Lycan Tides: Guardians of Light, Book 3

by Renee Wildes

  “Trystan, wait.”

  He turned at the doorway, a question in those piercing blue eyes.

  Stars, those eyes…

  “The someone back home, whom you promised. Is it a woman? Are you married?”

  “A woman? Aye. But a wife?” He shook his head and smiled. “Nay, lass. Were I bound t’ another, I’d no’ be stayin’ with ye an’ the littles. ’Tis no’ me way. Me folk back home have but one mate. There’s no one awaitin’ me return.”

  One mate per male? In her world the strongest bulls got the most cows. A bull could have many cows in his household, but each cow answered to but one bull. A pang struck her. Acourse being stuck on land, with Bran gone, she’d had an uncommon spell of freedom. None to answer to, making her own decisions. A small rebellious part of her—the part that had caused her to disregard her sire’s warnings so long ago—reveled in that freedom. Even as she yearned for the sea itself, she dreaded going back to the harem, to being just one of many in her sire’s household, until he shipped her off to some other bull.

  Why her heart flipped at Trystan’s unbound status she didn’t know. ’Twas of no consequence to her. “You’ve never taken a wife?”

  His eyes twinkled. “I’ve been asked. But I’ve ne’er been tempted t’ say aye.”

  Stop talking now. You’re making a fool of your— “What? You mean to tell me your women do the choosing? And they ask?” Finora knew her jaw was surely hanging down around her knees, but she couldn’t seem to close her mouth.

  “The clans are each ruled by a headwoman. The women govern an’ each decides who they wish t’ take as a mate an’ father their bairns. Doth a mon piss her off enough, a lass is free t’ release him an’ choose another.”

  “What do the men do?”

  He shrugged. “Whate’er we’re good at. We hunt, scout, craft, defend. Those o’ us that be guardians, though,” a shadow crossed his face, “are sworn t’ the clans as a whole. That be above any bond t’ one woman. There’s no’ many women who relish the thought o’ a mon that oft disappears for days, weeks or months at a time on clan business, or can be slain in battle.”

  “Is that what this is?” Finora asked. “This quest of yours? Clan business?”

  His eyes sobered. “Nay, lass. ’Twas a promise t’ a guardian queen, who wished t’ know if she be the last o’ her kind.”

  She sensed a holding back in those words, like there was something he could have added but didn’t. One thing was clear to her, however: Trystan was an honorable man, with his own ironclad code of conduct. She could trust him. She moved around him, brushed against his arm as she opened the Mermaid’s door and went back inside.

  The children sat at the table with Giles and Jan, Niadh and Storm sprawled at their feet. Ealga perched on the back of Braeca’s chair. Giles handed Trystan the half-finished whiskey Trystan had set down when he’d stepped outside for their talk. “Would you like something?” Giles asked Finora.

  The whiskey was too tempting. She needed a clear head. “Just cider,” she replied. Tess unloaded her tray at the next table.

  Giles waved Tess over and gave her Finora’s request.

  Finora sat down in the empty chair betwixt her two children. “Were the scones good?”

  Ioain nodded. “Can we bwing some home?”

  “Please, Mama?” Braeca added, pleading in her big brown eyes.

  Finora laughed. “Very well. Enough with those cow eyes, poppet!” When the other woman brought her the cider, she said, “Tess, I think I’ll need a dozen of those cranberry scones to take home with us.”

  “I’ll wrap them now,” Tess replied.

  Trystan held out a hand and Ealga returned to his shoulder. He slouched against the wall, savoring his drink. “They make this back home. Me uncle Cormag’s a master. His has a unique nutty flavor an’ his barrels’re stamped with an acorn.”

  Finora stared at Trystan, the wild Arcadian mountain man, from his long, grizzled grey hair to his muscled legs. She couldn’t help herself. The tattoo down the left side of his face made him look so fierce, but all she could recall was the hot desire in his eyes and the feel of those strong arms around her, holding her close. She wasn’t the only one staring at the way his broad shoulders filled out his shirt. Catching herself at it made her frown. Ridiculous to feel possessive over a stranger. She had no claim on him.

  “Acorn whiskey’s rare,” Jan stated. “Hard t’ find, an’ too rich for the common purse.”

