Carys nodded back at him, grateful for the information, but more so to see him go: behind him, Enfys was making her way up the market, threading from side to side to exchange a word or an item here and there. Carys had nothing against the woman personally, but she found Enfys’ eyes too sharp, and her curiosity even sharper. She would prefer not to share either her questions or her speculations with Enfys.

  And despite the fact that Enfys seemed to be completely occupied with her own business, Carys wasn’t surprised when the old woman stopped at her stall.

  “Alive, I take it?” the old woman asked, but it wasn’t really a question. Carys saw the way her sharp eyes fell on the clothes she had bought for Eurion.

  “Alive,” she agreed. “And talkative.”

  Enfys gave a spurt of laughter, short and rude. “Serves you right,” she said. “Didn’t I offer to take him?”

  Carys found herself amused, which was as uncharacteristic as her earlier irritation with Aled had been. “You did.”

  “Then I’ll offer you a warning as well,” said Enfys, sharp but not unkind. “Don’t love things that come out of the sea!”

  Sharp in her own turn, Carys demanded, “What’s your meaning, old woman?”

  Enfys huffed. “Old woman indeed! Only two years ago you were bringing me a dying dog from the sea to save, and when I couldn’t you wandered the shore for three days without going home.”

  “That dog had as fair a chance of surviving as anything that comes—” Carys stopped, and added abruptly, “There was more work in those days; enough to keep me out at nights.”

  “It would have been better for you if it had died the first night,” Enfys said. “You shore wanderers are always the most tender-hearted underneath all that prickle. Once you love something you don’t let it go.”

  “I know better than to love things that come out of the sea,” said Carys, as she had said earlier to Aled.

  Enfys threw her an unreadable look. “You should. Should and do are two different things.”

  “If I didn’t, I would still know better than to fall in love with a boy that age.”

  To her surprise, Enfys snorted. “He’s not as young as all that; and if he is, what of that? At your age, five or ten years here or there makes no difference.”

  “It makes a great deal of difference,” Carys said briefly.

  “Ah, Aled’s too old for you, then? I wondered why you wouldn’t accept him.”

  “There’s a difference,” said Carys. “And it’s no one’s business if I choose not to encourage Aled.”

  “No need to encourage that one,” Enfys said, grinning suddenly. “He’ll keep coming back, regular as the waves on the shore.”

  Perhaps that was why Carys always felt such a sense of entrapment at the idea of wedding Aled.

  Still grinning, Enfys added, “He’ll only stop once you’re wedded. Even then he’d probably stay single and come back when death separates that bond. Well, just see how—”

  “I’m as near to wedded to the sea as I can be,” Carys said. “There’s no use him coming back. There’s no use anyone coming.”

  “Afraid of the sea, or afraid for yourself?” retorted Enfys.

  Carys flicked a look at her and away again. “Your stall must be quiet this evening.”

  “You mean you wish I may go away and leave you in peace!” Enfys crowed. “Very well! But mind you watch yourself—different or not, that’s no boy you have in your home, and you’d be wise to remember that.”

  Carys would have remarked that she had only bought clothes for Eurion, not invited him to stay indefinitely, but Enfys darted away without giving her a chance to speak again, wilily determined to have the last word. Carys gave a short laugh and turned to serve one of her customers, a trader from the regular caravan of sellers who had passed through while Enfys was talking to her. It cost nothing to let Enfys have the last word, and Carys had more important things to worry about.

  * * *

  The sun was still a ribbon of gold rippling across the sea when Carys began her journey back to her cottage. She had sold all of her seaweed more quickly than expected, and she had even had time to wander briefly through the shifting market as it changed from a day market to a night one. The night market sold more in the way of ready-made food than did the day market, and Carys allowed herself the luxury of hot fishcakes from one of the Eppan vendors. There was a chill to the air now, and the fishcakes were a pleasant way to warm herself until she got back to the warm cottage. The fishcakes were good at this stand—the few Eppan-born inhabitants of the village always gathered there—and Carys liked to listen to them as they talked, passing rapidly between Eppan and the common tongue. They didn’t talk to her, nor did they expect her to speak to them, caught up in hearing news of Eppa and things that they had left behind. Today, from what she could understand, they were discussing an attack at the castle on the headland.

