Page 47 of Connal

Fiacail descended into the hold, noting the number of her still-nauseated sisters had decreased as the Cait Sith had grown accustomed to living on the boat. As she made her way to the back room where they had locked up the mortals, she wondered if she should ask the enchantress to permit them to dock again. Over the last two days Derdrui had amused herself by tormenting the strongest of the captives, whose screams had gone on for hours. Unless they soon stopped at another island the sovereign would have to content herself with the few scrawny babblers that remained.

The stench of death rolled out of the captives’ room as soon as Fiacail lifted the bar, and when she glanced inside she rubbed her tired eyes. “Speal.”

Her sister joined her, making a tsking sound as she peered through the doorway. “I reckoned Dearg had another of her spells last night. Did she slay them all, then? What shall you tell the princess?”

“That you permitted that berserk wench play with her prisoners.” As Speal cowered she slammed the door shut. “Where went that wee brat?”

She pointed to the ceiling. “She’s taken to sitting on that bar across the great pole with that flappy cloth.” When Fiacail glared at her she held up her hands. “I cannae remember all the names the mortals use for their cursed vessel parts.”

Fiacail returned to the upper deck, and spotted Dearg perched on the yard of the main mast sail. She had not yet shed the form of the merchant’s pampered daughter, or scrubbed off the dried blood streaking her face and gown. In her hand she clutched the hilt of her favorite blade, which appeared to have snapped in half, silently indicating the ferocity of her butchery in the night.

“I wouldnae, Sister,” one of the sailors said as she approached the mast. “She’s vowed to gut the next of us that plagues her.”

Fiacail glanced at the cabin before she stretched out her claws and used them to scale the mast. Although she was tempted to kick Dearg from her perch into the sea, she climbed out onto the yard and sat down beside her.

“I’m told you indulged yourself again,” she said, looking out at the endless expanse of dark blue. “Shall you enliven the last minute you breathe by explaining why you wasted the last of our sovereign’s amusements, and invited her wrath to fall on all our heads?”

“I’ve my reasons.” Dearg offered her the ruined blade. “Go on and kill me, then. You’ve ever wished to.”

Pitching the broken weapon into the ocean gave Fiacail no satisfaction. “You’ve no’ been right in the head since Insii Orc.” That wasn’t true––Dearg had always teetered on the brink of madness––but it seemed kinder to give her an excuse. “’Tis the hoors’ memories again? This pampered wench didnae wipe them clean?”

Her sister regarded her. “You’re so busy licking Derdrui’s boots you dinnae ken what’s wrong with the Cait Sith. We’ve wasted centuries slaying mortals to acquire their shapes and memories so we may replace them, and why? So we may hide our true selves in those stolen lives for a few decades before we must flee and do thus again?” She stared out at the waves. “’Tis pathetic.”

“We could try slay some druids,” Fiacail suggested. “They’re like us, in a fashion. Mayhap we’ll be born anew instead of living forever.”

“Druids, they’re cows in robes. The MacMar, they’re half-mortal like us. Only Prince Mar created an island to hide them from our sovereign. ’Tis how much he loved his halflings.” Dearg’s shoulders sagged. “We dinnae even ken which Fae to claim as our sire. He abandoned us in this miserable realm. How many of us died being burned or hacked apart for changing on the full moon, or no’ ageing, or being too strong? A hundred? Two?”

“No more died since the princess found us and taught us how to find each other and live among mortals,” Fiacail reminded her. “In return we vowed serve her for eternity. Mayhap when we find the clan for her, she shall gift us the island after she slays them.”

“Ever you offer us hope. I cannae decide if ’tis charming, naïve, or your secret method of torture.” Dearg’s small hand touched hers for a moment. “The enchantress doesnae care for us, Sister. You’ve seen how much we disgust her. She refuses tell us anything about our Fae sire. To her we’re naught but her hunting dogs. She shallnae reward us once we’ve served her purpose.”

The cabin door flung open. “Where are my evening diversions?”

Before she could stop her Dearg jumped from the yard to the deck, where she boldly approached the enchantress.

“I killed the last of the mortals in the night.” The little Cait Sith dipped into a deep curtsey. “The screams and begging for mercy annoyed me.”

Derdrui walked around her, inspecting her bedraggled, blood-stained gown. “You didnae think to gag them?”

“The screams of those you tormented all night annoyed me, Princess,” Dearg explained. “Ever I’ve wondered, how do you make them suffer so much for so long? Mayhap you might teach me do the same. I’ve some slavers to chase once we’re done slaving for you.”

The enchantress laughed as if delighted.

By that time Fiacail had climbed down the mast and rushed over to step between them. “Our sister drank from some crazed mortals on Insii Orc, my sovereign. ’Tis why she spouts such nonsense. Permit me lock her below until her head clears, and she remembers the vow she took to you.”

“At least this runt has always amused me.” Derdrui pushed her aside, and stroked a languid hand over Dearg’s head. “Of all you halflings, you are the one most like the Fae. Lovely and heartless and utterly self-absorbed.” She tipped up her chin to look into her eyes. “All that, and yet half-mortal. Have you any idea how much your existence offends my kind? How dearly the Fae would wish to cut you to pieces if they ever looked upon you? I’ve always protected you girls, and now you steal from me what was my only pleasure in this wretched place.”

Fiacail surged forward, only to be flung across the deck to smash into a water barrel.

“You cannae,” Speal whispered, grabbing her as she scrambled up to go after their sister. “’Tis the true reason she slew the last mortals. Our sister wishes for death.”

“Apologies, my sovereign,” the little Cait Sith said. “Next time I shall share my sport with you. Ever I’ve yearned see how you keep them alive so long.”

For a moment everyone held their breath as Derdrui went still. Then, with a husky laugh, the enchantress patted Dearg on the head.

“You see? Just like the Fae.” The enchantress yawned. “Clean up your mess, and take us to another island. You may collect my diversions for me.” She strolled back into the cabin.

Speal gripped the railing as her knees shook. “Gods blind me, but I reckoned her dead.”