  “Soon we should be able t’ afford it. Cap’n’s lookin’ for ’nother ship,” Giles clarified. “We’ll be sailin’ ’gain in a few weeks.”

  Finora’s gaze slid to Trystan, who stared at the memorial wall, at all the names of those lost to Cilaniestra. “What is it?”

  “’Tis lucky I am t’ no’ be listed there. Thanks t’ him.” He saluted Storm with his cup.

  “Lighthaven Water Dogs. Mari breeds and trains them,” Finora told him. “They’ve gained a reputation all over Rhattany.”

  Braeca also stared at the wall. “My da’s on that wall.”

  “Aye, lass.” Trystan’s face softened. “I’m sorra for yer loss.”

  Oh, he was dangerous…

  “Is your da gone, too?”

  “No’ t’ me knowledge. But I’ve been gone from home for some months now.”

  “But ye’re old!” Braeca indicated his grey hair. “He must be ancient.”

  “Braeca!” Finora’s cheeks heated.

  Trystan laughed. “Well, I’m no’ as old as all that. Simply went grey early. They told me it makes me look wise.” He assumed a solemn expression that made the children giggle.

  Finora again sensed a holding back. Trystan shot her a sharp glance but said naught further.

  “Time to go home,” Finora said. “I don’t want to be climbing in the dark.” She stood, picked up the wrapped packet of scones and inclined her head to Giles and Jan. “Good night.” The children headed for the door, shadowed by the two canids. Finora followed with Trystan and Ealga bringing up the rear. She tried in vain to ignore his gaze. The back of her neck prickled with awareness.

  She stopped at Mari’s. Storm’s dam sprawled against Mari’s makeshift stand but lumbered to her feet at their approach. She looked to be near her time—swollen like a great furry whale. “I need a kira of frill and a half of red.” Finora reached down to rub the dog’s ears.

  Mari weighed out the two seaweeds. “Pups should be here next week,” she said to the Ioain and Braeca. “You two will have to come see them.”

  Ioain stared at his shoes. Finora paid Mari and tucked the wrapped packages under her arm. They continued up the cliffside path. The children sang a counting rhyme Mistress Greta had taught Braeca. Finora and Trystan followed in silence.

  “Finora!”

  Bree’s call stopped her in her tracks. “What’s wrong?”

  “Naught’s wrong,” the mermaid replied. “We’ve been scavenging the ship and I found something your new friend might wish to see.”

  Trystan placed a hand against her back. “What is it?”

  She turned around. “Bree’s found something she wants you to see. We’d best go down to the shore.” She shivered. That luring, elusive shore…

  The children flew back down the trail, calling “Bree! Bree! Bree!” all the way to the water. Bree herself floated just beyond the shallows.

  “I found some weapons that look to be yours.” She indicated the left side of her face. “The blades have similar markings. Stand back.” She flipped the first one toward them.

  An axe. Finora barely had time to register that fact as Trystan shielded the children with his own body. Ealga launched herself out of the way. He watched the spinning blade and, almost faster than Finora could follow, plucked it out of mid-air.

  “Is it yours?” Finora asked him.

  He stared at the blade in wonder, traced the etching with a finger. “Aye.”

  “I’ve three more, and a great big one,” Bree called. “There’s al
so a shield with some strange animal on it—long body, short legs, sharp teeth. Sound familiar?”

  “’Tis a badger, lass,” he responded, eyes alight as he herded the children farther back. “I’ll take ’em if ye’ve the strength t’ pass ’em this far.”

  That put a kink in Bree’s tail. The mermaid’s face darkened as she hurled one axe after the other. Finora had never seen anyone move so fast, but Trystan caught all three, dropping one to the ground afore grabbing the next. Bree had to dive for the double-edged broadaxe and used both hands to hurl it. Finora ducked out of the way as Trystan leapt in front of her to catch it.

  He growled. “’Twas reckless.”

  “She’s got a temper,” Finora told him as Bree dove again.

  “She could kill someone.”

  Finora shrugged. “She doesn’t care overmuch. Call it a test.”

  Bree reappeared on the surface with the shield, sliding through the waters on her back, into the dangerous shallows, the shield on her chest sea-otter style. “Come and get it,” she purred.

