Page 26 of Fletcher

“I shall bathe, and…ah.” He went still as she ducked her head down to press her lips against the satiny bulb of his cockhead. “Lass.”

“I didn’t get to kiss you hello here,” Lark told him before she took him into her mouth.

The sea crashed against the hull of the vessel, making it surge up and down like an enormous churn dash. Fiacail remained on deck, using the rails to go from bow to stern and back again as she helped her struggling sisters deal with the difficulties created by the rough seas. Cait Sith had never liked the sea, as water was their only true weakness, so resentment clouded their dizzy thoughts. When they grew sick she held their heads over buckets to catch their spew, and wiped their faces like a coddling mother. Every now and again she would glance at the captain’s cabin, into which the enchantress had retreated.

You have not made good on your promise to serve me.

Something had changed with Derdrui, something that made Fiacail uneasy. Although she’d yanked her hair during their brief conversation, she’d hardly put any effort into the punishment. The enchantress took immense pleasure in the suffering of others; the greater the pain she inflicted, the more delight she seemed to experience. Perhaps she had meant the declaration as a warning not to fail her again. That was truly ridiculous, too. All Fiacail and the Cait Sith had done since their sovereign’s return to the mortal realm was solely in her service. Derdrui knew they would all willingly give their lives for her.

Do I wish die for the enchantress? In her youth Fiacail would have said aye, happily, but now she wasn’t as sure. So much of what they did for her seemed petty and pointless.

Speal joined her by the main mast, seizing a rope when the boat abruptly lurched to one side. Rather than speak over the noise of the waves, she gave Fiacail her thoughts.

Dearg grows impatient with those suffering below. She’ll come up soon. Want you my aid with her?

Everyone on deck stopped working for a moment to stare at them both. Fiacail sent a wordless surge of reassurance and affection to them before she drew her dagger and inserted it in the sleeve end of her heavy coat.

No, I’ll deal with her. She hated this, but it could not be avoided. She also knew Speal’s rough manners disguised a tender heart easily distressed. ’Tis my duty.

Remember how fast the wee fiend can be, Speal warned before she went back to help their sisters at the stern.

Waiting by the hold hatch gave Fiacail some time to collect herself, and block her thoughts from the others before she thought more on how she would attend to Dearg. She’d always despised being the leader of the Cait Sith when it came time to dispatch those stricken. She’d also never shirked the responsibility. One crazed shifter could slay twenty or more others before she could be subdued. Dearg’s illness also meant she would soon lose what little self-control she still possessed. Hunting and attacking haphazardly anything alive might expose their existence to the mortal world, and in time see them all slain.

If the druids dinnae hunt us all down for her slaughter of that tribe.

When the little Cait Sith came up from the hold she had shed her druid’s robes and shifted into a young, pretty mortal maiden dressed in silks. Unlike her other appearances as a pampered mortal, some of the details looked blurry. Her blue eyes had no pupils, and a streak of bright green fluttered in the red curls of her hair. The gown she wore still bore blood stains from the last time she’d killed in that form, but the stains were a vivid orange instead of red.

“Fair day, Sister,” Dearg said as she staggered over to the railing where Fiacail stood. Heat radiated off her as if she had turned feverish. “By the Gods, ’tis a miserable day. Shall we sink in this deluge?”

“That wouldnae help our cause.” Sorrow made her avert her gaze to the white-crested waves below them as she steeled herself. “Remember you when we first met on Skye?”

She laughed with delight. “Aye, for I nearly ended you. Never saw I a wench more shocked when I brandished my blade, and bid you kneel before me and beg mercy.”

Fiacail smiled a little. The battle between them had been brief, and rather vicious, but in the end Dearg had realized that they shared the same nature from their half-Fae blood, and sheathed her blade.

“I made a vow that day,” Fiacail told her. “A promise to ever and always protect you from harm.”

“So you did, and so you’ve done.” Dearg nodded, and tucked her arm through hers. “’Tis strange how easily ’tis, feeding your fears. Until the battle with the MacMar I regarded you as our best fighter. You failed us, Fia. Our sovereign, she didnae care for such, you ken. Indeed, she became most agitated when she summoned me to discuss the matter.”

When she glanced at the little Cait Sith she saw her eyes had cleared, and the streak of green in her mane had vanished. So had the orange-colored stains from her gown. The heat she’d assumed came from fever made its source plain when Dearg’s flesh shimmered faintly yellow. When Fiacail looked past her, she saw the enchantress standing in the doorway of the deck cabin, her gaze avid and unblinking.

“’Twas never memory sickness, then,” she murmured, watching the little Cait Sith’s eyes fill with anticipation. “What boon shall you receive in return?”

“As you may expect, I’ll take your place.” Dearg pursed her pouty lips. “You’ve grown too soft-hearted, Sister. That farm wench you permitted run away with the bairn sealed your fate. Did you truly reckon she wouldnae ken what you did? Aye, and Derdrui came to me that very night to offer me your place, if I should first end you.”

She thought of the half-starved mortal maid to whom she’d shown mercy. Curiously she could not be sorry for that; she had saved both their lives at the cost of her own. “’Twas a fair trade, then.”

Aye, and you should ken I’m not to drink your blood, nor take your memories. None shall remember you, dear Sister. Dearg yanked out the blade Fiacail had hidden in her sleeve, and expertly thrust it between her ribs. May you rot at the bottom of the sea.

The pain of the blow drove all the air from her lungs. Distantly she heard Speal scream as she looked down at her killer, now shifted into her true form of a black-skinned, white-throated Cait Sith. Over her furry head she saw her sovereign smile with delight, and waggle her fingers as if waving good-bye to her. Dearg bared her sharp little fangs as she twisted the blade, tearing through her insides, and then shoved her hard.

Fiacail dropped over the railing and plummeted, smashing into the frigid ocean like an old crock about to shatter.

All sound and light vanished as the waters closed over her head, and she sank down in a whirl of bubbles and currents. The pounding of her heart slowed as she went, and the salt of the ocean blended with the taste of the blood pouring from her side. She saw two dark, vague shapes pass by her, but paid them no heed.

So ’tis how I die. As her vision dwindled she suffered no panic or relief, just a dull acceptance. Now she would go into the darkness, where all she was would disappear, as if she had never been.

Something slammed into her side, seizing her with jagged teeth as it dragged her toward the bottom. The agony of being clamped in its jaws, the blade wound still spilling her blood as more came from where it held her, brought her back to full awareness. From the blur of white and gray Fiacail knew it was a shark, and that it would likely rip her to pieces even before she drowned.