone to something gruffer. ‘I mean, I feel strongly about you too.’
‘Have you not heard anything I’ve just said?’
Rory began to scratch his head—and pulled his hand away sharply as though he’d just remembered about the webbing between his fingers. ‘I just… don’t know. I feel like if this was all the bond’s doing, then it’s had a bloody hard job of it, right? I didn’t exactly want to jump into bed with you right away, did I? And I bet you weren’t so keen on me from the start, either.’
A note of truth from this twinged in Fionn’s heart. He had been unsure of Rory at first, hadn’t he? Aside from that first instinctive kiss, there was no immediate spark like he’d heard of in stories. No love at first sight. He hadn’t even been sure he wanted Rory until he’d understood him better. Until he’d witnessed the passion that lived underneath such passive waters.
Even so…
‘You do not think your attraction to me was swayed by this?’ Fionn watched Rory carefully and watched their bond even closer. He caught the flash of doubt that crossed Rory’s mind.
‘I hadn’t been attracted to a man before,’ Rory mumbled. ‘But I dunno if that means anything. It sort of feels like you shocked me awake, you know? And since then I decided what I wanted. I’ve decided—’
‘We cannot trust it. We cannot trust any of it. Not our thoughts or our feelings or our decisions.’ Fionn turned awayfrom him. Rory’s doubt, however small, was like a harpoon through his chest.
How could Fionn live with himself, knowing he may have destroyed Rory’s life by their chance meeting? If he’d never met Rory, he would still be human. Still in his home. Not out here adrift in the ocean, caught between two worlds that he didn’t belong to.
Not here, where Fionn might cave into Rory’s words and accept possession of his fragile future. A future with Fionn the failed prince. No, Rory did not deserve that at all.
‘Fionn…’
Fionn closed his eyes and drowned out Rory’s plea with a song to the current. He commanded the water to grab him, to fling him like a stone as far from Rory as fast as he could be flung. Tears welled behind his eyelids. There was stabbing pain in his heart, in his gut; he wanted to curl into a ball against it.
Fionn wouldn’t drag Rory with him, wouldn’t put him through the dire political mess it would create at the palace. He would find a way to sever the bond in time, and then take on his marriage responsibility like he was always supposed to.
There was only one thing to do. Fionn had to break the bond, somehow. And there was only one way he could think of that didn’t involve his father. The Witch of the Highlands. A human with powerful magic who might be sympathetic to his plight.
Fionn bid the waves to stop their tossing and churning. Now he had a destination in mind, he was focused. He changed course, gliding deftly with the water, and sang it into motion once again.
* * *
Fionn travelled the current to Red Point beach, many miles south along the coast from Ullapool. He climbed onto the windystretch of sand with little care that he might be seen. It was not frequented by humans and right now he had greater worries than being seen by one.
He clambered onto the rocks scattered over the north end of the beach and dug around the dunes behind them. Secured to a large stone scored with a Pictish mark he uncovered a small, smooth pouch. A ‘dry bag’, the witch had called it.
Fionn had only met the Walker witch a handful of times, almost all in the company of Iomhar as part of his training in the ‘art’ of diplomacy. If Fionn could be trusted to talk politely to the land-witch, it was reasoned, then he might have some chance of negotiating with Redfolk too.
Fionn ripped the pouch open and pulled out the strange oblong object inside. This witch was keen on employing human technology to communicate. He’d insisted that they move from the old method of summoning (using a perfectly functional system of wielding the magic in Pictish runes) to a new system ofmobile phones.
This small machine was quite strange to Fionn but he remembered the sequence of buttons he’d been told to press. Had memorised it diligently, in fact, as with everything he was required to study. And on this occasion, as the phone rang, he was loathe to admit that the witch’s system was actually much more efficient for getting in touch.
‘Hello?’ a familiar voice answered.
‘Witch?’ Fionn said sharply. ‘It is I, Prince Fionn, of the Blue Men of the Minch. I need—’
‘It’s Lachlan, actually,’ the voice replied helpfully. ‘Nice to hear from you, Fionn. How are you?’
Fionn stalled briefly in the face of this friendly rebuttal. He had some respect for Lachlan, having fought a monster with him before. ‘I am fine. No, what am I saying? I am not fine. I have a most urgent situation. Where is your witch?’
