Page 109 of Reign

“You were right.” Bash groaned, dodging a headbutt from Fletcher. “There are seal folk in the sea.”

I moved closer to the shoreline, squinting through the haze for a clearer view. The floating lumps had black, beady eyes, peering inland from just above the water’s surface. Their sleek, silver skin shimmered under the dwindling light as they swam toward the soldiers.

The selkies had begun their attack.

Their blubbery bodies kept them buoyant as they pounced on their victims. With powerful jaws, they seized the men, thrashing their prey violently until they were limp. The soldiers being mangled didn’t scream—as though the woman’s song had stolen their souls, leaving them hollow.

A dark figure darted across the sands. For a moment, I thought it was Dog, but it wasn’t her. Fitzroy charged heroically, wielding his sword and screaming at the top of his lungs. He leapt into the air, gripping the hilt in both hands, and drove the blade through the woman’s chest—the tip piercing out her back.

Her hypnotic song ceased instantly; her arms fell limply to her sides. I held my breath as Fitzroy withdrew the bloodstained iron. The woman collapsed, her lifeless body striking the water’s surface with a resounding slap.

Fitzroy staggered backward, retreating inland, but a vengeful selkie had other plans. The creature bounded forward, knocking Fitzroy off his feet. He landed half on the sands, half in the foamy tide, which lapped at his legs, as though the sea were salivating for his flesh.

The selkie scuttled toward Fitzroy, snarling furiously. Despite knowing I was too far to save him, I sprinted down the beach, praying that the gods would grant me speed to stop him from becoming a martyr.

“No!” Finn wailed from behind.

I heard the sand thwacking beneath Finn’s feet as he chased after me. Before I could reach Fitzroy, a spark—like a bolt of lightning—flew through the sky, striking the selkie. Its menacing expression drained away as it flopped forward, dead.

I halted my run and turned toward the cliff edge. The cloaked witches were at work, sending spells our way. Even without seeing their faces, I recognized them. Margaret stood at the forefront, with Jane and Emma clinging to her shoulders.

A knight darted across the sands to Fitzroy’s side, helping him back to his feet. The sight of him upright flushed me with relief.

The selkies, now enraged, scooted onto the shores, their webbed flippers leaving distinct marks in the wet sands. I shuddered as I noticed blood dripping from the whiskers around their murderous mouths.

The men unaffected by the song fought back valiantly, their swords striking with precision, bludgeoning the beasts to death.

I glanced inland and saw Fletcher, still caught under the spell. “You cunt,” he spat through gritted teeth. “Let go of me.”

Bash ignored Fletcher’s onslaught of insults, fully aware he was hypnotized, and fought to keep him restrained.

I attempted to bolt to Bash’s aid, but my foot slipped, and I fell to the ground. As I turned over, an animalistic hiss pierced through the winds. A selkie wriggled toward me, dragging its belly across the sands, snapping its mouth—armored with sharp teeth.

My trembling hand reached for the hilt of my sword. “Zounds!” I cried.

Frantically, I kicked at the sand, engulfing the selkie in a blanket of gritty grains. Yet it seemed unfazed, continuing its relentless prowl toward me.

“Help!” I screamed, my voice high-pitched and unmistakably feminine.

I didn’t care if everyone in Cambas discovered I was a woman; if this creature sank its teeth into me, no one would be able to tell what I once was.

As I feared the worst, Finn appeared behind the selkie, shushing me as he crept closer. As the beast opened its mouth to bite, Finn struck with a swift, downward stab—impaling the gray creature through its meaty back. Blood gushed from the wound like water from a hot spring as Finn yanked his sword free.

In a heavy-handed motion, Finn grabbed me under my arms and pulled me to my feet.

“You’re not strong enough. Go inland,” he demanded, his voice sharp with anger.

I wanted to argue, but he was right—I was a terrible fighter. Catching my breath, I watched as Finn sprinted off to aid another soldier battling a selkie farther down the shoreline.

To my slight relief, the soldiers were successfully defending Cambas, pushing the surviving selkies back into the sea. However, Bash was losing his battle to keep Fletcher on land.

“Damn you,” Fletcher spat, swinging his head into Bash’s face. A loud crack echoed across the beach as their foreheads collided. Bash yelped, releasing his grip on Fletcher to clutch his bleeding nose. Unfazed, Fletcher continued his trancelike pilgrimage toward the summoning sea.

A bloodied Bash hesitated, clearly doubting his strength to restrain Fletcher. After a moment’s pause, he removed his gloves and tossed them onto the black sands. Keeping his arms by his sides, he turned his palms to face Fletcher.

I couldn’t hear his incantation, but his mouth moved quickly while his palms glowed faintly. I glanced around the beach, wondering if anyone had noticed Bash publicly performing magic, but the men were too busy fighting to save their own friends from watery graves.

A flash of fiery auburn hair caught my eye. Red, clutching the head of a decapitated selkie in one hand and a crimsoned sword in the other, was locking his gaze onto Bash.