Page 39 of The Merman’s Betrothal (Outcast Hearts #2)

F ionn felt too hollow to panic.

‘ It’s all a lie, ’ he said numbly.

Rory was busy twisting in the water like a shark chasing its own tail fin, trying to get a better view of the long, skinny spikes protruding from his back. They appeared to be made of bone and followed the curve of Rory’s spine. One from each vertebra.

Rory’s DeepSong became wobbly and hard to understand. ‘ This isn’t… bad, right? Not like… some merman… disease or… something? ’

Fionn could see it was taking Rory some effort to keep his composure.

He gleaned from their bond that it wasn’t so much the physical transformation that was spooking Rory, as Fionn’s own inner turmoil in response to it.

This thought sank his mood further. Their bond. Their false, empty, worthless bond.

‘ What’s wrong? ’ Rory asked, the distress now clear in his song. Fionn realised the water was turning bitter, poisoned by both of them.

‘ You are Redfolk. ’ The words were heavy in his mouth. ‘ Or your lineage is, at least. No Bluefolk have these traits. ’

‘ Why do you sound like that? ’ Rory’s song was like a whisper. It held fear. He’d discerned the emptiness to Fionn’s DeepSong: it had lost its deeper cadences and now entered the current as toneless voids of noise.

‘ I am broken-hearted and a fool. ’ Fionn knew he owed Rory some explanation, despite how much it pained him to put into words. ‘ I tried to tell you yesterday. I am cursed, Rory. Cursed to be bonded to the first Redfolk that I lay eyes on. That Redfolk just happened to be you. ’

‘ I don’t understand. ’

What was there to not understand? Couldn’t Rory grasp the futility of it all?

Fionn placed a hand over his chest, where he felt Rory’s emotions churn with his. ‘ This is no fated soul bond. We are not soul mates. It is a trick. A lie. A manipulation based on centuries of tradition and political scheming. You and I are not meant to be, Rory Douglas. ’

‘ Oh. ’ Rory’s brow tightened in confusion, his perfect mouth frowning within its nest of stubble. ‘ Why? ’

Fionn sighed deeply. He didn’t want to repeat it.

Didn’t want to spend another minute in Rory’s presence.

Didn’t want to watch him frown like that, or think about how much he would miss that frown and the serious eyes that went with it.

‘ It is magic that ignited our soul bond. Not fate. We were only drawn together because of your heritage that was unknown to us at the time— ’

‘ I think I got that. ’ Rory’s DeepSong gained strength, and it occurred to Fionn that he’d probably worked out how to sing around his new teeth.

‘ Why it’s a bad thing is the part I’m having trouble with.

Doesn’t this get you out of your marriage problem?

Not that I was looking to get married right away, ’ Rory added hastily, like he’d just registered the words he’d sung.

‘ Or at all. If you even want to. I mean if this was long-term I’d— I don’t want to assume anything but I thought we— ’

‘ It is a lie! ’ Fionn exploded. The current gushed at Rory, forcing him back a few feet. ‘ Don’t you see? Everything we’ve felt for one another. It has all been influenced by this bond. By this curse. None of it is real. ’

Fionn’s voice cracked, his rapid ascent to anger plummeting to misery just as fast. ‘ I do not love you. Even though I think I do. ’

‘ You love me? ’ Rory’s cheeks coloured as he cleared his throat, tweaking his tone to something gruffer. ‘ I mean, I feel strongly about you too. ’

‘ Have you not heard anything I’ve just said? ’

Rory began to scratch his head—and pulled his hand away sharply as though he’d just remembered about the webbing between his fingers.

‘ I just… don’t know. I feel like if this was all the bond’s doing, then it’s had a bloody hard job of it, right?

I didn’t exactly want to jump into bed with you right away, did I?

And I bet you weren’t so keen on me from the start, either. ’

A note of truth from this twinged in Fionn’s heart.

He had been unsure of Rory at first, hadn’t he?

Aside from that first instinctive kiss, there was no immediate spark like he’d heard of in stories.

No love at first sight. He hadn’t even been sure he wanted Rory until he’d understood him better.

Until he’d witnessed the passion that lived underneath such passive waters.

Even so…

‘ You do not think your attraction to me was swayed by this? ’ Fionn watched Rory carefully and watched their bond even closer. He caught the flash of doubt that crossed Rory’s mind.

‘ I hadn’t been attracted to a man before, ’ Rory mumbled. ‘ But I dunno if that means anything. It sort of feels like you shocked me awake, you know? And since then I decided what I wanted. I’ve decided— ’

‘ We cannot trust it. We cannot trust any of it. Not our thoughts or our feelings or our decisions. ’ Fionn turned away from him. Rory’s doubt, however small, was like a harpoon through his chest.

