The boy was certainly Eppan. The question was, why had a boy from Eppa washed up half-dead on her section of seashore? More importantly, how had he come by that ring? Carys wasn’t prepared to let him go until she knew that for sure.

  “Lady—”

  “Go to sleep,” said Carys, and climbed into bed.

  Chapter Two

  The first tendrils of light from the rising sun pulled Carys from her sleep, and for a brief moment after she opened her eyes it occurred to her that she also beheld the sunrise above her.

  “Hallo, Lady!” said the sunrise, with eyes as bright as the gold of its hair. It staggered as it stood, a swaying of golden warmth, but that didn’t diminish its brightness. “My body wanted me to get up, so I did. I’ve put the kettle on the fire.”

  “You don’t have to tell me,” said Carys. “I don’t care if you fetch tea yourself.”

  The sunrise smiled brilliantly at her. “Not for me, Lady! For you.”

  “I don’t have tea before work,” Carys said, after a perplexed moment. She sat up, avoiding the space above her that was so filled with sunshine, and turned her back on it to put her feet on the cold floor.

  It followed her around the bed and hovered, still swaying. “What about breakfast? Shall I get you breakfast?”

  Carys doubted that he knew how to make any kind of breakfast. She said, “I don’t eat breakfast, either.”

  “You should eat breakfast, Lady,” he said seriously, rocking back and forth on his heels. “It’s not good to work without food in your belly.”

  Carys smiled dourly at the floor as she stood. “It’s not killed me yet.” She hadn’t eaten breakfast in…what was it? Ten years? What else was there to look forward to at the end of the morning’s work in her cold cottage if she didn’t leave the tea and food until she came back? What point would there be in the work, or going, or coming, or doing anything but allowing herself to slip into the cold, cold sea?

  “Lady,” said the boy, in a hushed voice, “you shouldn’t look like that.”

  “I’ve always looked like this,” said Carys. The boy staggered back a pace when she swept past him, but she left him to find his own balance and fetched her seaweed hook. “Either go back to your bed or fold up your bedding if you’re finished with it. I’ll be back before noon.”

  It was hard to imagine anything more woebegone than his face. “Can’t I come with you?”

  “No,” Carys said harshly. “You’re not to come down to the rocky shore when I’m there.”

  “I wouldn’t get in your way—I could carry the bundles—”

  Carys wheeled back to face him and caught him by the collar. “Out,” she said.

  “Ow, Lady! Where?”

  “Anywhere,” Carys said grimly, hardening her heart against the eyes that were filming over and the distinct heaviness to the collar she was grasping, “but here!”

  “Oh, but Lady!”

  “Out!”

  “I won’t come to the seaside!” Two brown eyes looked up at her, as wide as they could be. “I’ll stay until you get back!”

  Carys’ grip loosened. “I’ll be back before noon,” she said, releasing him. He sat down suddenly on the floor, weighty and limp, and panted a little at the floorboards. “Don’t come beyond the scrubby border or out you’ll go.”

  She didn’t wait to hear the yes Lady! that followed. She was out the door and down the worn path toward the sea as she had been every day since she was nine. This morning was no different to any of those, despite the impression of early, warm sunshine she’d had when she woke. That sunshine was just like the sunshine that played above the dark face of the sea on a chancy day: a mirage that could vanish in an instant and gave no lasting warmth. And Carys knew from experience how dangerous it was to be distracted by sunshine when it came to the rocky shore and selkies.

  There was little enough sunshine down on the shore that morning. It filtered through for a few minutes, weak and yellow, before it was swallowed by the burgeoning darkness of storm clouds. The breeze stirred up around her skirts as she worked, tangling them in her legs and wrapping wet seaweed around her limbs; and insensibly, Carys began to work more quickly. There would be no sunshine for the selkies to play in this morning, but they would revel in the storm and could leap from the waters earlier than usual if they weren’t waiting for the warm afternoon sun. Carys felt the freshness of the storm on the wind; could almost smell the salt-logged scent of shipwrecked wood.