  Carys paid for her fishcakes and listened as she ate. It was the first she had heard of an attack—Sunderland was relatively safe, even if its monarchy was as unsettled as its weather. There was the occasional assassination, to allow an outsider heir to take the throne in place of a more popular one, but it was unlike the castle to experience an all-out assault. Its position alone, ringed by sea and accessible from the mainland only via a divided bridge that could be pulled up at the first sight of danger, wasn’t conducive to attack.

  “What attack?” scoffed one of the men, voicing Carys’ thoughts. “Who could get a company over the bridge without being seen?”

  One of the women who was serving, her dark eyes stormy, said something in sharp Eppan. “I saw it myself,” she added, in the common tongue. “Swords flashing up on the castle wall. Nobody is saying much, but one of the heirs was attacked.”

  “Eh, doesn’t it always happen?” said another. “Four heirs this time, and each one sent to a different country to grow up—all four from different mothers. The parliament should do something about it. Whether it’s two heirs or four, one mother or four, there’s no need to be dividing the country by sending the heirs abroad every generation.”

  “They kept one at home,” said a Sunderman dryly. “I suppose he was on the mainland when it happened.”

  The Eppan girl hissed a laugh between her teeth. “Where else? They say he’s very upset.”

  It must, thought Carys, taking note of that short laugh and the likewise bitter speech, have been the half-Eppan heir who had been attacked.

  The Sunderman who had spoken before asked, “Did she live through it?”

  “He,” the Eppan girl said. “It was the half-Eppan heir, not the half-Scandian one. And there’s no news yet; I suppose they’ll make an announcement through the news booths.”

  Carys took the remainder of her fishcakes and left them to talk between themselves, turning herself and her cart onto the road toward the beach with a slow, easy tread. She wasn’t in a hurry to get back to the cottage; there was still enough light to see by, and she enjoyed the peace of the night.

  The cottage was dark when she came around the sandy bluff with her cart, causing a frown to form between her brows. She left the cart where it was and strode toward the door, a chill catching at the nape of her neck, and wrenched the door open.

  A tumble of quilt, wood-smoke, and human boy fell into her arms. “Lady! You’re home! I thought I heard you at the window!”

  Carys caught him by reflex, throwing a look around the dark, smoky cottage. “Don’t hang around my neck,” she said to the face that was beaming up at her. He was evidently much stronger today. “Why have you let the fire die?”

  “I must have fallen asleep,” Eurion said, still clinging around her neck. He was shivering despite the quilt around his shoulders, and Carys wondered exactly how long that fire had been smoking and dying. “I did try to start it again, but I don’t think it’s working. Lady, you’re so warm! Can’t I hold you for just a little whil—”

  Carys pulled his arms apart ruthlessly and towed him toward the bed by one ear. “Go to bed if you’re cold.”

  Eurion said, “Ow, ow, ow!” but didn’t resist the tug on his ear. He climbed quickly back onto the bed, huddling himself in the quilt, and said reproachfully, “I was trying light it again, Lady.”

  “I’ll do it,” Carys said, eyeing the mess in the grate. “Stay in bed and out of my way.”

  She set herself to tidy the grate and hearth, then laid the fire again while Eurion watched her expectantly from his heaped blanket. Perhaps he thought she would speak first. Carys didn’t: she lit the fire and crouched low to blow lightly on the small flame until it caught. If Eurion was hungry, he would have to wait. Without the fire or a contraption device to heat his dinner, it would be at least another hour before he could eat more than the remainder of the speckled bread.

  When Carys at last rose from beside the quickly growing fire, Eurion was still watching. She wondered if he had never seen a person light a fire before, because his eyes were fascinated, and there was nothing otherwise fascinating in her lighting a fire.

  “Did you sell all the seaweed?” he asked, when her eyes met his.

