Children of the Sea 03 - Sea Lord

She needed . . . She fumbled with the window’s iron latch.
    Pushing open a square of leaded glass, she craned to catch a glimpse of the dinghy on the beach below.
    A movement on the rocks dragged at her attention. She looked and looked again, and the breath she had taken hitched in her throat.
    Conn stood at the meeting of sea, stone, and sky, a lonely figure sculpted in taut, clean lines of marble and moonlight. Naked. His shoulders gleamed. His muscles were fluid as the waves, his hair as black as night, as he gazed out to sea. Something in his posture, some shadow on his face, pierced her heart. She closed her eyes, but she could still see him burning at the water’s edge, weary, proud, and alone.
    So alone.
    He was shattering everything she believed about herself, everything she had built or tried to hold on to.
    He was breaking her heart.
    Blindly, she turned from the window, turned from him.
    And nearly tripped on the sealskin at her feet. Her heart jumped into her throat.
    The pelt gleamed in the firelight, dark as night with hues of amber and gold.
    Lucy bit her lip. She couldn’t leave something so personal lying like a rug on the floor. Conn had urged her to think of it as a coat, but she knew better now. Tentatively, she stooped and took the sealskin up, bundling it into her arms.
    The fur whispered against her breast. “ You hold my life in your hands as surely as you hold the fate of my people . . . I need you. ”
    Her chest tightened. Her fingers flexed. Her gaze went back to the window.
    She thought she could summon the courage to go.

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    Could she find the courage to stay?

10
    THE MORNING WAS HEAVY WITH FOG AND FORE boding, slicking the old stones like rain,
    echoing through the corridors and courtyards like a gathering army.
    Lucy, hurrying after Iestyn, felt as if she were drowning, swallowing lungfuls of cold, damp air. Her feet slipped. Her heart pattered. She was so in over her head. Madadh slunk ahead of them along the curtain wall, a lean gray shadow.
    Iestyn had told her nothing when he appeared at her door earlier with a cup of hot tea and another bowl of salty oatmeal. Only that after breakfast she was “wanted in the inner bailey.” Whatever that meant.
    Wherever that was.
    “This way,” Iestyn said.
    Her heart pattered in nervous anticipation. A great double archway opened onto a square of short, dense grass. The walls rose smooth and gray all around, punctuated by towers. Water flowed from a curved pipe in the wall and splashed into a deep, round basin of stone.
    She recognized Roth on the low stone bench, legs apart and knees on elbows like a football player sitting on the sidelines. Waiting with him was a man.
    Her heart stumbled.
    Not Conn.
    The castle warden, Griff Somebody.
    Lucy deflated like a day-old party balloon.
    He inclined his head. “Lady.”
    She nodded back, unsure what she expected or what he expected of her.
    “I trust you slept well.” His eyes were tired and kind, with laugh lines at the corners.
    In that great empty room, in that vast empty bed, with the sea snarling below her window all night . . .
    “Yes.” Her voice was scratchy. She cleared her throat. “Thank you. Where is, um . . .”
    “The prince asks your leave,” Griff said, mercifully anticipating her question. “Important matters require his attention this morning.”
    Which put her, of course, in the not-so-important category. Should she be offended? Or relieved?
    She attempted a smile. “So you’re my babysitter.”
    “Something more than that.” His voice was dry. “I am overseer of Caer Subai. I serve at the pleasure of the prince.”
    Oh, dear. Had she offended him ?
    Around his neck he wore a silver chain and a flat silver disk like Dylan’s engraved with three connecting spiral lines. What had Margred called it? The warden’s mark.
    “I didn’t mean your work isn’t important, too,” she said hastily. Whatever it was. What did wardens do anyway? Was he like a prison guard? “Just that you’re stuck with me.”
    Roth snorted.
    Griff silenced him with a look. “It is our privilege to have you join us.”
    “Where’s, um, Kera?” she asked.
    “Kera’s talent is beyond my training,” Griff said.
    Lucy moistened her lips. “Training for what?”
    “Magic,” Iestyn said.
    “The prince thought we might help you become more familiar with your gift,” Griff explained.
    Yes. A