Page 32 of The Deep End of Death (Twilight Lake #4)
Shay, who remained silent but conflicted, stepped in front of Tor. The Nymph reached out and placed both hands on the Kelpie’s cheeks, drawing his dark gaze to his. Shay looked up at Tor, pleading. “You don’t have to do this.”
Tor tried to look away, but Shay didn’t let him.
“ Tor ,” Shay whispered.
Tor’s lips pinched before he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Shay’s. The two males stood face to face, sharing the same breath, for a long moment before Tor pulled away.
The farrier let himself out of a stall and approached with a harried smile.
“Is this the new steed? He’ll be needing a set of shoes.” The farrier wiped his brow, his face stained with soot.
“Shoes?” Rainn stepped around Tor, his brow creased in concern.
“All the Kelpies have them. Silver shoes. Enchanted.” The farrier glanced over the stalls. “The races are close; the shoes mark the racers and help determine who crosses the line first. They also ensure good behavior. Prevent cheating. That kind of thing.”
“I don’t need shoes,” Tor said, his face blank.
The farrier shrugged. “King’s rules. Change shapes if you want the shoes. Otherwise, I’ll get the guards to take you back to the castle. Ain’t no skin off my nose.” He wiped his nose again and shuffled off down the middle aisle.
Tor’s expression shifted a dozen times in a blink before settling on resignation. “You should go to the side of the lake.” He told us as he walked after the farrier’s retreating form. “The race is going to start soon.”
“Tor!” I hissed in warning, but Tormalugh had disappeared, leaving us in the stables surrounded by Kelpies.
“How often does the Night King hold races, do you think?” Shay said as he examined the nearest stall.
“Every night, I’d wager,” Rainn replied.
“Just so.” Cormac agreed. “I doubt the castle town of Midnight offers much in the way of entertainment.”
The dark horse behind the nearest door shrunk back—her silver shoes clinked on the hard stone floor.
“Maybe it’s different above the surface,” I craned my neck to look into the stall. “But don’t horses need bedding? Somewhere soft to sleep? Aren’t Kelpies the same?”
“Perhaps their lodgings are in the castle? Suited to their two-legged forms?” Cormac suggested, eying the exit. “I don’t want to miss the race. We should hurry.”
The nearest Kelpie held my gaze for a long moment before looking away, almost ashamed.
My step faltered. “I don’t think these Kelpies are here willingly,” I murmured, nostrils flaring.
“ We aren’t here willingly.” Cormac rolled his eyes.
Rainn shook his head. “I think you’re onto something.”
“Should we open the stall doors?” I gnawed my lip. Remembering the day I’d freed Elsbeth. The female Kelpie in the stall held none of the youngest Shadowhock’s defiance. They seemed broken. “Would they even leave?”
A strange trumpeting sound echoed from outside of the stables. No doubt signaling the beginning of the race preparations. Tor did not appear from the stall, and neither did the farrier.
“Do you think the race is below the surface or on it?” Rainn wondered out loud as we walked through the trees, following the stragglers from the ballroom—their wine-covered outfits giving them away.
“Maybe we should have asked more questions,” Cormac muttered. His arms crossed over his chest as he glared at the path as if it had offended him. “I’ll be thankful once I get back in the water; I’ll tell you that much. These legs are nothing but fecking trouble.”
“Does it hurt?” I asked. “To have legs?”
“Disconcerting.” Cormac’s lips pursed. “One appendance split into two. It’s unnatural. Unseemly. A tail is a majestic thing. It sets the Mer apart. I feel like a common...”
“Undine?” I offered.
“Selkie?” Rainn grinned, speaking at the same time.
Cormac waved a hand dismissively.
The path, lined with trees, gave way to the lake's shimmering surface—a pool of starlight surrounded by a snowcapped forest. Behind us, the Midnight castle sat elevated, a single winding staircase carved into the side of the mountain.
Though beautiful, the Onyx Lake wasn’t big enough to warrant the name. Walking the path around it would have taken less than an hour.
It seemed that races were more common than I had first believed.
The Night King had a purpose-built platform decorated with thick drapes and sporting his insignia.
Surrounded by guards, the Dark King sipped wine in his private booth.
The other spectators sat on benches made of logs, shivering as the chill came from the lake.
Another bugle sounded, and a crowd of dark shapes broke through the trees to the audience's left. A beach, not a stone’s throw away.
The treeline spat out Kelpies one by one until I counted more than twenty.
They wore no bridles, no saddles or riders.
Their silver shoes flashed in the moonlight as the steeds took to the water and formed a line, stirring the lake’s surface with their long webbed tails.
I immediately recognized Tor amongst the runners, though I wasn’t sure how.
On two legs, Tor was incredibly tall. Though he was muscular and as broad as Cormac Illfinn, who boasted a soldier's physique, Tor was not the type to demand attention.
His quiet, impassive silence often spoke more than he did.
The other Kelpies avoided Tor, giving him a wide berth. Their heads dipped and their eyes forward, exhausted before the race began.
The Night King stood, tapping the side of his wine glass with a sharp nail. The sound rang out, and the low chatter cut off immediately. “On your marks!” The King called out.
The Kelpies formed a line, waiting. Everyone seemed to know their place, though Tor took longer to find a spot. I could only hope he knew what route the race would take.
He didn’t have to win. I reminded myself. He only had to race.
If the Night King was to be trusted.
As we sat with the other spectators, I clenched my fists and pressed them against my legs, buried in the abundance of ballgown. My feet hurt from the shoes—pinched and bleeding. I simply wasn’t used to wearing shoes, save for a slipper or covering.
Stop the race ! The stone demanded. The Night King is making a fool of you!
The loud voice pounded inside my skull like a hammer against a blacksmith’s anvil.
“ Shut up .” I hissed in a low voice.
Cormac shot me a glance out of the corner of his eye, confused, though he didn’t ask who I was speaking to.
Tor had suspected something was wrong, and he’d come close to discovering the stone’s existence. How could I explain that I held a piece of the High Throne in my pocket? The very throne I had lambasted them about—for failing to protect me.
The same bugle that had marked the Kelpie’s arrival also marked the beginning of the race.
So bothered by my thoughts and the internal fighting with the darkness of the stone, I jumped a foot in the air from my seat as the Kelpies took off on the water, moving as one.