Page 29 of The Deep End of Death (Twilight Lake #4)

Growing up in Cruinn Castle, most of my time had been spent alone, save for the company of the Silvers.

No one knew precisely how the Silvers worked, only that they provided transportation from one point to the next.

Some spanned a stone’s throw, and others spanned kingdoms. The Silver in the Siren Queen’s stronghold was said to connect to the Tuatha Dé Danann itself—something I hadn’t believed until her identity had made itself known.

I’d never known a Silver to have more than one destination. Mirrors, by their nature, didn’t often move once placed.

The Silver in the guard's tower was non-descript.

From personal experience, Silvers tended to take on the personality of the places they led to.

Sea glass. Barnacles, or gilded edges. This silver was held in a simple wooden frame, its surface rippling like black water, with no hint of what sat on the other side.

A guard was posted, his body loose but his eyes aware as we approached the Silver.

Cillian Lane went first without prompting. I wasn’t sure if he was simply suicidal or if there was something more at play. I didn’t know the male well, if at all. In fact, his reappearance had surprised me.

My stomach contracted with nerves.

Every time I stepped further into the world, I was reminded just how small I was in the grand scheme of things.

The Night Court was the largest of the courts and the seat of the Unseelie Kingdom, which was comprised of Autumn and Winter.

Several of the smaller courts claimed Unseelie kinship—namely, the Wildfae.

The Twilight Lake sat on the border between the Night and Day Courts, but Midnight, the capital and the Unseelie Kingdom’s seat was in the center of the Night Court proper.

By comparison, the Princelings may have been royalty in the broadest sense, but the lake was tiny, and its kingdom’s tinier still.

The thought of my mother, Belisama, the Mad Queen and the God Of The Waves, residing in Cruinn of all places, seemed more and more peculiar.

Our quest to find the Siren Queen’s son wasn’t even ours. My uncle, Irvine, had made the bargain before his death. It was a flimsy excuse, but it had saved my life.

The Siren Queen—Nuada—had sent us across the Night Court for a reason.

My mother had spoken prophecy in her last moments, and the High Throne had granted her more foresight still. It would make sense for Nuada to have seen something.

I only wished that the Siren Queen would have thought to share it with me.

After Cillian Lane disappeared through the Silvers, Cormac stepped forward, puffing his chest and striding to the mirror like a man off to battle.

Tor and Shay went next.

Then Rainn, until it was only me and a single guard as I stared at the mirror.

I held my breath, stepping into the rippling surface like a dark pool of water turned on its side. The Silvers didn’t feel the same as being submerged in water. No scales or pearls appeared on my skin.

No, the Silvers felt like falling through starlight. My stomach lifted to my throat, and just when I thought I would vomit, I stumbled onto solid ground. My vision tilted sideways, but I remained on my feet.

Rainn, who had gone before me, was closest, reaching out to grip my shoulders when my body pitched to the side.

The room was silent.

Several guards circled us, their swords pointed level with our necks.

Their uniforms were made of tarnished silver, with a pattern of moon and stars on the chest plate.

“Line up!” The guard at the front bore a midnight blue tassel on the hilt of his sword—the only thing that separated him from the others.

Cillian Lane sauntered forward, his arms outstretched like the villain of some play. His lips pulled up in a grin as he opened his mouth to speak.

The guard drew his sword back and slashed the redheaded male across the cheek. An arch of coppery blood sliced through the air and landed on the marble wall, not enough to drip but enough to mar the pristine surface.

Another guard stepped forward, ignoring the sword of his comrade. “Have you any idea what you’ve done!” The other guard hissed, taking off his helmet and tossing it to the side. “You fool. You utter fool. The Dark King will have your head.” He told Tassel-hilt.

“Step back and retain your position,” Tassel-hilt commanded.

Cillian groaned, his hand to his face.

The remaining guards ignored Tassel-hilt, who spluttered behind the guard of his helmet like a hermit crab in a coughing fit.

The guards attended to Cillian with delicate hands, ushering him away. Barks of ‘ Medical’ and ‘ Emergency’ could be heard. I exchanged glances with Rainn, confused.

We were prisoners, weren’t we?

The remaining guard whispered in Tassel-hilt’s ear, and the man went pale, dropping his blood-stained sword.

Tassel-hilt’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water as he remained frozen in a single spot.

The other guard shook his head sadly and stepped around the traumatized man to approach us.

“I will show you to your rooms.” The guard stated plainly.

