Page 15 of The Merman’s Betrothal (Outcast Hearts #2)
Having had his eyes opened by these columns of numbers scored onto clay, Fionn decided to see some of it in action.
He visited the palace kitchen first. It was a sprawling complex that fanned out from the lower wings of the palace, comprised of many alcoves dedicated to the filleting, de-scaling and gutting of fish.
Fionn spoke to the Minchmen working there (who were evidently baffled as to why a prince was interviewing them) and learned how the food was prepared at each station.
He inspected the cauldron of foraged tribute, a three-metre wide bronze vessel from which all the individual delicacies were sorted by hand.
The Minchmen doing the sorting were foragers themselves. Fionn pressed them with questions, determined to understand every aspect. No one would be able to call him ignorant after this.
Foraging was an activity that Fionn had assumed every Minchman devoted some time to in order to fill their own family pots as well as the palace’s, but he was surprised to learn that the professional foragers supported a much larger portion of their community beyond this.
The old and infirm, of course. But also the artisans, and the healers, and the rustic shamans who dealt in smaller, everyday magics than the grand Court Shaman.
And also the smaller farmers, like Neacel’s uncles, who bred modest collections of crabs, lobsters, and sea snails without needing to roam too far from home.
Then, a kitchen porter (who was clearly beginning to feel exasperated by the prince’s over-enthusiastic inspection) invited Fionn to view a shipment that had arrived from further afield. It contained anchovies, barracuda, red mullet, and other species more common in warmer seas than the Minch.
These shipments were delivered by… not exactly Minchmen. Not any more. Once you left the safety of the Minch you might still be Bluefolk, but now you were Wandering Bluefolk, untied to any one ocean or strait.
Fionn had to resist pressing these Wanderers for stories of their travels.
One of them passed him in the kitchen—a grizzled looking man with a scar sliced across his densely tattooed face.
From what Fionn could read in his brief glimpse of the tattoos, the traveller had encountered a swarm of sea serpents and lived to tell the tale.
And then some deliveries came from other sea dwellers. Other types of merfolk, not even remotely related to the Minchmen. Some of them had tail fins, for one thing.
Eventually, Fionn’s reluctant kitchen guide presented him with a platter of exquisite samples for all the food he’d seen, along with a meaningful look and a nod at the door. Fionn belatedly took the hint and left while thoughtfully chewing on a rare and colourful sea cucumber.
When he finally made his way to his sleeping chamber, Fionn’s head was overfull to bursting with supply chains and trade links and a world far beyond the confines of his humble Minch. What would it be like to see more of it for himself?
Rory was a part of this gigantic food chain within his human kingdom.
Fionn’s new knowledge threw his distaste of humans into a new and dizzying light.
Because, if he was really being truthful, he only disliked humans because he blamed them for causing the ancient bargain that spawned his Redfolk betrothal.
For weakening the Bluefolk kingdom in the first place.
And yet, look how strong and far-reaching it was.
There was still so much Fionn felt he needed to learn. So many ways he could serve his people better, if only he understood them better. And if he wanted any chance of being able to do so, then he needed to thwart his Redfolk marriage by all means necessary.
So he had to understand Rory better, too. He would put aside his biases and his doubts about their soul bond and pursue him with the utmost vigour. Because Rory was his only way out to a better future—whether either of them liked it or not.
* * *
Fionn decided to find Rory again the next day. He was more cautious in his approach this time.
He started before dawn, making his way to the Ullapool harbour, and scanned the dark hulls above for the shape of Rory’s boat.
It wasn’t long after the sun’s first rays had broken through the water that Fionn detected movement above.
Apparently Rory liked to start early. Fionn approved.
At least Rory wasn’t one of those humans who lazed around in their house dwellings all day doing…
whatever it was that humans did inside them.
He followed Rory’s fishing boat on its route out of the loch. It wasn’t long before Fionn recognised the patch of water they were headed for: it was where Rory had dropped his creels the day before. He must be coming to pick them up.
Swimming on ahead, easily racing Rory’s trundling vessel, Fionn inspected the mesh pots lying on the seabed. There were a good number of spider crabs and lobsters among the incarcerated. Presumably Rory would be pleased.
He swam up to the orange buoy that moored the line of creels to the surface. Fionn reasoned that Rory might be more receptive if he wasn’t taken by surprise, so he rose into the open air and waited for Rory to arrive. As the boat drew near, he waved.