How could Fionn live with himself, knowing he may have destroyed Rory’s life by their chance meeting? If he’d never met Rory, he would still be human. Still in his home. Not out here adrift in the ocean, caught between two worlds that he didn’t belong to.

Not here, where Fionn might cave into Rory’s words and accept possession of his fragile future. A future with Fionn the failed prince. No, Rory did not deserve that at all.

‘ Fionn… ’

Fionn closed his eyes and drowned out Rory’s plea with a song to the current.

He commanded the water to grab him, to fling him like a stone as far from Rory as fast as he could be flung.

Tears welled behind his eyelids. There was stabbing pain in his heart, in his gut; he wanted to curl into a ball against it.

Fionn wouldn’t drag Rory with him, wouldn’t put him through the dire political mess it would create at the palace. He would find a way to sever the bond in time, and then take on his marriage responsibility like he was always supposed to.

There was only one thing to do. Fionn had to break the bond, somehow. And there was only one way he could think of that didn’t involve his father. The Witch of the Highlands. A human with powerful magic who might be sympathetic to his plight.

Fionn bid the waves to stop their tossing and churning. Now he had a destination in mind, he was focused. He changed course, gliding deftly with the water, and sang it into motion once again.

* * *

Fionn travelled the current to Red Point beach, many miles south along the coast from Ullapool. He climbed onto the windy stretch of sand with little care that he might be seen. It was not frequented by humans and right now he had greater worries than being seen by one.

He clambered onto the rocks scattered over the north end of the beach and dug around the dunes behind them. Secured to a large stone scored with a Pictish mark he uncovered a small, smooth pouch. A ‘dry bag’, the witch had called it.

Fionn had only met the Walker witch a handful of times, almost all in the company of Iomhar as part of his training in the ‘art’ of diplomacy. If Fionn could be trusted to talk politely to the land-witch, it was reasoned, then he might have some chance of negotiating with Redfolk too.

Fionn ripped the pouch open and pulled out the strange oblong object inside.

This witch was keen on employing human technology to communicate.

He’d insisted that they move from the old method of summoning (using a perfectly functional system of wielding the magic in Pictish runes) to a new system of mobile phones .

This small machine was quite strange to Fionn but he remembered the sequence of buttons he’d been told to press.

Had memorised it diligently, in fact, as with everything he was required to study.

And on this occasion, as the phone rang, he was loathe to admit that the witch’s system was actually much more efficient for getting in touch.

‘Hello?’ a familiar voice answered.

‘Witch?’ Fionn said sharply. ‘It is I, Prince Fionn, of the Blue Men of the Minch. I need—’

‘It’s Lachlan, actually,’ the voice replied helpfully. ‘Nice to hear from you, Fionn. How are you?’

Fionn stalled briefly in the face of this friendly rebuttal. He had some respect for Lachlan, having fought a monster with him before. ‘I am fine. No, what am I saying? I am not fine. I have a most urgent situation. Where is your witch?’

‘Um. Aberdeen, I believe. Other side of the country. He’ll be back in a few days.’

‘I need him now. ’

Fionn felt he could hear the wince on the other end of the line.

‘I think I’m going to regret this but… is it anything I can help with?’

‘Can you break a Bluefolk soul bond?’ Fighting against the wind roaring into the mouthpiece, Fionn gave a rushed explanation of his predicament. He left out Rory’s Redfolk heritage and pretended the soul bond was his own doing. ‘I made a mistake and it must be undone before the wedding.’

‘Gosh.’ Lachlan’s usually sunny tone turned serious. ‘What happens if the bond isn’t broken before then?’

‘It is possible that the Redfolk could declare our alliance void.’ Fionn’s mind raced for the answer that would sound most urgent to a human.

‘And then?’

‘They guard a portal to the fae realm. It is possible they will allow… things… to come through. As punishment. Or perhaps they pursue all-out war. I do not wish to consider the number of ways in which I might have failed my kingdom.’

‘Pretty serious, then.’ Lachlan groaned. ‘I’m going to have to ask Meredith for a lift. Stay put. I’ll raid the journals and be on my way. It’s a four hour drive, you understand?’

‘I shall be here.’

The phone went silent. Fionn placed it back into its bag and hiding place among the dunes.

Another voice made him jump. ‘You are out of your depth, little sprat.’

‘Iomhar!’ Fionn slipped in the sand, landing on his backside. ‘Did you follow me?’

