“What of Lord Jarl?” Mrs. Wyatt asked.
“What about him?”
“He keeps his eye on everyone here. He’ll ask how we can afford a caretaker for your grandfather when we can barely afford to pay the mortgage on this place.”
“So we’ll say she’s a tenant.”
“Then he’ll want a portion of her rent.”
“So tell him the truth. We’re not paying her and we’re not charging her. She’s our guest. I don’t see how it’s any of his business who we keep here.”
“He’s the one who owns this place, Jace. Or have you forgotten? We run the inn, but he owns it. He owns us.”
Lena lowered her brow.
“He doesn’t own me,” Jace muttered. “I’m my own man.”
“You will be,” his mother replied, “One day. The more money we make, the more we pay off our debt. Once we’re out of the red, the inn is ours.”
“He’s never going to let us have it. You know it. I know it.” Jace’s voice sounded . . . tired. Lena dared to peek at him out of the corner of her eye. He ran a hand through his hair and scowled at his shoes.
Lena chewed her bottom lip, wishing she had those large obsidian shards the old merrow woman had given her. Would they be of any value to the human world? What could she do to prove her worth to Mrs. Wyatt? To repay her for her gruff hospitality, however begrudging it might be?
She pressed her gaze to her lap and wracked her brain. As soon as she could walk on her own, she’d go crabbing, she decided. It might be a small gesture, but if she could put food on their table . . . She knew what it was like to scrape for money, for meals. To go hungry.
“Ah, there you are Mrs. Wyatt.”
Lena jerked her gaze to the threshold, where a dark-eyed man with a venomous grin had snaked between Jace and his mor. He stood tall, bristling with a refined sort of elegance, but there was something about him that Lena did not like.
He was dressed all in black, his slim arms and legs sleekly concealed. A plush swath of fabric, deeply blue, was draped over his back, adhered to his stiffly erect shoulders by polished silver clasps.
“Lord Jarl!” Mrs. Wyatt curtsied. “You’re early.” She fidgeted with her pockets, her smile stretched thin. “I haven’t collected payment from our customers yet. If you wouldn’t mind waiting—”
“I do mind, madam,” Lord Jarl interjected, his voice laced with cold amusement. “I’m a busy man, and I’d rather not twiddle my thumbs in establishments of such . . . ill repute.” He sniffed the air, as if a foul odor abounded. Mrs. Wyatt mustered a nod, though her eyes had narrowed to slits.
“Of course, Your Grace,” she said tightly. “I’ll just be a few moments.”
“A few moments, nothing more.” His words were clipped, each one sending a spray of spittle into the air.
“You can’t talk to her like that,” Jace began as his mother hurried away. Lord Jarl held up his hand.
“No one asked you to speak, boy,” he snapped. His gaze slid around the room and landed on Lena. “Well, well,” he remarked, a calculating smirk slithering across his jaw. He prowled to her side, each step clicking against the floor, and drew an icy fingertip along the back of her neck. Lena shivered.
“Pretty as a pearl,” Lord Jarl breathed. “Who is she?”
“A passenger from the shipwreck,” Jace replied quickly. “She washed up this morning. She’s a bit . . . disoriented.”
Lord Jarl lifted Lena’s chin with his gloved hand. She curled her lip, and he chuckled.
“A little jewel you found on the shore, hmm?” His black eyes dipped to the conch still strung around Lena’s neck. He tilted his head, curiosity glittering in his gaze, then returned his focus to Lena’s face. “I don’t believe I’ve seen such a rare beauty before. Though she is a bit . . . unkempt. And she reeks of the ocean.” He snubbed Lena’s nose and she flinched away from him. “Slippery little fish,” he sneered, cocking a brow.
Lena gasped, indignation and panic hot in her throat. “I’m not—” she began, just as Mrs. Wyatt burst back into the kitchen.
“Here you are, Your Grace,” she said, lifting a brown coin purse for him to see.
Lord Jarl’s mouth flattened to a line as he accepted it. “A bit light this month,” he noted, weighing the purse in his hand.
“It’s all we have,” Mrs. Wyatt replied. “I should have more soon, when the fishing vessels return from sea.”
“If they return,” Lord Jarl amended coolly. “If the Fosse-Søfolk are feeling generous today.”
