Page 41 of The Merman’s Betrothal (Outcast Hearts #2)

T he moon was high by the time a pair of headlights flashed over the bank beyond Red Point beach. Two figures approached, both blonde—one naturally so, and the other coloured by chemical dyes.

‘It is that woman you are fond of,’ Fionn remarked, nudging Iomhar with his toe.

Iomhar didn’t stir from his languid position against the dunes, but did open one eye. ‘The wonderful Meredith? Your troubles may be a blessing in disguise.’

‘Do not be getting distracted, old man. I’m here for one reason only.’

The two humans picked their way carefully over the beach, navigating by torch light.

‘Over here!’ Fionn called to direct them. The faces of Lachlan and Meredith grew more distinct in the moonlight as they drew near.

‘We came as fast as we could,’ Lachlan said in greeting. He seemed a little out of breath; perhaps the journey had been strenuous.

‘What time do you call this?’ demanded his female companion. While Lachlan was the land Witch’s partner, Meredith was the Witch’s aunt. She shone the torch directly into Fionn’s eyes. ‘You’ve a nerve, calling him out here so late. Couldn’t it have waited until tomorrow?’

‘I tried to explain it’s urgent.’ Lachlan took hold of Meredith’s arm and gently tugged her back. ‘I’m sorry for the delay. It took a while to find everything.’

‘I am very grateful,’ Fionn answered solemnly. ‘Can you do what I requested?’

Lachlan brandished a rucksack and a sheaf of papers.

He was struggling to keep them from blowing away in the wind.

‘I think I found a soul bond-breaking ritual. There’s a record of a Walker performing it for a Bluefolk, um, triad?

There were three partners bonded together who needed to become, um, unbonded. ’

Despite his pressing need for haste, Fionn was curious why another of his kin would need to break a soul bond. He had never witnessed a bond-breaking in his lifetime. ‘Why did they break their bond?’

‘Oh, it’s quite exciting, actually.’ Lachlan managed to get his note papers under control, though his tousled hair still whipped about his face.

‘The triad were being stalked by a monster hunter—I don’t mean to say that you’re a monster, by the way.

You know I’d be the last person to make such a comparison. ’

‘Of course. But what then?’

‘The three Minchmen feared that if one of them were captured, the hunter could use their bond to track down the others. So they came to the Witch Incumbent at the time to help.’

Fionn frowned. ‘It seems unnecessarily drastic, to break a soul bond merely as a preventative measure.’

Fionn heard Iomhar huff behind him. ‘You are equally inclined to be drastic, little sprat..

Before Fionn could snap a retort Lachlan cut in, pleasantly bubbling away.

‘Actually, it’s quite profound. The triad recognised that their soul bond wasn’t a measure of their love for one another, and in sacrificing it they became more tightly bound.

Or so writes Dolina Walker in her record. I suspect she was quite the romantic.’

Ah, if only Fionn’s bond-breaking could echo such a love story. The shadow of Nechtan and Bridei’s legend mocked him for having ever believed there might be truth in it. Bitterness welled in Fionn’s throat. ‘Did she write how the bond-breaking was done?’

‘Yes.’ Lachlan’s gaze slid between Fionn and Iomhar. ‘And she mentions that bond-breaking is normally kept within the purview of your king. Is there a reason you’ve come to us, and not him?’

Fionn’s stomach dropped. It was easy to forget that behind Lachlan’s friendly words lurked an astute mind and eyes that paid attention. In some ways he was more sharp-witted than the Witch himself.

‘I don’t wish to trouble the king,’ Fionn said, knowing it was a weak explanation. ‘This is merely an accident that needs to be rectified. Need I remind you of the consequences if it is not? Would you invite war from the Redfolk upon this realm?’

He hadn’t told Lachlan the whole story, of course. He’d left out his courting of Rory and the fallacious connection he thought they’d shared. Better to frame it all as a strange mistake.

Still, Lachlan stared him down.

Fionn sucked in a breath. ‘I am embarrassed to ask my father. This mistake is humiliating. I don’t wish for him to think less of me than he already does.’

Fionn was sure Lachlan could tell there was yet more to the story. But this apparently young man had the wisdom not to pry too much further. Lachlan nodded. ‘I’ll do what I can, but I can’t guarantee this will work. I don’t have magic in my blood like Cam does.’

Iomhar spoke up from his seat against the sand. ‘Magic isn’t necessary.’

The old warrior rose from the dunes and stepped into the torchlight. Fionn noticed Meredith quickly attempt to neaten her hair against the wind.

