Page 16 of The Deep End of Death (Twilight Lake #4)

A piece of the remaining ship peeled away from the hull, floating away as the Thiggen approached en masse. Tormalugh’s face stretched, his skin turning darker and his eyes taking on the yellowish glow of his Kelpie form.

Shay eyed me as if I’d gone mad. “I saw you race toward Charybdis and jump into her mouth, and you’re scared of ale-snatching lower fae?”

“You heard what Cillian said.” I stood by Tor as his body shifted, and he landed on all fours, his horse form twice as tall as I was. “They’re going to bring a storm down on our heads if we don’t jump ship. I don’t need you to tell me how to flee.”

Tor let out a whinny, and I used the stickiness of his Kelpie coat to climb the side of his body and settle onto his back.

The Kelpie looked out to the sea of Thiggen—was he as frightened as I was?

Tormalugh often wore an impassive mask, hiding his emotions until it seemed they didn’t exist—but I knew he felt more deeply than all the others put together.

Once I had settled on Tor’s back, he jumped over the side. His hooves skidded over the rolling water as he raced across the surface as if it were made of glass.

My hair whipped out behind me, and I glanced over my shoulder, watching as the others dove into the water.

The boat broke in two like an egg cracked down the middle.

One second, the ghostly hull of the sail-less ship hid the Thiggen from view.

The next, the two pieces of bloated wood drifted apart, revealing hundreds of shadows on the water—their glowing eyes watching as we raced away.

The Thiggen swept out, a wave of their own, climbing on top of the wooden husk that was once the Glittering Diamond. A plague of barnacles, as the boat began to sink, scouring every inch of the wood for their tithe.

Tor’s magic kept me in my seat as we raced from the boat.

The water was angry, the foam white, and the waves sharp and heavy.

We kept running, but the Thiggen remained on the ship, coating the wood like slime.

The Dark Sea called to me. I felt each wave like a stab behind my eyes.

I was Undine to my core. I needed water to live. My lips were chapped, and water beckoned, telling me I would be safer below the surface.

I couldn’t give in.

The magic of the High Throne was the only thing stopping me from falling to pieces. The only reason I could do anything. It would protect me like it had protected me against the pirates.

Shay had told me, many moons before, that I pretended to be a weak thing. Weak and small. That I could be more .

I didn’t know if that was true.

All my life, I had been conditioned to bow to others. To be silent.

Where did my personality end and the conditioning begin?

I let go of Tor’s mane and put my head in my hands.

The High Throne was painful. It was the reason for my many scars. The jagged teeth marks lining my forearms and my legs.

Even the stone, shrieking in my pocket, left me with a dull ache in my temples that wouldn’t go.

I pressed the heels of my palms into my eye sockets.

I needed to just stop.

As if he had heard me, Tor’s hooves skidded to a standstill, a spray of water arching over us as he turned to face the ship.

“Tor?”

I’d never heard a water horse scream before. The sound was like nails against stone. Shadowy claws erupted from the water, pawing at Tor’s legs and dragging him down.

The Thiggen had caught us.

I screamed, throwing myself forward and gripping Tor’s mane as he reared on his back legs, flinging one of the Thiggen into the air.

The creature had no face save for a gaping hole of a mouth without teeth.

The Thiggen landed with a splash a few feet away, but there were more where that came from.

The water seeped into my leggings. We were sinking.

Whatever magic Kelpies used to run on the water had dissolved with the lack of speed.

Fear stole my breath, and I hugged Tor’s neck as the Thiggen piled on top of us as if we were the ship's hull. Water clogged my mouth as I tried to scream but couldn’t. The press of their slimy bodies, climbing over us like furniture.

Tor kicked his legs as the sea turned red with blood.

Tormalugh could drain the Thiggen of their lives, but his Kelpie form was too spooked. Tor writhed in pain as the Thiggen bit down on his flank. I reached out, clawing the slimy bodies of the Thiggen, but my blows did nothing.

One harsh jerk, and I was bucked free of Tor’s back.

I screamed as they pushed him under the water, the sound a mixture of terror and rage.

I didn’t think as I reached for the water around me and pulled .

Need... Blood... Feed ... My vision turned red around the edges. My head swam, and the sounds of the roaring waves were replaced by a strange kind of stillness—and the voice of the High Throne. Unlike anything I’d heard before.

I first thought it was my imagination before my tongue turned dry in my mouth, and the blood in the water made my stomach churn with a deep-seated craving. I wanted the blood. I needed to feed it to the water.

So... Hungry ...

The Thiggen felt different. Parched, just as I was, but not without blood. It rushed through their bodies, through their organs, and to their limbs.

It would be so easy to just... Pull it towards me.

I couldn’t see Tor. The Thiggen had dragged him under the surface. But I didn’t need to see him, not when I could feel his magic like low-hanging fruit in my mind’s eye.

Just the Thiggen, I reminded myself. Tormalugh is too precious to waste...

The thought jerked me from whatever haze had claimed me.

My fingers shook as I clenched my hands into fists, kicking my feet to keep my head above water.

I’d almost torn Tormalugh apart. My own Shíorghrá.

Tormalugh’s head broke the surface, no longer in his Kelpie form. His dark eyes roved, panicked until they settled on me, and he realized I was safe.

The water was red with Thiggen blood.

The plague of starving water-fae were gone. The stone pulled back, sated. Happy .

Tormalugh didn’t know how close he had come to being foam, just like the Thiggen.

I swam towards him, tears leaking from my eyes. Guilt clogged my throat, and I flung my arms out, falling into Tor’s embrace.

He held me close in the blood-red water as I cried on his shoulder.

I’d almost killed him.

My Shíorghrá.