  Finora stiffened as Trystan waded into the sea. Bree was looking to teach someone a lesson. A cold, wet nose nudged her hand and she jumped. Niadh stared at her with uncanny calm. He didn’t appear at all worried, and Finora tried to relax.

  Trystan reached for the shield and Bree flipped over, smacking him with her tail. Her arms reached for his neck—she was trying to dunk him. But he was smarter than the mermaid had given him credit for. He stood with a wide stance and knees bent so although the tail lash might have stung, he didn’t topple over. Instead of grabbing for her slippery fish body, Trystan knotted a hand in her hair, and afore Finora could blink had one of the small axe blades held to Bree’s throat.

  “Enough games,” he growled. “Give me the shield like a good girl.”

  Bree laughed as she held out the shield.

  “Did I pass?” Trystan asked, releasing her hair—not his weapon—to take the shield.

  “Not quite.” Without warning, she curled her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his in a quick, playful kiss. He froze. She pulled away afore he could react. “You passed.” With a hard downward swing of her tail, she spun away, heading for deeper water. “He’s a good man, Finora—smart, fast, and a protector at heart. You might think on keeping this one.”

  Trystan slogged his way to shore, tucking the axe away and wiping his mouth. He glared at Finora. “Ye have verra odd friends, woman.”

  Braeca and Ioain giggled. Finora grinned. “You forgot to say thank you,” she prompted. “He says thank you,” she sent Bree’s way.

  “Liar,” Bree laughed.

  “At least you got your weapons back,” Finora said. “I’ve oil polish that will reverse any salt water damage.”

  Ioain walked up to the shield, tracing the creature Trystan had called a badger, and then pointed to Trystan himself. “You.”

  Finora frowned, trying to reconcile the silver-grey wolf with the curious animal on the shield. She couldn’t make her mind do it.

  Trystan knelt afore Ioain. “Ye’re right, laddie. Me mother’s clan is Badger, me father’s clan is Wolf.” He indicated the tattoo on his face. “The top circle is for me mother—it stands for Badger. The lower circle is for me father—it stands for Wolf. Me plaid also shows the blending o’ wolf-black an’ badger-grey. So, back home, anyone can look at a mon an’ see who an’ what he is, what family he calls kin.”

  “Let’s go home,” Finora suggested. Back up the cliff they climbed, to the cottage by the Light. ’Twas near dusk. Ealga flew off to a distant tree to roost. “I’ll get the Light,” she said. “Can you start a fire in the hearth?”

  “Aye,” Trystan agreed. By the time she returned downstairs, a fire was crackling and he was removing his not-leather armor and weapons belt.

  Finora took down a jar from the mantel—the metal polish. Braeca fetched the basin from her mother’s bedroom, placed it on the table, then went back for the pitcher. Ioain brought rags and a towel. Finora ran a hand down the supple, shiny almost-leather. Upon closer inspection, she noticed they were the scales of some mysterious creature. Rather than black as she’d first thought, ’twas the darkest red imaginable. “What is this?”

  “The shed skin o’ a dragon. The greatest o’ our guardians. They vanished years ago. No one knows why. I thought them lost fore’er ’til I met Queen Dara—an’ she be but half.” He looked at Finora. “Where there’s one, there must be more. That’s who I promised, what I promised. T’ find the rest, where they went.” His gaze hardened. “T’ know why they abandoned me people, their charge.”

  Of course a guardian would take the desertion of a fellow guardian very seriously. Finora rested her hand on his arm. “Do you know which direction they went?”

  “All I know is west, into the settin’ sun. ’Twas how I ended up comin’ from Arcadia t’ Rhattany. Ye’re west.”

  “What’s a dragon?” Braeca asked.

  Trystan frowned. “D’ye ken a lizard, lass?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, imagine a great flyin’ lizard, as long as ten men, in any shade from red t’ gold, with spines along its back, a forked tongue, tendrils hangin’ from its muzzle, an’ breathin’ fire.” He, too, ran a hand along the armor. “No blade can penetrate dragon scales.”

  Ioain and Braeca blinked. “Fire?” Braeca asked.

  He nodded. “Th’ greatest Shifters o’ them all. They can turn into humans. Known by their red hair, ability t’ wield magic an’ power t’ allure.” His gaze captured Finora’s.

  The power to allure… Finora caught herself staring into Trystan’s eyes for a long moment. She snatched her hand from his arm and shook herself back to sense. “I’ll start supper.”