  She would have liked to have stopped by the pool where she’d found the boy, but there was no time this morning. Even as she was clearing the last pool, she heard the slap and shout of selkies clearing the surf and slipping up through the bottomless salt pools with a joyous rush. She snatched the last handful of seaweed from the pool she was working on and backed away with light, careful feet, aware of the brown, jewel-like eyes that were watching her brightly from the other side of the pool.

  “Play with us, sister,” said the musical voice that belonged with those eyes. It was a soft voice, a persuasive voice; a voice that curled around you warmly and made you forget the fact that the mouth it came from was ringed with sharp, shredding teeth.

  Carys, her eyes as hard as the stone beneath her feet, tore off two pieces of seaweed and stuffed them in her ears. She didn’t turn her back on the creature until she was beyond the foam line of the pool; then she turned on her heel and threaded her way carefully through the pools and seagulls. The selkies laughed and called, but all Carys heard was the rush of the sea through the seaweed and the faint sharpness of seagulls calling. They might have tried to make her play if she’d been any closer to the water, but Carys knew just how far away she needed to be and kept to that distance rigidly, ignoring the darting lunges some of the selkies made at her to try and startle her closer to one of the pools. Not all of the pools gave access to the sea below, but most of them were still full enough to make it an easy business to drown her if the selkies were feeling especially playful.

  Carys was especially careful to keep her seaweed to the sandy side of the shore that morning. Normally the selkies wouldn’t venture past the hightide line for anything, but on a wild, blustery day that threatened a real storm, they might just be bold enough in their desire to cause mischief to go even so far as the very line between rocky shore and sandy dune.

  It was a pity, thought Carys, grimly heaping the weeds onto her cart, that spring was on its way, unexpected warmth and the clinging cold of winter clashing to make an odd mix of stormy weather that kept the rocky shoreline chancy from day to day. She had wanted to search the pool where she’d found the boy. Something else must have come up with him along with the ring and that secretive belt, and it was just a matter of being able to find it. The sea always gave back what it had taken—or at least, so Carys had found—no matter whether it was a day, a year, or a decade later. It was a fact of life, a manner of living—a hope she had once desperately clung to and now merely grimly held onto as a matter of course.

  There was silence from her cottage when she got back with her crop. Carys noted it but didn’t check on the boy until she’d stacked the second of her bundles beside the cottage. Surely the boy couldn’t have died between this morning and now? Still, she felt uneasy enough to leave her second bundle by the step and open the door briefly. The boy couldn’t answer questions if he was dead, after all; nor could he regain his memories if he was constantly ill.

  When she opened the door, the boy was lying by the fireside. That would have been all right, but he was on the covers instead of beneath them, as if he’d fallen where he lay, and he was shivering though the fire was still burning low. Carys made a tch! of annoyance between her teeth and strode through the door, leaving a trail of briny water on the floor behind her. The kettle was back on the metal swinging arm over the fire and there were tea leaves spilled by the fireplace beside the boy. Had he been trying to repay the hot water from yesterday by preparing tea for her return? Carys, used to the constant grasping of the men and women in the village far above her—who demanded her service, paid her only in the form of what her own labours purchased for her, and threatened death and penalties if any of their men were lost at sea—stared at the mess, non-plussed.

  Was it a trick? The boy had nowhere else to stay, after all; he was probably just trying to make sure of his welcome. She would have to make it clear to him that causing a mess by her fireplace was not the way to do that.