Lena sucked in a breath. So the humans did know about the Fosse-Søfolk.
“Don’t be absurd,” Mrs. Wyatt sighed, shaking her head. “You and half the town fill each other’s heads with nonsensical stories about the sea.”
“I still find it surprising you believe such things after your husband’s death . . .” Lord Jarl began, but paused. “Ah, well. It’s not my place to tamper with a woman’s delusions.”
Lena’s stomach twisted as she imagined the mark of Mrs. Wyatt’s husband—Jace’s father—staining Asger’s sun-kissed skin.
“Have Jace bring the rest of the money in the morning. I have some opportunities I’d like to discuss with him.”
“I’m not interested in your opportunities,” Jace snapped, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Come to my study tomorrow, boy,” Lord Jarl snarled. “I’ll expect you sharply at nine.”
Jace clenched his jaw. Beside him, Mrs. Wyatt cleared her throat—a warning to behave.
“Yes, Min Herre.”
Lord Jarl nodded, satisfied by Jace’s reluctant agreement. His eyes brightened as they returned to Lena.
“Good day to you, little pearl,” he murmured. Lena pinched her lips together. Lord Jarl only chuckled at her silence. He looped the straps of the coin purse around his slender wrist and strolled out of the kitchen, not bothering to offer parting pleasantries to Jace or Mrs. Wyatt as he left.
For several moments, no one spoke. No one moved. Quiet filled the room, tense and expectant, broken by the clap of the inn’s front door and Mrs. Wyatt’s shuddering sigh.
“If I could spit on that man, I would,” Mrs. Wyatt swore, rubbing her arms as if his presence had admitted a draft. “Jace, take the girl to your grandfather. I don’t like the way Lord Jarl was sniffing after her.”
Lena stiffened, surprised and strangely warmed by the sentiment. She hadn’t liked it, either.
“What about tomorrow?” Jace inquired softly. “I don’t want to spend any more time with that prick than I have to.”
“I’m afraid you don’t have much of a choice, do you? You know how stubborn he is. He always finds a way to get what he wants. Better to just . . . give it to him.” She patted his cheek.
Jace’s shoulders sagged. He peered at Lena, who had shoved her stew aside, appetite altogether ruined.
“Come on, then,” he said, motioning for her.
Lena pushed herself to standing, though her feet still felt heavy and numb, as if they weren’t quite a part of her yet. She clutched the edge of the table and then, the counters as she crossed to him. Jace tipped his gaze to the ceiling, exhaling his annoyance, and reached forward to help her along. Mrs. Wyatt raised a brow.
“Do you need to see a doctor, child?” she asked.
“She says she’s alright, mor,” Jace grumbled.
“Just . . . sore,” Lena stammered.
Mrs. Wyatt crinkled her brow, unconvinced, then shook her head. “We can’t afford it anyway,” She decided, and began to clear the table.
Lena braced herself on Jace’s arm as he led her out of the kitchen. She tried to match his movements—one step, then another. Heel, toe.
“Pops can be a little . . . uncouth,” Jace explained as he shouldered her along. “He’s mostly blind, so when he meets someone new . . . well, you’ll see. Just swat him away if he’s bothering you. That’s what I do.”
“My father was blind too,” Lena replied, focusing her violet gaz
e on her feet. She couldn’t imagine ever swatting Carrick as if he were a nuisance—a frisky jellyfish or a stray eel.
They paused at a heavy door, its edges ornately carved with all manner of sea creatures. Lena scanned the engravings for merrow, and was relieved to find none.
Jace knocked, and pushed inside without waiting to be invited. Lena hobbled along beside him. Heat sighed over her face as she entered the boxy, wood-paneled room. A fire crackled ahead of them, contained in an alcove of red stone. A pair of cushioned armchairs were stationed in front of an unlatched window. One was empty. The other was occupied by an older man, basking his deeply wrinkled skin in the afternoon sun.
“Hey Pops,” Jace called out. “I brought you a visitor.”
The man shifted in his chair, craning his neck over his shoulder. His eyes were hazy, nearly as white as his hair. He extended his arm toward them, hovering his fingers in the air, his mouth parting with expectation.
Lena blinked, the gesture reminding her so much of Carrick.
“Remember what I told you,” Jace murmured, cringing as he guided her forward.
