He pressed his shoulders into the wall, absorbing the solid support of the plaster at his back. He did not trust his memories.
His normally sharp mind was blurred with exhaustion, his head filled with the shifting world beneath the waves.
But he trusted his instincts. His gut recognized his kind. That boy . . .
His suspicions stirred and circled, mouthing over possibilities, drawn like sharks to the scent of blood.
“Cake?”
A skinny, dark-eyed boy thrust a plate under his nose.
Morgan almost recoiled. He eyed the pink and white confection cautiously. Perhaps he should eat. Food would anchor his
body, would ground him in the here-and-now. He had not paused to hunt on the long sea crossing. His stretched, depleted
body required nourishment now.
He took the plate. “Thank you.”
On the other side of the room, Conn and his consort stood with her brothers and their families. Morgan‟s lips flattened.
There was something he never thought to see, four selkies fussing over a human baby.
Bleakness settled in his bones, deeper than cold, sharper than hunger.
The world, his world, was changing around him, the ice caps melting, the oceans warming, the finfolk fading forever
beneath the wave. He had pledged himself and his people to the selkie lord, convinced they must unite to survive. But now the
selkie were allying with humans, breeding with humans, becoming more human in every way.
How could the children of the sea possibly survive that?
“Nick, your mother wants you for pictures.” Margred stood before him, full and radiant as the moon.
“Okay.” The boy darted off, threading his way through the crowded tables.
Morgan realized he was still holding a plate and set it down. “Margred. You look . . .”
Pregnant , was all he could think. With a human‟s child. Margred had chosen to forsake her nature and abandon her people
for the privilege of rutting with one man.
He felt an ache like an old wound in bitter weather. His sister, his twin, had chosen the same. He had never forgiven her.
Margred‟s lips curved. “Round?” she suggested.
“Well,” Morgan concluded. “You look very well.”
Her gaze wandered over him, frank, female, assessing. “I wish I could say the same of you.”
He bared his teeth in a shark‟s smile. “I will survive.”
“No doubt.” She touched the sleeve of the man beside her. “My husband, Caleb.”
Lucy and Dylan‟s brother, Morgan remembered, the human son of the sea witch Atargatis.
The man stuck out his hand, human fashion. Morgan steeled himself to accept his touch.
Caleb‟s grip was firm, his gaze sharp and steady. “Will you be here long?”
“No longer than I must.”
“Caleb is the island‟s police chief,” Margred said.
Ah. That accounted for the warrior‟s eyes, the interest disguised as courtesy.
“You didn‟t come for the christening,” Caleb said. “You want to see Conn.”
“Yes,” Morgan admitted shortly. How much did he know of their affairs?
Caleb nodded once and then jerked his head toward the swinging kitchen door at the back of the dining room. “I‟ll let him
know. Give me five minutes. I‟ll have him meet you out back.”
Morgan stiffened. He was not a servant to be ordered about or a rat to scurry through kitchens and skulk in alleys. But pride
must bow to expedience.
“Five minutes,” he said and left.
The alley behind the restaurant was sharp with shadows and broken glass. A whiff of clamshells and lobster carcasses
carried from a hulking iron bin across the graveled strip. Scoured into the corner of the building, incongruous against the
bricks and mortar, was a warden‟s mark: three interconnected spirals representing the domains of earth, sea, and sky.
Dylan‟s work, Morgan assumed.
He wore the same sign on a chain around his neck, the symbol of his power and his pledge, binding him to the service of
the sea king‟s son.