He identified Rory’s silhouette in the little cabin at the helm. It seemed to stiffen.
The boat slowed to a stop as it drew alongside the buoy and Rory, ashen-faced, appeared on the deck. ‘What do you want?’
His tone immediately rankled Fionn. Combative, like he thought Fionn really had come back to fight him after yesterday’s tirade.
Stay true to the mission, Fionn told himself. He attempted a smile, though he suspected it looked rather forced. ‘I wish to make up for yesterday. There is a gap in our understanding of one another and I am here to fill it.’
‘To fill what, now?’ Rory’s face contorted. He shook his head like he was trying to shake some sense into it. ‘You’re not filling anything of mine, mate. Get lost.’
Fionn had never been told to get lost before. How dare Rory respond like this, after all the effort Fionn had put in at the palace? His fists flexed, itching to respond with a fight.
‘I’m asking you to teach me,’ Fionn persisted through gritted teeth. ‘I am on a mission of education. Help me understand you.’
‘No.’ Rory leaned over the rail. ‘N. O. Nooo. No. Do you understand me yet?’
With a mighty kick, Fionn launched himself up to the deck rail. He grabbed it with both arms and pulled himself up into Rory’s face. ‘Loud and clear,’ he hissed.
Rory’s eyes dropped instantly to Fionn’s lips. His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.
The bond rippled between them, ebbing and flowing in Fionn’s chest. The moment stretched, long enough to register Rory’s breath skimming over his lips, the heat of a mouth just inches away. A confusing tingle of anticipation ran up Fionn’s spine.
‘Fuck,’ Rory muttered, breaking the spell. ‘Why are you so hot?’
His own words seemed to startle him. Rory backed away from the rail, tripping over his own feet. Fionn took the opportunity to follow and clambered onto the deck. He shuddered reflexively as his skin changed colour.
‘I am not hot,’ he replied, striving to level his tone to something neutral. ‘My body is the optimum temperature for the environment.’
‘That’s not what I— Forget it,’ Rory said hoarsely. ‘Go away. Get off my boat.’
Fionn crossed his arms. ‘If you will not teach me, fine. But I will learn. I shall watch you, Rory Douglas. And I shall do the work for both of us.’
It amused Fionn to think that Rory rather resembled one of his captive lobsters: his arms spread wide, gesturing in a helpless fashion while his mouth opened and closed very much like a fish.
‘ Why? ’ Rory finally asked.
Here Fionn hesitated. Because you are my soul mate did not seem to fit the bill.
Surely, things ought to be easier between them for having such a fated connection.
Yet here Fionn was, having to work for Rory’s approval.
Wanting that approval. Needing to erase the way Rory had looked at him yesterday, as though he were a thoughtless sea urchin with no awareness of the world it moved in.
Fionn answered, ‘I wish to give you another gift. A better one.’
‘I don’t need a—’
‘A gift of labour. For I appreciate the toll of my destruction on your work. I have recognised the flaws in my knowledge and strive to improve on it. I shall not rest until I have corrected my mistakes.’
Rory’s shoulders shifted like he was trying to shrink deeper into the large overcoat he wore. ‘That almost sounded like an apology.’
‘I would be happy for you to take it as one.’
Rory shot him a suspicious look. ‘Right.’
Perhaps he could tell that Fionn had rehearsed it.
Fionn tipped up his chin, refusing to be unnerved by Rory’s glare, playing the role of immovable rock. He felt a strange push-and-pull movement in the current flowing through his chest. Perhaps as though Rory was arguing with himself.
Rory stared at Fionn for a second more, then grabbed the long pole from the cabin. ‘Just stay out of my way, then.’
Overjoyed, Fionn felt the bond settle between them like a stormy sea that had calmed. He’d taken a leap, dared to look weak by admitting his faults. Against all odds, Rory had received it well.
Fionn stepped aside as Rory hooked the floating buoy from the water and dragged a length of dripping rope onto the deck.
He flicked furtive glances in Fionn’s direction, perhaps distrustful, or possibly self-conscious.
Fionn watched him intently, determined to decipher his human’s body language along with everything else.
Rory braced a foot against the rail and began hauling the rope up. He’d removed his outer coat and wore a long-sleeved jumper underneath. Despite the thick material, his biceps bulged with the heaving motion of his arms.