‘You came screaming past my patrol. It was hard not to notice you.’ Iomhar waded out of the surf, his blue skin gradually turning pale. ‘I heard much of what you said.’

Fionn drew his legs up, fighting the urge to curl up entirely. ‘I am trying to fix it.’

Iomhar did not reply immediately, staring out at the ocean lapping at the shore. ‘You have long bemoaned your betrothal. I have seen how the weight of it manages to bow even your proud head. I am surprised that you are not taking the opportunity to run away from it.’

Fionn tipped up his chin, defiant. ‘I shall not bring harm to my people because of an accident.’

‘How accidental was this?’ Iomhar arched a sage eyebrow. ‘Did I hear correctly that you formed a soul bond with a human? How?’

The truth teetered on Fionn’s tongue. Would Iomhar understand if he explained?

‘I thought… I thought it was a fated bond.’ Fionn looked away, speaking to the sand. He wasn’t sure whether it was a good idea to admit Rory was Redfolk, so kept that part back for now. ‘I don’t know how it happened. But I saw him and it ignited by itself.’

‘You bonded without any help?’ The scepticism in Iomhar’s voice rankled Fionn, landing in his ears like an accusation. The old man didn’t believe it.

‘It happened,’ Fionn said hotly. ‘I did nothing to cause it.’

Iomhar remained incredulous. ‘You are talking about possessing a fated mate, Fionn. I know you have visions of grandeur but that is perhaps taking it a little far.’

Fionn could have screamed. Instead he spoke between clenched teeth. ‘It was not fated at all. This has recently become obvious.’

Iomhar relaxed, apparently relieved Fionn wasn’t trying to argue the point. ‘I see. But you do not know why or how you bonded?’

Feeling betrayed by Iomhar’s doubt, Fionn kept the rest to himself. ‘No.’

‘Hmm. A puzzling affair. Other species are known for soul bonding in different ways. Perhaps this human of yours has some fae heritage he doesn’t know of,’ Iomhar mused.

Fionn didn’t bother to correct him. Iomhar’s casual dismissal of it being a fated bond had lost his trust. What if his bond really had been fated—and Iomhar had opposed Fionn and Rory when they confronted the king?

Secretly, Fionn pined for the blissful ignorance of a few hours earlier. He longed to believe again that his future with Rory was blessed by destiny. But it sounded like he would have had to fight Iomhar for it to be recognised that way, no matter how true their bond might have been.

But it is not true, Fionn reminded his aching soul. I cannot yearn for something that did not exist. It is not fair to Rory for me to yearn for him.

By the Deeps, how I yearn for him.

‘So, is this what you and Neacel have been sneaking around for? Yes, I have noticed,’ Iomhar said with a crooked smile. ‘I have given you space, but your absence has been noticed.’

‘I will come back to the palace after this.’

Iomhar sat next to Fionn on the sand. ‘This soul bond. You are sure you wish to break it?’

‘I must.’ Fionn hung his head. ‘I know what is at stake.’

‘And what do you feel for your human?’

Why was Iomhar asking him this? What did it matter?

Fionn turned his face so that Iomhar wouldn’t see the anguish in it. ‘The bond clouded my judgement. I thought perhaps I cared for him. But it was not so. And he does not care for me. Everything we felt was a falsehood.’

Iomhar leaned in. ‘How do you know? What did your human feel?’

‘It is not important. It was all a lie.’

Fionn’s shaking shoulders betrayed him. His tears dripped silently onto the sand.

‘Oh, little sprat.’ Iomhar’s arm wrapped around him. ‘Let us speak with your father. Perhaps—’

‘ No! ’ Fionn knocked Iomhar’s arm away and roughly scrubbed the tears from his cheeks. ‘He does not need to see me so weak. I am enough of a disappointment to him already. I shall not fail in my duty again.’

‘You are not a disappointment, Fionn…’

Fionn stood up, keeping his back to Iomhar, and crossed his arms. ‘I must wait for the witch’s assistant. Stay or go, I do not care.’

Iomhar lay back against the dunes. ‘Then I shall wait with you.’

The wind picked up, whipping Fionn’s hair into a stream behind him. The Minch lay ahead, and underneath it an entire kingdom waiting to give him away. This was his true fate. Not some childish fantasy of predestined love or freedom. Freedom with Rory.

For a moment his mind’s eye drifted to wider waters. Oceans beyond the Minch. Great reefs and canyons of water deeper than he’d ever known. Rory by his side, navigating the unknown together.

He exhaled deeply and tried to release the dream onto the wind, where it belonged.