Iomhar watched all this in silence. The old Minchman had gone quite still, his sombre eyes unusually wide. ‘Did you say this Rory was Redfolk?’
Fionn cringed. He’d hoped to keep it secret, for Rory’s sake as well as his own. ‘Yes.’
‘And this is what ignited your bond?’
‘Yes. Why do you look so troubled?’
Iomhar’s frown was deep and foreboding. ‘You are sure of it? Such a scenario verges on the impossible.’
‘I told you, I thought it was a fated bond at first,’ Fionn said wretchedly. ‘But when his form changed, there was no question. He has red fins and spines—’
Iomhar covered his eyes. ‘Spines, Fionn?’
‘From his back. I’ve heard these are Redfolk traits.’ Fionn was suddenly uncertain. Iomhar’s interrogation made him doubt what he’d seen. Could he have made a mistake?
‘And you love him?’
‘I don’t— I don’t know—’
Now Iomhar was in his face, dragging Fionn forward by his harness. ‘Did you make the right decision?’
‘I…’ Fionn’s gills gasped for oxygen. He couldn’t hold back his tears any longer. They bled into the ocean, souring it with the tang of deepest regret.
Nothing at all had changed since the bond was broken. He’d expected to feel some sense of being released, or of a veil lifting. Instead his yearning for Rory had only wound deeper in the absence of his connection.
Iomhar touched his forehead to Fionn’s. ‘Oh, little sprat. How I wish you could learn to ask for help.’ He released Fionn, nodding to the guards stationed at the large entrance arch leading to the throne room. They looked harried; probably urged to get the prince inside as fast as possible.
‘You must take your place,’ Iomhar told Fionn, turning his gaze to the towering spire above. ‘There is something I must inspect before I join you.’
Fionn followed his line of sight. Much of the top half of the palace was devoted to the Record Rooms, the great circular halls where the clay tablets containing the kingdom’s history were stored. Confusion caused him to blink away his tears. ‘Is this really the time for reading, old man?’
‘Go.’ Iomhar shot away, leaving Fionn to the pack of guards moving forward to hurry him inside.
Fionn bowed his head, allowing the group of warriors to surround him as escort.
One of the guards held his spear in front of Neacel. ‘He is not cleared to enter, Your Highness.’
‘He is my friend. I give him permission.’ Fionn stared the Minchman down, but the warrior knew his duty.
‘He has not been approved. The seal, too. We cannot allow such risks to enter.’
Neacel tugged at Fionn’s arm. ‘Don’t worry about me. I have matters to attend to as well.’
A new flicker of hurt flashed across Fionn’s heart. Neacel was content to abandon him? He wasn’t even going to stay to listen to news of the wedding from outside?
Of course, Fionn knew he was being selfish. Neacel didn’t owe him an audience.
‘Farewell, then. And thank you,’ he added hastily. ‘Truly. You’ve been an honest friend and fair counsel. I should have done more for you in return.’
I never even gave him an introduction to Seòras,Fionn thought glumly.
Neacel returned a wry smile. ‘I have enjoyed living vicariously through the story of your fated romance. Keep your head high. It is not over yet.’
He retreated to the crowd and disappeared within the sea of blue bodies.
Acha nudged Fionn’s elbow.
‘I know. I’m sorry, friend.’ Fionn aimed a withering glare at the guard holding out his spear. ‘Apparently our finest warriors cannot be trusted to watch a seal during the ceremony.’
