“Exactly. Youhaveto hand him over, and imprinting on him will only make it all the harder for you. I know you don’t want this, neither do I, but that’s our lot. Either we do this, or it’susthat pay for it. The council already have it out for our family; they’ll jump on any excuse to punish us further.”
Kit didn’t argue.
“Not that it matters if the damned merfolk catch us. It’s a miracle they didn’t today. I want to say it’s not necessarily him they’re looking for, but –”
“It’s him,” Kit said. “Our contact in the city said as much.”
There was a shift in the air. Nick moved away from the door, went to the porthole letting in a small shaft of daylight and opened it. Fresh air washed in, alerting Nick to the stench of sweat that his nose had grown accustomed to. He leaned against the wall, gazing out at the ocean, puzzling out the mermen’s behaviour. Why skip the ship? Why go around?
Kit re-entered the room.
“Which merman was it?”
“I am not personally acquainted with any merfolk,” Kit replied. There was a new stiffness in him. Without meeting Nick’s eyes, he stripped the bed.
“Could you see the colour of their tails?”
“They were at a considerable distance.”
Nick studied the tense line of Kit’s spine and turned from him with a sigh. He gazed out at the horizon line, watching. As always, it was empty of land, the sunset an undisturbed orange that stretched across the sky. Nick’s favourite days of the year came in summer, when Ireland got a rare two or three weeks of blistering heat. But this heat? This sun? Nick wanted it to rain. He wanted clouds to blanket the sky and turn the blue to grey.
He wanted to be home.
Kit changed the sheets and gathered the buckets, tossing all the dirty clothes into one. A faint smell of iron wafted from the pile. Nick looked down at himself. His arms were slightly red, but the skin didn’t look puffy or bothered. Nick had no idea what that was, what caused it, or if there was to be a repeat.
“There are fresh clothes for you,” Kit said. “And boiled water for you to wash.”
Nick grunted his acknowledgement.
Kit hesitated by the door, tail lashing. “Do you require assistance?” he asked. His tone hadn’t softened at all since re-entering the room, and Nick’s anger grew at the renewed distance. Anger with Kit, for reasserting that he was a prisoner, and anger with himself for feeling the way he did about that. For hating it so much.
He’d grown complacent. He’d stopped thinking of Kit as an adversary, considering him solely as a fellow prisoner. Nick knew he had good reason for thinking that, but he’d let himself forget that, even if it was under threat, Kit would do as Desre told him.
“Very well. I will send in Mini to –”
Nick shifted his weight, pressing his face closer to the window, the soft tinkle of metal on metal reaching his ears.
“You arearmed,” Kit hissed.
“Armed?”
Silence answered.
Nick twisted away from the orange sunset. Kit stared intently at him, eyes a storm of anger and determination.
Nick frowned. “I’ve just been half-conscious for hours, I’m exhausted, and now you’re acting like a total dick. I’m not in the mood for it.”
Kit’s tail, that weapon that gave away every emotion, was still. Kit was tense, his focus fixed on Nick. “You are right. You are spent, and I do not wish to worsen your condition. Hand it over.”
“I’m not armed.” Nick scowled, pushing away from the wall to face Kit. As he moved, Kit’s eyes flicked down, fixing on his trousers. Nick was too angry to find it funny, even as he realised the misunderstanding. “It’s not a weapon.”
“Hand it over.”
Gentle Kit was gone. Understanding Kit never existed. His captor stood there, demanding something that didn’t exist. The almost rescue, combined with his exhausted state, combined with Kit’s sudden switch-up on him, was too much. Nick was angry and tired, and he just wanted to be at home in bed, with his caring dad spoiling him while Laurence chattered, completely oblivious to the fact that when someone was homesick, it didn’t mean they were there to entertain him.
“Fine,” Nick said, voice coming out low and angry. He approached Kit, not stopping until he was an arm’s length away, and Kit was braced for an attack. And then he yanked the strings of his trousers free, hooked his thumbs through his underwear and outer layer, and shoved.
Kit’s nostrils flared as his eyes shot down, seeking out theweaponNick was concealing. Nick glared right at Kit’s face, watching the moment his eyes widened in realisation. Kit sucked in a sharp, horrified breath.