  She put a hand to his forehead and found it clammy with sweat. Another fever? How did that happen? Was it because he’d been up too soon? Should she have left him in the bed? Carys sighed and tucked the covers around him again, then stirred up the fire. She would have to visit the village today, once the seaweed was all in. She would have had to go at some stage, anyway; she wanted to ask around and see if any notable ships from Eppa had been lost at sea in the last few weeks. Now there was also the fact that she needed another opinion. Enfys would charge her steeply for it, but if the boy died…

  Carys went back to stacking the other bundles, but ducked in to check on the boy again when she was finished instead of fetching more firewood straight away. She wasn’t sure, but she thought he grew worse as the afternoon came on. When she threw her last bundle beside the others she was sure enough of it that she didn’t take the time to change into her village things before she left. She built the fire up, then took an oilskin against the blustery rain that was beginning to beat against her cottage, and went back out again. The villager ladies would sniff and hold up kerchiefs against the briny smell of her—as though their brothers, fathers, and husbands who ploughed the sea didn’t have the same scent—but today Carys had no patience for that.

  The fishermen were just making their way back to the village when Carys’ path joined the fork that led down to the safer side of the sea on the right. They nodded respectfully at her in passing but she saw the warding-off motions they made when they thought she was past them. Carys had no patience for that, either; today or any other day. She strode on ahead of them without stopping or acknowledging them by more than a nod in return, pulling her oilskin tighter around her shoulders to stop the rain from running down her collar. Even when she was within the confines of the village, Carys didn’t slow her stride; she would prefer not to be stopped for either friendly or unfriendly conversation while the boy was back in the cottage by himself. Even if she hadn’t been worried about his fever, Carys still remembered the way he’d seized the poker before he knew she was the one coming through the door. She would prefer to know a lot more about someone she’d left alone in her house before she left them there too long.

  She tried to walk a little more quickly past the posting office, but before her crackling oilskin cleared the first window there was a flap of blue apron in the doorway.

  “You’re in town, then, Carys?”

  Carys stopped reluctantly and bowed at the aproned man in the doorway, but only tilted her body enough toward him to be polite. Hopefully Aled would understand that she wished to continue without further interruption.

  He did not. He took two steps down toward her and said, “I’ve not seen you often lately.”

  “No,” said Carys. Aled was one of the few villagers who were kind to her, and she was loath to be really impolite to him. “I’ve been busy.”

  “There’s a storm coming in,” said Aled. She knew as much, and he knew that she knew. Carys had come to the conclusion that this was Aled’s way of saying Take care.

  As she always did, Carys said, “I’ll take care.” She would have walked on, the polite duty done, but it occurred to her to ask, “Any news of Eppan shipwrecks lately, Aled?”

  “Shipwreck? The shore has been calm for some time now.”

  “It could have been further out.”

  He shook his head. “There’s been nothing on the messages yet. Has something interesting washed up?”

  Carys smiled faintly. “Something like that. I’ll be going on.”

  “Will you come for market day?”

  “Yes,” said Carys. She always did come to market day, but that was another thing Aled always asked. She bowed again and went on before he could ask another of his usual questions, her pace quickening to make up for lost time. Enfys lived in the centre of town, her house and attached shop one of the finer ones in the area, and Carys preferred not to stay there for longer than need be. The grey and blue mass of the sea wasn’t visible from the streets at the centre of the town unless you were on the second floor of one of the houses, and another thing Carys much preferred was always keeping the sea in view.

  Enfys wasn’t in the small shop on the first floor of her dwelling, so Carys went back outside and took the narrow stairway to the top floor at the behest of a thin, snivelling shop clerk. At first glance, the room appeared empty, and Carys was about to go back down and harass the clerk again when Enfys’ voice said from behind her, “You’re in town early of the week.”

  “I’m not on business,” Carys replied, turning. Enfys quite often bought from her. “Today, I’ll be buying from you.”

  Enfys looked at her curiously and put down the bags she was carrying. “What have you got this time?”

  “A boy,” Carys said briefly. “He was in one of the pools, nearly dead. He’s got a fever.”

  “What sort of fever? Dry?”

  “No. He’s sweating.”

  “How did you leave him?”

  “Wrapped up in front of the fire.”

  Enfys sniffed. “Very well. It’ll cost you.”

  “Yes,” said Carys, who had expected nothing else. Enfys was the best herbalist in a five village radius, and she saw herself very well paid before she stirred even one of her crooked fingers.

