Children of the Sea 03 - Sea Lord

couldn’t . . . She must.
    She struggled forward, wallowing in the surf, ungainly and powerful. Her skin quivered, her fur rippled under the caress of the water.
    We flow as the sea flows . . .
    The water broke over her head. Her heart leaped and surged.
    Yes.
    The waves whispered and sang. With a sigh of release, she surrendered her body, surrendered her will, surrendered control to the sea.

18
    THE DOOR THUDDED SHUT BEHIND LUCY. SILENCE fell over the hall.
    None of Conn’s wardens would meet his eyes.
    “Will you go after her, lord?” Griff offered at last.
    Conn’s headache simmered behind his eyes. He was aware of having upset her. Hurt her. Disappointed her. But what else could he have done or said? His duty was to his people, as Lucy’s must be.

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    She was not thinking rationally. She did not grasp the larger picture. She did not know Gau as he did.
    “Go where?” he asked. “We are on an island.”
    And Lucy could not swim. He would let her cool off before he sought her out, before he found her and explained . . . What? That her family must be sacrificed to her destiny?
    Griff frowned. “Even so . . .”
    “Oh, let the girl have her exit,” Morgan said. “She has earned that much.”
    “She has earned much more,” Conn said harshly. “Including the right to be left alone.”
    Alone.
    In the clear cold dark, sound rushed upon her. Thought faded and fell away. Her nostrils were tightly sealed, her eyes wide open, her body as sleek and barreled as the swells she rode. The pulse of the surge was her pulse. The briny beating heart of the sea throbbed in her chest.
    She moved with the currents and by instinct, bubbles spangling the water like stars. Dazzled by the constellations of her breath, immersed in wonder and sensation, she spiraled among swaying forests of kelp, over ridges of sea flowers. Every quiver and vibration, the darting fish, the swaying weed, the ponderous song of the whales, was caught by her whiskers. The texture of the water rippled through her fur.
    She surfaced, and the world burst on her, explosions of light and air against a liquid horizon, harsh and overwhelming.
    Breathing, she dived again.
    Her sorrow was a weight in her chest, her fear and purpose a pressure at the base of her skull.
    But beneath the waves, everything was buoyant and clear. With a flick of her flippers, she wheeled and soared, breaking the flat planes of her previous existence like a bird. She had slipped the shackles of land, the burden of responsibility. In the ocean, she was graceful, weightless, and alone.
    She was free.
    Lucy was not in their room.
    Conn stood in the doorway, aware of an unaccustomed hollow in his chest.
    Selkie were solitary. He had always preferred his own thoughts, his own company, his own space.
    Yet after centuries in the splendid isolation of his tower, he had somehow gotten used to seeing Lucy’s face over dinner at the end of the day, had grown attached to her quiet conversation and her unexpected passion and the glow of her eyes by fire and candle light.
    The hearth was empty. Lucy was gone.
    Conn frowned. When had he begun to count on her presence, to want her company?
    When had he started listening like Madadh for the sound of her voice or her footsteps?
    Madadh , he thought. The vise around his chest eased. Lucy must have taken the dog for its evening walk on the beach.
    Reassured, he crossed to the window and swung open the glass. The light faded from sea and sky, leaving behind a gray and purple luster like the inside of an oyster shell and Sanctuary like the rounded pearl at the heart of the world.
    He scanned the scalloped line of foam rushing and retreating along the shore.
    He saw the dinghy, pulled up against the rocks, and an unacknowledged tension left his shoulders.
    He saw the dog, a long, lean shadow.
    And there, dark in the dying light, he saw the red of Lucy’s cloak, crumpled on the sand.
    Conn’s heart pounded. His eyes strained to see as his mind struggled to process. Lucy sleeping, Lucy hurt, Lucy . . .
    Gone.
    His heart howled in silent protest.
    Snatching up his sealskin, he plunged down the steps of the tower, his own careless words drumming in his ears.

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    “ Will you go after her, lord? ”
    “ Go where? We are on an island. ”
    And Lucy could not swim.
    Could not . .