‘You know this ritual?’ Lachlan asked him.

‘I do. And I have heard all I need to hear.’ Iomhar clasped Fionn’s shoulders and spoke to him gravely.

‘If you are certain you wish to break this bond, then all you really require is the will to see it through and a tool to aid your focus. You have brought a knife?’ This last comment he threw to Lachlan, who nodded and produced a slim athame, a ritual witch’s knife, from the rucksack.

‘I also have the salt, and the iron key, and a ball of twine,’ Lachlan removed each item in turn. ‘The moonlight is right above us, lucky timing, and then we’ll need to grab some seaweed—’

Iomhar waved him into silence. ‘We need none of it. Those are all… what would you say… decoration. Atmosphere. A means to achieving the correct state of mind.’ He turned back to Fionn.

‘I have no doubt you are able to focus your will by yourself, Your Highness. I only hope that the wait has given you long enough to consider that this is the path you truly wish to take.’

Fionn was dumbstruck. Was this a trick? He couldn’t make sense of what Iomhar was saying. ‘And how would you know, old man? How many bond-breakings have you witnessed?’

‘Just one.’

The waves suddenly seemed that much louder in the vacuum left by Iomhar’s words.

‘Aha,’ Lachlan said quietly, reaching a conclusion several moments ahead of Fionn.

‘We wear our lives on our skin.’ Iomhar gestured to his tattoos with both hands.

His torso was highly embellished with them: he was an accomplished warrior who had lived a long life.

Most of his tattoos told the story of his victories against threats to the Minch, and of his service to the king.

‘There is one mark here that is not like the others.’

Beneath Iomhar’s tattoos and sometimes over them, obscuring the marks, were scars. Fionn recognised the patterns of teeth and claw wounds among them.

Iomhar pointed to a scar that lay over his heart, hidden beneath a tattoo proclaiming how he had once saved the king’s life. Fionn peered closer. This scar was different. A clean line, like a surgical incision.

‘This one was made by a knife,’ Fionn said petulantly. He felt like he was being made to answer a test. ‘So?’

Faint crow’s feet appeared around Iomhar’s eyes as they softened with something like… sorrow.

Fionn couldn’t understand why his blood suddenly ran cold.

Iomhar had bonded with someone, once? Worse, he’d chosen to break that bond?

How had Fionn never known this? About the man who was his mentor, the closest he had to a real father-figure. The person who had taught him to ride the currents and wield a spear.

‘Who was it?’ Fionn asked sharply. ‘Why have you never spoken of this?’

Iomhar’s expression settled back into his usual stoic stare. ‘It is in the past, Fionn. My past. You do not have any right to my grief.’

Fionn felt stung. But only, he realised, because Iomhar was right. The old man didn’t owe him his secrets, just as Fionn didn’t owe Iomhar his.

Fionn had the fleeting urge to open up to Iomhar about everything, to spill every detail about Rory, about their mutual confusion over one another, about how real everything had felt.

Then it passed, replaced by shame. He didn’t want even Iomhar to know just how foolish and weak he’d been.

Iomhar took the athame from Lachlan’s hand and offered it to Fionn. ‘Here. Or you may use your clam knife, if you wish. You must cut the bond yourself.’

Fionn accepted the knife, weighing it in his palm. The steel was cold against his skin. ‘How do I cut it?’

‘Feel where it lies within yourself. You will know where to cut. You must want it to be cut.’

Fionn’s grip faltered. Could he trust himself to do it? When a guilt-ridden voice inside him was pleading not to? He didn’t want to lose his bond with Rory at all.

‘Are you sure about this?’ Meredith asked nervously. ‘He’s not going to bleed out on us, is he? I thought we were just coming to wave some magic ingredients around, or something.’

Lachlan squeezed her shoulder. ‘I’m learning that witchcraft is often more about understanding what you think and feel to be true rather than waving around magic ingredients.’

Fionn stared at the knife. What was true?

He loved Rory. He believed that, cursed bond or not. But Rory would never have chosen him if not for this bond. Rory deserved to be free. Rory deserved everything.

Without further hesitation, Fionn swung the knife into his chest and plunged it into his heart.

He heard the horrified gasps from Lachlan and Meredith, and even an astonished splutter from Iomhar. He felt the knife connect with the current that flowed from his soul into Rory’s. He commanded it be severed.

Fionn convulsed under the force of the bond snapping apart. He dropped to his knees, wresting the knife out of his chest.

