‘—awhale, sire!—’
‘Where is Iomhar? Why isn’t he dealing with this?’
‘—can’t be a whale—’
Another impact rocked the water. It sounded like something huge and heavy slamming into the side of the palace. What would a whale be doing here?
The rush of voices turned into a rush of bodies. Fionn felt their momentum soaring past him to intercept something.
‘Is that a turtle?’
‘—the prince’s seal—’
‘Who is that?’
‘Seize him!’
It was now or never, Fionn realised. This commotion would be his only real chance of escape.
He kicked upward, bursting out of the curtain. A clawed hand landed on his arm. Fionn fought to get free but it dragged him in. Fins brushed against Fionn’s skin as his assailant reached for the blindfold.
‘You shall not have me!’ Fionn roared. ‘I belong to Rory Douglas.’
The blindfold was ripped away.
Rory met Fionn’s shocked gaze. ‘Too right,’ he said, and kissed him.
Chapter Thirty
The current surged through Rory’s chest, pouring his soul into Fionn’s like a tsunami filling an empty lagoon.
He was dimly aware of the uproar around them grinding to a halt. From the moment Neacel had guided Rory past the invisible barrier at the boundary stones, he’d been too high on adrenaline to take in all the details.
The whale mother provided the perfect distraction by luring the guards outside to deal with her strange behaviour. Rory and the others simply slipped inside a nearby arch while the guards threw up their hands and shouted between themselves about what the hell they were supposed to do to stop a humpback whale from apparently scratching her back against their palace.
Acha and the leatherback then ran interference against any Minchman trying to intercept their desperate dash for the throne room. Neacel led the way and entered first—he allowed himself to be caught by a pair of guards just so Rory could get past.
Inside the throne room Rory glimpsed a motley wedding crowd: dour Bluefolk with tight braids and shells woven into their kilts, and a party of lithe red-skinned and red-finned strangers that must be the Redfolk. Their bodies were covered in scars rather than tattoos.
Then he’d spotted Fionn rising out of a kelp canopy in the middle of the chamber. Rory lunged—
And now Fionn was in his arms and the soul bond thumped gloriously loud and real between them.
Rory grudgingly dragged his lips away from Fionn’s. The unabashedaweshining in Fionn’s eyes was enough to make any proud man’s knees buckle.
The hostility from the audience watching was now palpable. Rory realised he hadn’t put an ounce of thought into what might happenafterhe got to this point.
The first to speak was the tallest Redfolk merman. His spines were flexed stiff, much longer and meaner-looking than Rory’s, and his dark-crimson hair was topped with a shining silver crown that appeared to be shaped of thorns. Everything about him wassharp. Including his accusation: ‘What is this treachery?’
He was flanked by two broad red mermen brandishing scowls and silver spears. They had no spines protruding from their backs but their fins looked razor-sharp.
As soon as these red goons lifted their spears, the blue guards holding onto Neacel swivelled with their own weapons at the ready. Poor Neacel was like a ragdoll hanging between them, one guard clamped on each arm.
‘Lower your weapons,’ barked one of the Minchmen. This one had silver hair like Fionn’s and also wore a crown, though it was made of the same greenish-bronze as the Minch spears. He wasn’t so large as his red counter-part but he commanded the room nonetheless. The blue mermen hesitantly lowered their spears but still kept a tight hold of Neacel.
‘That your dad?’ Rory asked Fionn as quietly as he could manage.
Fionn nodded back, then glared at the imposing red merman with the silver crown. ‘And that is the Red King Rhiath.’