The elder man’s ears perked at the clumsy shuffling of Lena’s bare feet over the floor. He reached toward her.
“Easy Pops,” Jace began.
“It’s alright.” Lena clutched the blind man’s gnarled, blue-speckled fingers and brought them gently to her cheek. The elder man sighed.
“She smells of the sea,” he murmured. Somehow, Lena didn’t mind him saying so.
Jace snapped his fingers. “I forgot the bath,” he muttered.
His grandfather smiled and clucked his tongue.
“Who needs bathwater when you live a stone’s throw from the beach?”
“You, for starters,” chided Jace. His grandfather laughed—a mirthful sound, hearty and full.
“What’s your name, miss?”
“She won’t say.”
“Well perhaps she would if you gave her a moment to answer.”
Lena lowered her hands and latched them at her waist. Jace’s grandfather continued his delicate explorations, drifting his wilted fingertips over the planes of her cheeks, down the slope of her nose and along her jaw, tracing the shape of her face. He pressed his gray lashes shut, mentally assembling what he could feel but could not see. Carrick had done the same, exactly the same, more times than she could count.
“Lena,” she whispered. Jace coughed with surprise. His grandfather grinned.
“Didn’t want to tell him, did you?” he mused. His lips quivered, suppressing a laugh. “I don’t blame you, lass,” he whispered, as if Jace couldn’t hear them. “A girl should keep all the secrets she can. Makes her irresistible.”
“Will you keep your name a secret from me?” Lena smiled as his inquisitive fingers measured the length of her hair.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he chuckled. “What makes a young woman mysterious makes an old man a bore. Please, call me Edwin.”
“Pops, I’m going to leave Lena here with you. Is that alright?” he asked, speaking too loudly.
Lena could have sworn that, behind the murky haze, Edwin rolled his eyes.
“Fine, fine, my boy,” he replied, waving off his grandson. “I’ll be fine. I’m always fine. Haven’t you learned by now?”
Jace glanced wearily at Lena, who gave him a reassuring smile.
“That’s it, lass,” Edwin said, as if he could see the brief exchange between them. “Send him on his way.”
“If he gets too bothersome—” Jace muttered and made a swatting motion with his hand. Then he exited the room.
“Thick in the head, that one,” Edwin chuckled, adjusting himself in his seat.
“I think he’s kind,” Lena replied.
“Do you?”
She hesitated, tucking a curl behind her ear.
“He rescued me,” she said. “And . . . he helped me dress.”
Laughter burst from Edwin’s throat.
“I bet he did!” He wiped the cheerful moisture from his eyes. “He is a good boy, works hard for his mor. But like I said, thick in the head.” He curled his fingers to a fist and knocked it against his skull. Lena giggled.
“A good boy,” Edwin repeated. “Foolish too. All young men, Lena, are fools.”
Lena’s cheeks warmed, delighted by his teasing remarks. Edwin patted the empty seat beside him, inviting her to take a seat and she obliged.
“Tell me, Lena,” Edwin said, propping his elbow on the arm of his chair and nestling his chin in his palm. “Where are you from?”
Lena tucked her fingers into her lap. “The sea,” she said, digging her nails into the fabric of her dress.
“Ah, yes.” Amusement rumbled in Edwin’s throat. “The ship that sank with no survivors.” No survivors. Lena gasped, struggling to collect herself as images of yesterday’s sailors flashed behind her eyes.
“I survived,” she managed to say.
“So it would seem. You’re lucky the sea let you go.”
“Let me go?” Did he know?
Edwin nodded. “All manner of wild, mystical creatures thrive beyond the shore, beneath the surface.”
“What sorts of creatures?” Did he suspect her? She shifted in her seat. The dress she wore suddenly felt too tight, too confining. Edwin shrugged.
“One hears stories,” he replied, “Of the Fosse-Søfolk, the terrors of the sea. Of lasses with enchanting voices, golden combs, and ruby-red hair.” He folded his hands over his chest. “I used to know the sea quite well,” he continued, nodding to himself.
“I was a sailor once, when I was a lad. Made my lot by the waves. Sailors always worry that something foul lurks beneath the hulls of their ships. But I’d wager there’s beauty down there, too.” His thin lips sketched a kind smile as he stared off into the void of the room. “How are you liking our little inn, Lena?” he asked.