‘Oh, my god.’

‘Is he alive? Lachy, help him!’

‘Fionn, look at me.’ Iomhar’s eyes swam into focus in front of Fionn.

Fionn looked down, touched his chest. There was no hole from the knife. Only a dark, angry scar over his heart. He thought he’d felt hollow before. Now the emptiness was tangible where something strong and comforting had been wrenched from his core. ‘It worked,’ he said dully.

Iomhar gave Fionn a light but chiding shove against his head. ‘You certainly never do things by halves, little sprat. You scared all of us.’

‘It felt right,’ Fionn mumbled.

No it didn’t. It felt very wrong.

‘He stabbed himself in the heart, ’ Meredith cried. ‘We all saw it! What happened? Why isn’t he bleeding? What—’

‘Magic, I think,’ Lachlan said while gently taking hold of her flailing arms. ‘A lot of it is symbolic. I think you told me that once.’

Meredith seemed to calm down. ‘Yes, well. That was a bloody scary symbol, is all I’m saying.’

‘Fionn has a flare for the dramatic,’ Iomhar interjected with a rumbling chuckle. His smile fell away as he absorbed Fionn’s listlessness. He handed the knife back to Lachlan. ‘We thank you for the use of your symbol. We must be on our way.’

‘That’s it? You dragged us all the way out here just for that?’ Meredith sounded upset. Fionn listened distantly, disconnected from the world around him.

‘Beautiful Meredith, I would tarry in your presence for hours more if I could,’ Iomhar said smoothly. ‘But I must get the prince home. And you must get to yours.’

‘Will he be all right?’ That was Lachlan, speaking low and wary. Fionn swayed on the spot.

‘I shall make sure of it.’ Iomhar’s hand clasped Fionn’s shoulder. ‘Farewell. Give our regards to the Witch.’

Fionn walked with Iomhar into the waves. He swam instinctually, mind blank, relying on muscle memory to get him through the journey.

Iomhar kept a tight formation with him but didn’t hurry his progress. He seemed reluctant to speak, though eventually broke the silence. ‘ I was not on patrol when I spied you bolting for the beach. ’

Fionn inclined his head to show that he was listening.

‘ I was sent to find you. For tonight is the night. ’

‘ What night? ’

‘ The wedding, Fionn. The Redfolk ambassadors have arrived ahead of their king. We must return to the palace. ’

‘ Oh. ’

The news barely registered in Fionn’s heart-broken daze. What did it matter, any more?

They swam a while longer. Iomhar left Fionn some space before approaching him again. ‘ I heard you were spotted near the palace with a strange companion yesterday. Human, though I couldn’t believe my ears at the time. ’

‘ Yes. ’

‘ And then I find you aiming for the land-Witch’s meeting point. I wondered if you had some plan to spoil your betrothal. ’

‘ No. ’ The meaning of this sunk in. Fionn’s limbs stalled, sending him drifting. ‘ Why didn’t you intercept me earlier? I might have ruined everything. ’

‘ I might have helped you. ’

Fionn felt like he’d been slapped awake. His previous mistrust of Iomhar bumped up against this strange revelation. The old warrior was an exemplar of living for one’s duty in service to the throne. Fionn would never have conceived of him helping to actively thwart the marriage bargain.

Fionn’s incredulity rang through his song. ‘ You are always lecturing me on the importance of my duty, old man. You wouldn’t have helped me dodge it. ’

‘ I have never considered there might be a way to do so. It is very like you to prove me wrong. ’ Iomhar’s heavy brows knit together. ‘ No one wishes this fate upon you, Fionn. Not even your father. ’

Fionn spun away. He couldn’t handle pity at this moment. ‘ Why didn’t you say anything at the beach? ’

‘ It was your decision to make. ’ Iomhar watched him carefully. ‘ You did not wish to tell me what happened between you and your human. But I sensed the weight of this choice on you, and I would not dare impose my own intentions on it. I, too, once made such a choice, after all. ’

‘ Was it the right one? ’ Fionn asked thickly. ‘ Did you make the right choice? ’

‘ I… ’ Iomhar closed his weary eyes. ‘ Yes. I made the right choice at the time. ’ He reached out to Fionn, catching him in a half-hug. ‘ The question that you must be able to live with, little sprat, is: did you? ’

What was the right choice? Right for Rory. Right for his kingdom. Fionn’s chin lifted a little. ‘ Yes. And now I shall do my duty, and I shall not let anybody else down. ’