Page 9 of Nyall

You’d better come down here and dispatch me, you facking turncoat, for once I heal and free myself, your belly, ’tis the first I’ll gut. Aye, and drape you in your insides before I tell the enchantress what you did to me.

Most of the night she had considered doing as their fallen leader now suggested in various ways, most merciful and quick. Unlike Dearg, Speal had mostly killed to protect herself and the Cait Sith, and she knew the little fiend would make good on her ghastly threat. Indeed, the moment their injured leader regained enough strength to break free of her bonds, she would tear through the island and the very world itself, if need be, to take her vengeance.

Both guards gave Speal a look of mute appeal as she approached the hatch. She smiled at them before she climbed down into the hold.

Since coming back to the island after failing yet again to prevail over the MacMar, the Cait Sith had had little to do but eat, drink and sleep. Their sovereign, the Fae enchantress Derdrui, had barricaded herself in the captain’s cabin on the boat to torment mortals they brought to entertain her, which was her manner of sulking. For much of that time Dearg had lain senseless with a grievous head injury. Their dismal situation tempted Speal to order the guards to do the work for her. They’d be only too happy to wrap the treacherous Dearg in roped stones before they dumped her into the water. Or they could set fire to the vessel, which might even end the enchantress as well as their crazed leader.

Fiacail, their former leader murdered by Dearg, would have known what to do.

Speal took down one of the lanterns and carried it over to the cage where they kept mortals captured for Derdrui’s amusement, and held the light so that it illuminated the current prisoner. The small Cait Sith had wedged herself into a corner, and all the blood on her chains as well as her person had dried and darkened. Due to weakness she could not yet shift into the body of one of the pretty mortals she had slain, and thus remained in her true form, like a small stray feline that had been shaved of its fur.

“Fair morning.” Dearg cocked her head as she smirked up at her. “Shall you beg for my mercy before you free me? ’Tis possible I may forgive you.”

“I dinnae desire your pardon.” Speal reached into the pocket of her skirt, removing the hunk of bacon she’d brought with her and tossed it into the cage.

“I cannae eat with my hands manacled.” The tiny Cait Sith scowled at the meat. “Besides, that smells rotten.”

“Aye, ’tis.” She took out another hunk, which she hurled at Dearg’s lap. “I found a keg of pork left to spoil in the sun. Only ’tisnae for you.”

“Who should wish dine on rotted meat?” the other shifter demanded.

“No’ who, Sister,” Speal gently corrected. “What.”

The rats on board had kept out of sight since she’d cleared out all the stores and brought their wounded leader below to be chained and caged. As Speal suspected they’d grown close to starving. A handful now appeared on the edges of the lantern’s shadow; their pink noses held high as they caught the scent of the spoiled meat.

Dearg went very still as she saw them, and then released a giggle. “You prove yourself my sister today. Only you ken they shallnae touch me, only the meat.”

“Aye, likely so. Only I shall invite our sovereign come and watch the new amusement we’ve arranged. She can easily enchant the vermin to overcome their distaste for half-Fae flesh.” She crouched down to look into the other shifter’s eyes. “Shall her affection for you prove weightier than her need for such diversions? I wonder.”

The little Cait Sith’s lower lip trembled.

“Kill me, then. Swiftly.” As Speal stood and began to walk to the ladder she cried out, “What do you want?”

She turned and looked into Dearg’s tear-filled eyes.

“Name me leader before our sovereign. Pledge me your loyalty, and do as I bid. Swear on your miserable facking life that you shall never again harm any you call blood-kin. Do thus, and we shall forgive you.” She went to the cage, unlocking it. “Only take care remember we shall never forget. Ken that should you betray us again, we shall make your end far worse than any rat might.”

In their minds all of the other Cait Sith added their hearty agreement with dozens of Ayes, along with the ends they imagined for the little shifter.

Dearg struggled to stand. As she did so the chains that were wrapped around her dragged at her thin limbs and hunched shoulders. “Shall you believe me?”

“We’re your family, you wee horror.” Speal took hold of her arms. “Keep your word, and we shall protect you with our lives. Break your vow, and you shall suffer as you never imagined you could.”

The wounded Cait Sith repeated the vows, both by voice and by thought so that the others could hear her. Once she had finished, she knelt before Speal and bowed her head.

Breaking Dearg’s spirit made her belly sour, but she kept her promise and released the small shifter before she carried her out of the hold like a babe. Once on deck she nodded to the guards, who followed her down the gangway and to the inn where they had been sleeping since returning to Orkney.

“Bathe her and find some clean garments for her to wear,” she told the guards after she put Dearg in one of the guest rooms. “If she betrays her word, end her.”

From there she walked to the tavern where the rest of the Cait Sith had gathered, a place that reeked of spilled spirits and blood. The bodies of those slain had thankfully been removed to be burned, but the bottles of whiskey her sisters had emptied during the night yet lay on the stained floor rushes.

She drew a tankard of ale from a barrel before she went over to sit in the center of her bleary-eyed sisters. “Teine, take two others to the kitchens at the inn and prepare a morning meal for us.”

The one-eyed Cait Sith rose from her chair, pointed with her remaining hand at two of the shifters who still wore the forms of the tavern maids they had slain, and left with them.

Speal regarded the others for a long moment. “Dearg’s managed, at least for now. What say you?”

“I’ll say you need drink whiskey, no’ ale,” one of the younger shifters muttered.