  “Yes.” Carys dusted her coaly hands against the fabric of her skirt and suddenly remembered the bundle of clothes she had left in her handcart. She turned on her heel and went back outside, leaving the tiny tongues of flame to leap hopefully in the grate. She stayed out until she had put away the handcart and swept it down, one eye on the dark, moving sea. The storm had blown itself away, but if the Eppan passenger liner had been truly lost at sea, more things would begin to wash ashore in the next few days. It would be just as well to ask the rag peddler for more information about that next week, when it might be known for sure if the liner had been lost, and which passengers had travelled aboard her.

  Eurion was watching the door anxiously when she came back in some time later, but his face broke into a smile when he saw her. Carys wondered if he had thought she was leaving again in anger, and sighed internally. She would have to get used to telling him where she was going if he was inclined to be so nervous.

  She threw the bundle of clothes onto the bed and went into the kitchen area to prepare their meal. “They should fit,” she said; and added, when a flutter of movement over her shoulder informed her that Eurion was preparing to undress where he was, “Go behind the curtain to change.”

  “Your back is already turned,” protested Eurion, but he did as he was told. From behind the curtain she heard his voice say, “These are nice, Lady! Did you get them just for me?”

  “Who else would wear them?” asked Carys. “Do they fit?”

  He came out a few moments later, still buttoning the shirt, and Carys inspected the fit with an assessing eye. She could sew, but she preferred not to if she could avoid it.

  “Very good,” she said. “There are two sets for everyday wear, and one good set.”

  “Don’t I look nice!” Eurion said, in a pleased voice. He turned his brightest smile on Carys and looked at her through his lashes. “Lady, am I handsome?”

  “There’s a nightshirt as well,” said Carys dampeningly. Eurion was more beautiful than he was handsome—a careless, youthful kind of beauty that fairly glowed in the firelight—but she had the suspicion that he was fully aware of how beautiful he was. Even if it hadn’t been for Enfys’ unveiled warnings, Carys would have been inclined to treat that golden, glowing look with distinct wariness. “Put it on.”

  Eurion wrinkled his nose and went behind the curtain again. “I think you’re beautiful, Lady,” he called back to her. “So you should think I’m handsome.”

  “There’s no burden on me to think you’re handsome,” Carys said, hanging the kettle on the swinging arm and pushing it back. The fire was catching more quickly than she had expected—or perhaps she had merely been outside, gazing at the sea, for longer than she thought. “No matter what you think of me.”

  Eurion’s head poked out from behind the curtain, his eyes wide. “Don’t you think I’m pretty?”

  “Why should I?” demanded Carys. “You’re not my child, that I should be required to find you pretty.”

  “Your child?” Eurion’s voice was slightly indignant. “I’m far too old to be your child!”

  “Do you know how old you are?”

  “Yes!” he said triumphantly, his face lighting up. “There’s a tattoo on my foot—did you see it?”

  “What of it?” Carys asked. She had seen the tattoo but hadn’t remarked it. “Put your foot down before you fall.”

  “Tattooists in Eppa are only allowed to work on people who are past their twenty-first birthdays,” said Eurion. “I don’t know how I know that, but I do, and I must be at least twenty-one. So, Lady—”

  More dampeningly still, Carys asked, “Do you know how old I am?”

  “Twenty-five,” Eurion said at once, smiling brightly at her. “You can’t be older than that!”

  “I’m thirty,” Carys told him. “Sit at the table if you’re not going to go back to bed.”

  Eurion blinked at her once or twice and disappeared behind the curtain again. Carys was left with the slightly amused feeling that she’d startled him a great deal. It was unlikely that he would keep sparkling up at her with those bright, invasive eyes in quite the same way after he processed the fact that there were likely nearly ten years between them.

  When he trotted back out from behind the curtain, Eurion was in the nightshirt. Much to Carys’ surprise, he gave her a melting smile from beneath a fringe of golden hair as he sat at the table, and asked, “No, but as a man, aren’t I pretty? Don’t you think so?”

  “Why should I?” Carys asked again, setting the table. This time, she took down the chair that hung from the wall, and put it at the right hand of her own seat. “You can’t sit there. Sit here instead.”