“I’m here to stand trial in front of the king for the crime of being a demon.” Shay’s chin jutted out as he met the guard's eyes.

The guard pushed his face guard up, studying Shay with curious detachment. “Your group smells like old seaweed and brothel incense.” He said steadily. “You will bathe, and then you will have your audience with the king.”

Shay’s brows lifted, though the rest of his face remained impassive.

It seemed that the Nymph had expected to be executed on sight.

Something deeper was at play, and I sensed that Cillian Lane had a lot to do with it.

“This might be my final night in the Aos Sí,” Shay said, unusually depressed. He picked up the water jug from the tray and poured himself a glass.

Rainn, who usually leaned into dramatics with extraordinary energy, simply rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue.

“If I am destined to go to the Tuatha Dé Danann, will you call my spirit to this plane, every Samhain?” Shay continued. “Light a bonfire in my name...”

“For feck sake, you’re not going to die.” Cormac snatched the tray from Shay’s reach, placing it on the table. “You’re no more a demon than I am.”

I stretched my arm, quickly grabbing one of the sugared lemon candies from the bowl. “To be fair, Mer are the demons of the water,” I said before placing a candy on my tongue and letting it dissolve.

“Excuse me!?” Cormac’s face flushed red.

I ignored him and grabbed another candy. Despite our perilous location, I was more relaxed than I had been in days. I suspected it had everything to do with Rainn, Tor, and Shay being safely in front of me.

“My mother used to say that the Mer were once sailors that angered the gods.” I reached for a cup of water.

“As Belisama is God Of The Waves, Manannán is said to protect the sailors. One day, a group of fishermen took to the Great Ocean and found themselves blown off course by a horrible storm. It had been weeks since they had seen the land, and not a fish to be seen. They were brought to a lagoon filled with fish in every color. Every type. The sailors believed they had died and gone to the Tuatha Dé Danann, but their hunger was very real.” I took a sip from my cup.

“Apparently, the sailors had lost their nets in the storm and took to the water with spears in hand. But the first fish let out a human scream and pleaded for its life.”

Rainn’s eyes widened.

Tor pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know where this is going.”

Cormac crossed his arms over his chest, looking away as if he wasn’t listening.

“Half delirious with hunger and thirst, they had killed a dozen fish before they realized what they had done.” My lips pinched together.

“Manannán or some may call him Lir, had many daughters. The sailors had stumbled upon their private lagoon in a state between life and death. Both in the Aos Sí and the Tuatha Dé Danann.”

“I don’t expect Manannán Mac Lir was too happy about that.” Shay let it a low whistle, finally drawn out of his fugue. Nymphs loved a good story, and I couldn’t deny that I had hoped to entice him from his depression.

“Manannán’s daughters weren’t dead,” Tor stated plainly. “If I recall correctly.”

I nodded in agreement. “Manannán cursed the sailors to take the form of the fish they were so ready to eat.” I continued.

“But his daughter’s begged for clemency for the dying sailors.

The angry god decided the sailors would only be fish when they touched the water, hoping they would never venture into his sea again. ”

“Our tails were a gift from the gods!” Cormac spluttered, abandoning the pretense of disinterest.

“The sailors lived and breathed the water anyway; it was considered a gift,” I told them. “My mother said that the cursed Fae took to the water and never returned. I guess the curse weakened enough at some point that they became both fish and Fae simultaneously.”

“How many stories did your mother teach you?” Rainn sat down on the bed, kicking up his feet.

My cheeks warmed at the question. “A fair few.” I conceded.

As we spoke, Tor drifted across the room, deep in thought, as he silently let himself out of the balcony door.

“All this talk of gods makes me wonder about the Nymph heritage.” Shay tapped his chin. “A demonic matriarch is all well and good, but what of their partners? You can’t make younglings with just a woman.”

“Maybe demons can?” Rainn said, stuffing more lemon candies into his mouth.

“I don’t think so?” Shay’s brow creased. “Besides, Nymph bloodlines vary so wildly. Surely, if Cydaea was the grandmother of an entire creed, we would share her abilities? As it stands, I am the only Nymph that can breathe underwater.”

“I assume the eyes,” I waved a hand in front of my face, “Are a collective Nymph trait?”

Shay thought for a moment. “Not as many change as vastly as mine do. Often, they change to a pale blue at times of heightened emotion.”

“Food for thought,” Cormac said as he leaned on the wall.