Page 2 of The Deep End of Death (Twilight Lake #4)
Cormac Illfinn POV
The Mer-King stood on the edge of the cavernous ballroom, ignoring the dancers as they twirled like a deadly whirlpool, arms raised to the ceiling.
As Cormac studied the limestone walls and the dusty floor, he wondered why the Siren Queen had made her home in Belisama’s cradle—a canyon away from the sea cliffs and the Siren Cove.
Sirens had wings. They relished the open sky.
It made no sense to him. Just as it made no sense that the Siren Queen, with her beady dark eyes and wings like gossamer, was Nuada.
Nuada. God of the Skies. Once ruler of the Tuatha Dé Danann.
The Siren Queen sat in her nest, perched amongst a bed of twigs and furs, as she leered over her subjects. The Sirens, oblivious to the god in their midst, continued drinking wine and dancing in a strange circle, kicking up dust.
Cormac sighed, leaning against the stone wall, away from the celebrations.
The others were busy guarding Maeve’s room. Even he had to admit that his friends smelled ripe, seemingly forgoing bathing in solitary to Maeve Cruinn and her desire to avoid a hairbrush and soap.
It had been a week since they had stepped through the Silvers, transversing miles in a blink. Cormac didn’t want to admit it, but he didn’t like the sensation. Traveling through the Silvers felt like being torn apart and poured back together, drop by drop.
He felt her attention through his fugue.
The Siren Queen met his gaze. She drew herself to standing like an ominous spirit.
Though he kept his eyes on hers, he didn’t see her move.
One moment, the Siren Queen stood amongst her nest; the next, she placed her hand on his shoulder—Cormac let out a dainty squeak, though he didn’t think himself capable of such a sound.
“Illfinn.” The Siren Queen crooned. “Do you not wish to partake?”
“In the dancing?” Cormac quirked a brow.
The Siren Queen’s lip ticked with the hint of a smile. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
Cormac didn’t know what to say, so he remained silent.
“Do you know why we live in caves, Illfinn?” Her voice was sharp enough to cut skin.
His eyes flicked to the side, though he did not turn away from the dancers. “Hmm?” He didn’t want to admit that he was frightened. Had she been in his thoughts? He didn’t know the extent of her power and had no intention of asking.
Too many fecking gods .
Cormac thought back to Balor’s face, like puckered coral, made of emptiness, and he shuddered.
“I’ve wondered why Sirens would choose a cave or all places,” Cormac said dryly, shaking his head to clear away the image of Balor’s face.
The Siren Queen smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes.
“I’m cursed, it seems, to leave every home I try to make.
” She sighed. “The land-fae of the Night Court did not always hunt us. They did not trawl the water, hoping to spot the golden glint of our wings so they might shoot us from the sky. Time once was that the Sirens were feared.”
“You are still feared,” Cormac assured her, speaking honestly.
The Siren Queen did not acknowledge his words. “The Dark King has a bounty on all Sirens. The land-fae of Everfall, those pirates, ripped Darragh’s wings from his back. Dessicrating his corpse.” She spat. “Though they couldn’t have killed him. They’re much too weak for that.”
“You want us to find Daaragh’s killer.” Cormac nodded. “That is the bargain you made with Irvine and the price for intervening on our behalf with Balor.”
The Siren Queen cocked her head to the side. “Darragh is long dead. I simply wish to know the names of those that dealt the blow. And if you bring me to his wings from their place behind the Dark King’s throne, I will grant you a boon, Cormac Illfinn.”
His heart skipped a beat. He didn’t dare question her words. A boon? From Nuada? A god of the Tuatha Dé Danann?
He had already made a deal with Balor in exchange for Maeve’s hand in marriage. He wanted peace for Tarsainn, for the Mer, and would do anything to get it.
He tried to feel guilty. He really did.
But a boon?
“How long has it been since they took your son?” Cormac kept his voice even.
“I forget how many years.” She said wistfully. “Too long.”
“Where was he taken?”