Lena swallowed and tried to relax. He couldn’t know . . . where she came from, what she used to be. He couldn’t even see her. How could he know? But she remembered her father—sensing her sadness, her eagerness, her despair, even when she was silent. Could Edwin sense her nervousness now? She let her shoulders sink and ceased twisting her fingers in her lap.
“It’s lovely,” she replied, massaging easiness into her tone.
“I remember it clearly, you know. This room especially. They’ve kept my quarters intact. All the furniture in exactly the same place. So worried I’ll go bumbling about and crack my head open, or shatter a hip. Now they’ve brought a pretty lass here to keep me company. It seems I’m more of a nuisance to them than a help. Which is more true than I’d like to admit. Don’t tell them I said so.”
“Your secret’s safe with me.” In spite of herself, Lena smiled. “My father began to lose his sight a few years ago.”
“A cruel twist of fate for a man.” Edwin slid a hand over his knee. “A curse. But I suppose I should count my blessings. I have my daughter-in-law who frets over me, and a grandson who tends to my needs, even if he does it with a frown most days. And now it would seem, I have a new friend.”
Lena felt a twisting pang of guilt as she thought of Carrick, all alone in the caverns . . . He would never embrace his children again. Her eyes filled with tears. If only she’d listened to Javelin . . . if only . . .
“Would you like to play a game of cards, lass?” Edwin asked, tilting his chin curiously.
Lena dabbed her cheeks with the cuff of her sleeve.
“I—I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. Cards?
“The top drawer, over there.” He gestured toward a small compartment on a nearby table. “Don’t dally, lass. Fate waits for no one.”
Lena crinkled her brow with confusion, but pushed herself to her feet. She used the wall to steady her gait as she moved toward the desk, swaying dangerously with every step. From the drawer, she retrieved a small, black sack. The fabric was silky and cool, soft as silt at the bottom of the sea.
“Do you have them?” Edwin asked, brea
king her awed silence. Lena glanced over her shoulder, meeting his blank stare.
“Yes,” she replied. “I think so.” She carefully maneuvered her way back to her seat.
“Move your chair in front of mine, so I might gaze upon you,” Edwin instructed, chuckling at his own joke.
Lena deposited the sack in his outstretched hand and did as she was told, locking her knees as she tugged her armchair in front of Edwin’s footstool. Edwin thumped at the empty air in front of him, searching, and landed on the footstool’s tufted buttons. Lena watched as he tipped out a deck of thick parchment and began to form untidy piles on the ottoman between them.
“These cards can tell the past, the present, and the future,” Edwin explained, pinning his forefinger to each pile in turn. “Pick one.”
Lena studied the swirling black matter on the backs of the cards. Facedown, each one looked exactly the same.
“How do I know which to choose?” she asked.
“Let your heart guide your hand, lass.”
Lena realized she was holding her breath. She hovered her fingers over the three stacks, then slowly lifted a card and turned it over. Edwin reached forward, finding her hand, brushing his fingers over the card beneath. Concern tethered his brow as he inspected the raised drawing and swirling inscription.
“Oh, this is a dark card.” His voice was low and sorrowfully sympathetic. Lena studied the thin, palm-sized portrait—a skeleton, like the skeletons left behind by fish. This one was long-legged, the hollows of its eyes empty and deep. She’d seen the bones and skulls of sailors half-buried in the sand beneath sunken ships, jaws agape, skin nibbled away by urchins and crabs. She swallowed.
“Death,” Edwin confirmed. “Death has plagued you. Death has sealed your fate.” His fingers drifted forward, floating over the ridges of her knuckles where she gripped the edge of the table. He turned her palm over and inhaled sharply. Lena jerked her hands against her chest, as if she could reclaim whatever it was he had seen.
“This is only the beginning, it seems,” Edwin murmured. “Your journey will lead you somewhere between the sea and stars. Somewhere unknown, even to me.”
“Between the sea and . . .” Lena questioned, but before she could continue, Edwin turned another card. A small smile crept over his lips as he inspected it. Lena recognized the scene from the night before, when the heavens had been lit by the glow of the moon and stars. The sky had seemed almost as if it were its own sea, with millions of unique creatures swirling in its black abyss.
Between the Sea and Stars Page 8
