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Neither Tor nor Rainn said anything about Shay, the Nymph, and I felt almost too scared to ask.
There was something they weren’t telling me. Something that had cast a heavy shadow over us all.
When Rainn first arrived, I’d been dealing with his presence. Knowing that of all the princelings, he had been the kindest in his own way.
But it was more challenging to be around Tor. He had used his magic to remove my memory; he had been imperative to the plan to attack the frosted sands. His magic had taken advantage of a situation where I was the most frightened I had ever been. Tor was a Kelpie, so even as we walked silently through the stronghold, I knew he felt my emotions, feeding on the turmoil that stirred up my blood.
The last time I had seen Tor, he had been between my legs, inside of me.
When I had run from Tarsainn, I had left the lake and the princelings behind. Whatever prophecy may have tied us together meant nothing when I was running for my life.
Imighthave felt attracted to the princelings, but it was how a child might view a coral. Beautiful, but the moment you touched it, it would embed in your skin. Itchy. Painful.
Those relationships needed to be exorcised, like cutting away dead tissue from a wound.
Whatever prophecy my mother had spewed before she had taken her own life meant nothing. I might have fallen on my back for Tor and Rainn, but I told myself I wouldn’t do it again.
I had been weak in the hall of silvers, high on adrenaline from the Kraken’s pursuit.
I had never seen a mate in my future, not truly, though every moment leading up to the migration had been spent thinking about what would happen if I did find my Shíorghrá.
Now that I knew I would not reach my magical majority, I could move on. There would be no fated mate. That wasn’t depression speaking; that was pragmatism.
Now that I knew I wouldn’t be blessed with magic aside from my way with the water, I could look forward and hope that whatever happened when Tarsainn and Cruinn clashed, I wouldn’t be targeted by the victor.
Once we reached the ornate doors to the hall of silvers, Tor gestured for Rainn to go ahead. Tor searched the corridor for guards, and when he realized the hall was empty, he turned back to me.
I felt my hackles rise in response to my internal monologue rather than any sign from Tormalugh.
“Why are you here, Tor?” I asked, feeling the weight of my own exasperation dragging my words. I looked up at him, feeling so tired of it all. “Rainn came to warn me about Cormac’s impending attack on Cruinn. You didn’t need to come. For all you knew, I truly am the conniving witch the Mer-king believes me to be. I did kill Lady Bloodtide. That fact is tried and true. We don’t owe each other anything. You and I, more than the others. My uncle took your sister, so I understand why you rallied to attack the frosted sands.I understand. But I am sick of filling my head with equations about whose suffering outweighs the other. We are even, Tor. At least in my eyes. We had a moment back in Tarsainn, and I thought we put it all behind us—”
“You think I traveled a week on four legs, across brackish water, alone and cold because I wanted to warn you of an attack on a city and king that left you for dead?” Tor stepped closer, and I had to crane my neck to hold his gaze. His words were measured, but I felt the tumult under the surface, like a storm churning the waves.
“Didn’t you?” I sounded breathless to my ears, my chest heaving as my body reacted to him as if waking up from a deep sleep.
Being around Tormalugh affected me differently than Rainn. Rainn and I had humor, smiles and laughs, and a warmth like the blanket he had gifted me.
Tormalugh was much like his animal form. Being around him was like holding onto the reigns of a wild horse.
I’d forgotten what he smelled like. My nose had been dulled under the water, but in the dry air of the canyon, he smelled like tart berries and sweat. So distinctly male, raising every hair on my body and pricking something animalistic under my skin.
“You are the most obtuse female I have ever met.” Tor’s dark eyes dipped down, taking me in almost lazily. “Do you enjoy it? Making me explain myself?”
“Yes,” I admitted, licking my lips.
His eyes flicked down to my tongue, and his nostrils flared. “I thought so.”
“You didn’t come to the Cradle for me,” I stated. “I know you didn’t.”
“I did.” Tor cocked his head to the side. “Did you forget what it felt like when I was between your legs? Inside of you to the hilt. I’m wounded. I thought that I left a mark.”
I scoffed and tilted my head so I didn’t have to look at him. “You need to go back to the Reeds.”
Tor reached out, his knuckle brushing my chin and urging my eyes back to his. “I can protect you. From Cormac. From the Undine King.”
“Why would you do that?” I breathed. “We’re enemies.”
“Are we?” He stepped even closer. His hard chest met mine. I felt his body heat, despite the fabric of his leather shirt. Dark as a raven's wing, like his Kelpie form’s coat.