  “No reason,” Eurion said, slightly sulky, but he got up and moved. He propped his chin on the over-long cuffs of the second-hand nightshirt and sniffed. “Only I think people usually think I’m pretty, even when I’m injured. My pride feels sore. You’ve injured me, Lady.”

  “You’ll not die from it,” Carys told him, setting her own place.

  A frown creased Eurion’s smooth brown brow. “Is someone else coming?”

  “No,” said Carys briefly. “You asked that before. That place is always set.”

  “Oh. Why?”

  “Drink your tea.”

  “I’m drinking it,” said Eurion, over the top of the teacup. His eyes, surprisingly sharp, flicked up to Carys’ face, and he asked unexpectedly, “Why can’t I sit over there? This seat isn’t as nice as that one.”

  “It’s the same.”

  “Yes, but if I sit over there I can look straight at you.”

  Carys, bereft of words by a powerful combination of perplexity and the pressing desire to express to Eurion how very little she wanted him to be looking straight at her, said at last, plaintively, “Why should you? It’s just a face. You have your own; look in the mirror if you want to look at a face so badly.”

  “Yours is more interesting,” said Eurion, tilting his head sideways into one of his hands to gaze at her, smiling dreamily. “It’s like the sea. You look at it and think it’s sullen and dark, but then you see all the living green and blue beneath the coldness. The sea is always cold when you first get in—you have to wait for it to warm up.”

  “Try that in the Sunderland Sea,” Carys told him. “You’ll likely die from the cold in your waiting. If it comes to that, you don’t know I won’t kill you. I could have strangled you to death while you were still weak. I still might.”

  “You won’t,” Eurion said confidently. “You’re like the sea: it couldn’t kill me, either. It spat me back out safely for you to find, and now I have clothes and a warm bed and food.”

  “You don’t have a memory,” Carys reminded him, irritated at that warm, smiling look Eurion still bestowed on her and conscious of a wish to rid herself of it. “You don’t have a name of your own, either.”

  Eurion only smiled at her a little more dreamily. “That’s all right, Lady. You gave me a name, remember? I don’t need two.”

  Chapter Five

  Eurion was certainly mending. Carys saw his eyes slit open when she rose the next day, a warning to her that she would no longer be able to dig out anything she had hidden in the wall while he was in the cottage, asleep or not. He gave her a sleepy smile and seemed to go back to sleep again, but Carys trod more lightly despite that. It would be a nuisance if he were to have a relapse due to lack of sleep.

  Out on the black, jagged rocks, it was a warmer morning—or at least, not a cold one. Carys felt that lack of frigid cold uneasily; the sun was barely a rosy glow on the water, and if it turned too warm too early, she would have to contend with the possibility of the selkies arriving earlier. That would also be a nuisance, since she had wanted to take a little more time along the edges of the water to search for any signs of shipwreck beyond what had already been granted by Eurion’s arrival.

  The sun rose, and with it the sand along the bluffs seemed to sparkle just a little too brightly, the water glare just a little too blindingly. Carys wiped her brow and worked more swiftly, her eyes sharp and watchful. She was never sure if this was the sea’s way of warning her that the selkies were on their way, or if it was the selkies themselves playing with her to make her slower with the headachy dazzle; but if she had before been wary that they would arrive early, she was now almost entirely certain. She grimly snatched handfuls of seaweed from around the lower pools, taking the time to carry it right to the sandy line each time she had a full armful. She was unwilling to leave the piles where they were while the selkies could leap from the ocean at any moment and take possession of them. Even if she took a little longer, it was better that a few pools be left with strands of seaweed around them than that whole piles should make their way into the hands of the murderously mischievous selkies.

  Carys was leaping from the higher rocks to the lower in search of stray pieces of seaweed, her pockets heavy with a few small finds of washed-up bric-a-brac, when the first of the selkies slithered from the water in a splattering of salt and spray. She threw a look at it as it sloughed its satiny brown seal skin, and then at the rocky shoreline before her. There was a white tearing of the water that wasn’t just wave and tide, a sure sign that there were selkies lurking beneath the waves, waiting to beach themselves on the rocks and change into their human forms.