Page 79 of Under Gorse and Stone

“Because I control the paths,” a voice says from nearby. “It is my will that keeps you here, little human.”

I give myself a hundred points for neither shitting myself nor screaming. As it is, I let out a squeak of alarm that Sigurd and Marin kindly ignore.

“Grandson,” the voice says. “Draw closer. I have not seen you in an age.”

“I’ve been busy, Grandmother,” Marin says and moves towards a shadow in the corner of the room.

“On the land, I suppose,” the voice replies. “Take care, or you’ll forget how to manifest your tail and be stuck with two of their spindly little legs. Your fascination with humans appals your father.” There’s a raspy chuckle. “And I say to that, ‘Long may you continue, child.’”

“Grandmother,” Marin chides, smiling. “Don’t benaughty.”

He’s scolding one of the most terrifying mythical monsters to exist. I keep that observation to myself.

“Your father is a lackwit and your mother a fool, but I suppose that’s family. Well, bring the little human closer.”

It’s rather emasculating to keep being called little human, but that’s another observation I keep to myself.

I edge nearer, my eyes straining in the gloomy light. The shadow moves, and I smell salt and the copper tang of blood. “Closer,” the voice says. It’s raspy, like she’s a long-time smoker.

I can tell how tense Sigurd is without looking at him, but I gather my courage and keep walking.

She chuckles. “Good boy. This one is brave, Sigurd.”

Sigurd clears his throat. “Yes, ma’am. He is indeed that.”

I stop, and the shadow moves again, twirling in the air, and the water eddies and swirls around me. There’s an intense chill, and when the water steadies, I see an old lady sitting in an armchair by a huge window that looks down on a coral bed.

I rub my eyes, but when I open them, she’s still there—a petite lady whose face is a mass of wrinkles. Her eyes are the brightest green I have ever seen—almost neon bright in the shadowy room.

“You don’t have a tail.”

I look around for whoever has been rude to the Kraken and then blanch when I realise it was me.

“Cary,” Sigurd says.

But the old lady breaks into a loud cackle of laughter. “Humans aresointeresting,” she says when she recovers. “One never really knows what is going to come out of their tiny mouths.” She looks at me, her eyes twinkling, and I relax a little. At this moment in time, she isn’t planning to harm me. I know it with a deep certainty, and I see Sigurd’s tense body relax, too. “I have no tail because I am not a ridiculous Mer,” she continues.

“Mustyou say such things?” Marin sighs.

She waves a careless hand. On her ring finger is a ring with a pearl as big as my thumb. “It is true. I have never met a vainer and more posturing race. Why your mother cast in her lot with them I will never know.”

“I thought she was Mer,” I say. “She had a tail.”

“Ah, the Mer can take both forms, but my daughter is rare in that she can do it at will, regardless of the environment she is in.” She rolls her eyes. “Wasted on that popinjay of a husband. Why, the octopus lord wanted her for himself, and she spurned him.”

“Can I say I am thankful that she did?” Marin says.

She gives another raucous cackle. “But think of all those tentacles. Why I once read a story where?—"

Marin clears his throat, and she subsides, but her eyes twinkle. Then she sobers. “Well, dragon, you find yourself in another awkward situation.”

“It isn’t the first time, ma’am. I doubt it will be the last,” Sigurd says wryly.

She shakes her head. “Even as a young fledgling, you were always nosier than any other.” I can’t help but laugh, and she smiles at me. “Mayhap one day I will tell you tales of your dragon.”

“I would like that,” I say honestly.

“Then it shall be so.” She clicks her fingers. “But now we have a problem. Arista is jockeying for position and using her daughter’s absence to prove her power.”