stayed on Sanctuary.”
Morgan turned. The selkie prince regarded him from the shadow of the kitchen doorway, a tall man with eyes the color of
rain.
Morgan was in no mood for joking. “Your concern overwhelms me, lord. Or it would, had it moved you to remain on
Sanctuary.”
“I promised Lucy we would visit her family when her brother‟s child was born.”
“And your consort‟s whims take precedence over all other claims to your attention.”
The prince‟s gaze cooled to frost. “Have a care, Morgan. Lucy is the targair inghean. ”
The targair inghean , the daughter of the prophecy. She might yet prove to be the salvation of the sea folk—or she might
be the biggest mistake Conn had ever made.
“No one doubts your consort‟s powers, lord. Only her priorities.” He was too tired to be subtle, too frustrated to guard his
tongue or weigh his words. “This is not the first time she has put her ties to her family above her duty to our people.”
“Her people, too.”
“Then let her act to save them,” Morgan snapped. “Before there is nothing left to save. The children of the sea are being
lost, our people disappearing beneath the wave, our pure blood being diluted by this flood of humankind. We need her on
Sanctuary. We need you both on Sanctuary.”
“I left you in charge.”
“You left Griff in charge.” Another slight, another sting.
“He is warden of Caer Subai,” Conn pointed out with cool logic. “But you were in command of the work party.”
“ „In command.‟ ” Failure was bitter as brine in his mouth. “Tell me to command the sea foam or issue orders to mackerel.
I‟d have better luck.”
Conn‟s brows raised. “They do not obey you.”
“They obey, ” Morgan said savagely. He could enforce obedience. “They do not stay. We are not day laborers. We are the
children of the sea. We flow as the sea flows. I cannot explain to them, I cannot inspire them, to break their hands and their
hearts hauling stone. Day after day, they are confined to one place, one task, and each other‟s company. And every night more
slip away to sea.”
“You cannot fault them for that. Not if they come back.”
“Most come back,” Morgan said. “Most of the time. The greatest loss is among the finfolk. We are not anchored to the land
as selkies are.”
The finfolk had no sealskins. They were true shape-shifters, able to take the form of any creature of the sea. But their fluid
nature made them even more susceptible to the pull of the deep.
“I do not have the patience—Griff does not have the power—to hold them,” Morgan confessed.
Conn drew a breath and loosed it. In his eyes, Morgan saw the burden of his kingship. Morgan had been trapped for months
on Sanctuary. The selkie prince had ruled alone from his tower for nine centuries.
Alone, until Lucy.
“Then we will return,” Conn said quietly.
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
Morgan bowed his head, hiding his exhaustion. “I will be ready.”
“You do not come with us.”
The simple command shook Morgan to a rare apology. “My lord, if I spoke out of turn . . .”
Conn sighed. “You spoke the truth. But you are in no shape to face another crossing so soon. You need time to recover.”
“I am well enough.”
“We cannot afford to lose another of your line.”
Morgan‟s body went rigid. His temples throbbed. He did not need the selkie prince to remind him he was the last blood
born of his kind.
Unbidden, the boy popped back into his head, the sullen mouth, the glinting eyes.
Morgan opened his mouth. Shut it. His suspicions were too new to voice to Conn, his ambition too raw, his hope too
fragile.