  Trystan sat at the table, cleaning his weapons, first with clear water, then with the oil, whilst telling the children amusing tales of his childhood. Finora mulled over his earlier words. What if the dragons had a reason for leaving? What if they didn’t want to go back? What chance did a mortal warrior, Shifter or nay, have against a fire-breathing magic-wielder, clad in an impenetrable hide, ten times his size? A giant lizard with claws and fangs? She knew what they looked like. She’d seen a picture of one, once. But where? When?

  The children chattered through a supper of sausage gravy over the last of the biscuits. Trystan’s gaze clashed with hers, but she averted her eyes. Finora remained quiet, troubled by her thoughts—and troubled about being troubled by her thoughts. How could she care so for a near-stranger?

  After supper she washed and Braeca dried the dishes whilst Trystan went out with Niadh and Storm. Rona curled afore the fire, purring. Finora sat down to her braiding, Braeca grabbed her stylus and chalk to practice her letters and Ioain built a fort with his blocks. Trystan was gone for a long time. Finora listened to Braeca read two poems, then Ioain’s yawn told her it was time for bed. “Go get your nightclothes on.”

  “But Mama,” Braeca argued, “we wanna wait for Trystan.”

  “Absolutely not,” Finora decreed. “’Tis time for bed, poppet, and that’s the end of it.”

  She tucked the children into their little beds with a kiss and closed the door. Edgy, she grabbed her shawl and stepped outside. Storm lay curled by the door, but Niadh and Trystan were not to be seen. She strode over to the edge of the cliff and sat down in the cool grass, tucking her knees under her chin. She stared out at the dark depths of the sea, felt the pull of the tide against her skin, that never-ending siren’s call. She had no business on land—her home lay beyond. But what if she did find her skin? What would happen to her children if she returned to the sea? What would it be like, to forego her newfound freedom for the constraints of the harem, to surrender her will anew to whatever bull she must answer to?

  She lay back and stared up at the all-powerful moon, the cool glowing face of Cilaniestra, who gave and took back, like the very tide itself. Afore she even heard his steady footsteps, she felt Trystan’s approach.

  “Such dark th
oughts on such a beautiful night.” Trystan dropped aside her. “I could hear ye broodin’ clear ’cross the bluff.”

  He’d been running, long and hard. She felt the damp heat pouring off him. “You think she’s beautiful, the face of Cilaniestra?” She waved to the moon.

  “Ye dinna think so? She rules our world, lass—nightwalker an’ sea critter alike.”

  “She’s a treacherous bitch,” Finora retorted, her tone hard as stone as she sat up. Tears stung her eyes. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

  “What d’ye no’ think I’d ken?” he demanded. “Bein’ trapped in one form whilst yer entire bein’ screams t’ be ’nother? Havin’ that hollowness gnaw at yer bones day an’ night, without rest?” He cupped his hand under her chin, turning her face so her gaze met his. His eyes gleamed in the moonlight, a trace of feral-green mere inches away. “I ken the sea calls ye home, lass, an’ I ken ye canna return. Why is that?”

  She swallowed hard and tried not to shake. “Does the sea reach your home? Do you know of selkies?”

  He shook his head. “Nay, me mountains’re landlocked. It takes weeks o’ hard travel t’ reach the sea. I’d ne’er e’en heard the word selkie ’til I met you.”

  “We’re born Shifters, seal to human. Look out there, at the lower light. See them?” She pointed without looking.

  He turned away to gaze down at the Break, at the shadows on the rocks. “Those odd-shaped dogs, with slopin’ backs an’ fins for paws?”

  Finora nodded. “Those are true seals, but we look similar in true-form, if bigger. We can shed our sealskins like a blanket, take human form, walk among them. I did once, out of curiosity. We’re very careful with our skins, for if we lose them—or they’re stolen—we can never go back. Never return to the sea, though it screams inside us until our souls shrivel and we go mad with the yearning. I’ve been looking for years. My sire told me to not lose hope, but it’s so hard. It’s unrelenting.”

  “What happened?”

  “Bran found where I’d hidden it, and he stole it and hid it elsewhere. Then Cilaniestra took him for Her tithing and now he’ll never be able to tell me.” Tears slid down her cheeks.