  “You should have left him where you found him,” Enfys said, turning away to her bench. “He’ll most likely die anyway. Those the sea takes don’t come back well.”

  “I know,” said Carys. Was that the sour edge of a smile on Enfys’ face as she ran a finger over squat glass jars? Only twice before, had Carys brought other patients to Enfys from the sea. The latest of those had been a ship’s dog, and it had died by her fireside despite all Enfys could do for it. Carys had been determined to bring no one else—to care for no one else.

  “Then why didn’t you?”

  Carys looked uneasily out the window toward the sea. She was always uneasy when out of quick walking distance of it, but today she felt more anxious than usual. “Just because.”

  “I see,” Enfys said, looking at her sharply. “A pretty thing, is he?”

  “I don’t know,” Carys said, turning away from the window in an attempt to assuage her anxiety. “He’s just a boy. Have you something for me?”

  Enfys waggled two bottles at her, one round and squat, the other taller and stoppered. “Salve and a tea. The salve needs to go on his chest, and the tea inhaled as steam, then drunk.”

  Carys nodded. “All right.” She went to take them from Enfys, but the older woman drew her hands back.

  “I’ll come,” said Enfys.

  “You don’t—the salve and the tea are enough,” Carys said, non-plussed for the second time that day. “I’ll go back alone.”

  “I’ll come,” said Enfys, and put on her ancient bonnet. She might as well have said, Try to stop me. “What did you bring for payment?”

  Carys put her hand into her pocket and brought out a pouch. In it were two pearls, small but perfectly formed, one pink and the other black. She tipped them into her palm and showed them to Enfys, who sniffed.

  “As if I don’t know you’ve others three times as large in that cottage of yours!”

  Carys shrugged. The pearls were far more than she owed Enfys for the salve and the tea, and Enfys knew that very well. The presence or absence of other pearls in her cottage had nothing to do with that fact.

  “Oh well,” grumbled Enfys, when Carys didn’t respond. “I suppose they’ll do for now.”

  Carys put them back in the bag and tossed them to the other woman. “I’ll be going on,” she said. “Come if you’re coming.”

  Enfys chuckled and stuffed the pearls in her ample bodice. “Oh, I’ll be coming! Don’t be walking so fast as you usually do, Miss! Here, you can carry an old woman’s bag.”

  Carys took the bag soundlessly, and as soundlessly slowed her stride when they reached the bottom of the stairs. Enfys was a spry old thing who only referenced her advancing age if it benefited her to do so, and Carys didn’t care to be playing games with her.

  “What a day for walking out,” complained the older woman as she trotted beside Carys. “Those with fevers should be considerate enough to get ’em when the weather’s fine.”

  Carys, who had given up trying to keep the hood of her oilskin up in wind that tore it off now that they were facing the sea, didn’t reply. Enfys must have taken that amiss, because as they passed the post office, she jerked a thumb at Aled, who smiled and lifted one hand to them from one of the windows, and asked, “When are you going to marry that one?”

  There were many things Carys could have said to that. When the selkies are gone and the sea turns warm. Never. What a thing to do to a pleasant man. Instead of any of those, she asked, “Why should I do that?”

  “He’s a good catch and he’s dead keen on you. And if that’s not reason enough, to get away from that nasty cold sea of yours. You’re more than half-selkie yourself these days.”

  “What do you care if I’m selkie or not?” Carys asked coolly. “So long as the seashore is safe, what does it matter?”

  “Well, that’s the question, isn’t it?” said Enfys, and her voice was waspish. She didn’t say anything else after that, and Carys was grateful to walk back to the cottage in peace and quiet.

  The boy hadn’t moved from the fire by the time they got back, nor had he grown any less feverish. In fact, if Carys was correct, he’d grown worse. She left Enfys to her job and went back outside to stack the driftwood she’d left by the door earlier. This boy was more of a disruption than she’d expected when she brought him home. If she’d known, she might have taken him straight to Enfys in the first place and left him there.