“Everfall.” The Siren Queen turned to him, and her eyes were even more vast up close.
Filled with ancient knowledge and endless pain.
“You all need to leave as soon as you are able. As far from the lake as you can. Balor will awaken the cache of beasts they have stashed under the lake. Whatever home you had there is gone. I guarantee it.”
The change in subject was so quick that Cormac struggled to parse together her words.
The Siren Queen had already begun to walk away, her black gossamer wings dragging behind her like a cape.
“I will arrange a boat, and you will leave in the morning.” The Siren Queen declared, glancing over her shoulder. “Send the Nymph to me. I have something for him.”
Cormac hated walking on two legs more than he hated delivering bad news.
He was the King of Tarsainn, not some shark-shit delivery fae.
But he wasn’t going to argue with the Siren Queen. Even the thought conjured the image of his headless body. Either the product of his overactive imagination or a clear message that Nuada had planted in his brain. Either way, Cormac wasn’t going to take chances.
The Siren caves were a labyrinth, with faelight bobbing just enough to cast eerie shadows at every corner. Every other hallway seemed to lead to a vast cavern, with a fall that would likely kill him. A stronghold designed for people with wings that could simply glide across the death drop.
All the halls looked the same. Craggy, beige stone, and dry, dusty floors.
His thighs burned, and he was unused to the exercise. Cormac longed for the cool press of water. Finally, he turned a corner and found a familiar silhouette before a door.
Tormalugh Shadowhock, the King of the Kelpies—and a male he had once considered his friend.
However, he was sure Tor would denounce their relationship if Cormac pressed the issue. Stabbing a male’s Shíorghrá tended to have that effect.
It seemed that Cormac’s list of sins had surpassed what his friends would tolerate. He often told himself that every action he made was for the good of the Mer, but when his only friends had turned their backs on him, it was hard to remain stalwart.
Tormalugh was a Kelpie. A water horse with the ability to sense and feed on emotions.
Rumor had it that Kelpies could feed on their own emotions, which might have explained why Tor seemed to have no emotion at all—his face permanently resting in a strange, impassive mask.
Since Cormac had known Tor, he had always been a little frightened of the Kelpie, though he would never admit it. Cormac knew he could win against Tor in a hand-to-hand battle, but Tor could trample him to mush in his horse form.
“Are you going to skulk in the shadows all evening?” Tor asked dryly. “I can find you a seat if those stick legs are tired.”
“Stick legs?” Cormac spluttered, forgetting his tangled thoughts.
“You don’t use them.” Tor shrugged. “They are thinner than they should be compared to your overworked shoulders.”
Cormac brushed his hands down the front of his tunic, affronted at Tor’s comments about his body. “I don’t need legs when I have a perfectly good tail.”
Tor’s lips quirked, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “Missing the water?” He guessed.
Cormac rolled his shoulders, feeling uncomfortable in his own skin. It seemed Tor had seen right through him again. “The Siren Queen has procured a boat for us. We leave for Everfall tomorrow.”
Tor’s brow arched. “It's rather strange that she is so excited for us to leave. Her eldest son has been gone for a thousand years. A few days, weeks, or months won’t make much difference.”
Cormac gave him a look. “I’m inclined to listen to Nuada .” He used the god’s name for emphasis. “She said that Balor will come for us.”
“Hmm.” Tor’s lips pinched as if his unspoken thoughts had a bitter aftertaste. “Balor will come for Maeve, you mean.”
Cormac’s eyes flicked to the closed door of Maeve’s suite. “Yes.”
“ You are Balor’s spy.” Tormalugh kept his voice light, though his words were loaded with scorn. “Tell me, do you think she will chase us across the Night Court?”
“Why does she need Maeve at all?” Cormac countered. “Balor… Elaine Cruinn has ruled the Undine for many years at Irvine’s side. What’s changed? Why does she need Maeve now?”
A dark look crossed the Kelpie’s face. “You are Balor’s spy,” Tor repeated. “You have no right to that information.”