dipped into the hiding space beneath the floor and felt the pouch of coins.
Her relief died a swift death as the memory of Lord Frantisek’s aggressive guest blossomed in her mind. The nobleman named Ospodine had stared at her flute with the fixation of a zealot.
The scent. She knew it now. Ospodine had reeked of it.
“Oh gods,” she muttered. “Not the flute! Not the flute!” She raced from the bedroom into the kitchen, stopping in front of the cupboard where she always stored the instrument. It lay as she’d left it, still within its protective cloth. Brida’s hand closed around it in a death grip, hesitating when more of the perfume and spice combination buffeted her nose.
She almost tossed the flute from her then, furious at the idea that anyone would dare enter her home and rifle through her things while she was gone. It didn’t matter that nothing was taken, she felt violated. The urge to torch the house warred with her reason that reassured her a hard day’s worth of scrubbing, mopping and washing would take care of the smell.
Still clutching the flute, Brida double-checked the bolt on her front door and did the same for the back before inspecting the latch at every window.
She could tell the village council what happened, but who would believe her? Her intruder left no trace except for a distinctive scent. He’d stolen nothing except her peace of mind and sense of safety, intangible things as precious as her flute. What did he want if not the flute? Why had her practice notes drawn him like a shark to blood in the water?
Any drowsiness she suffered burned away under the heat of her rage. She almost regretted not finding Ospodine still lurking in her house just so she’d have the pleasure of beating an apology out of him with the fireplace poker.
The image of the beached merman and merchild rose in her mind’s eye, cooling the fire of her anger and replacing it with an urgency of a different kind. She’d somehow deal with Ospodine later. She still had the flute, the key to her half-mad plan in saving her charges. Nightfall couldn’t arrive soon enough.
Evening brought a clearing of clouds along with colder temperatures as Brida hurried through the village’s deserted streets toward the distant beach. Even if she owned a horse, she’d still go on foot, unnoticed as she flitted between houses and skirted the pools of candle light spilling from windows as people settled in for the night.
She huddled in her heaviest shawl, teeth chattering as the damp breeze blowing off the Gray cut through layers of clothing to raise gooseflesh on her skin. She glanced over her shoulder every few steps to make sure no one had seen her, or worse, was following. Once past the village’s perimeter, she broke into a sprint, cutting a swath through the salt grass toward the shore. Part of her prayed the two merfolk still lived, another part cautioned her not to put much hope in the notion.
The tide had come in, black waves capped in white foam creeping farther and farther up the beach with every purl of the surf. Wet sand sucked at her bare feet, and cold water swirled around her ankles as she ran toward the tidal pools concealed by the short ridge of rocks.
A chorus of whistles, carried on a brine-scented wind, rose above the surf’s thunder, and Brida stumbled to a halt at the eerie sight of small, greenish lights flickering in the troughs and peaks of the waves like fireflies. Swatches of clouds floated past a bright half moon that paved a silver road on the water’s surface.
“My gods,” Brida breathed.
Moonlight unveiled the source of the lights. Not fireflies, but eyes, bright with the animal eyeshine that shone at night in many creatures, wild and tame alike. A cluster of the glowing eyes gathered in the water directly across from the tidal pools where the merfolk were beached, and Brida caught glimpses of flukes slapping the water as their calls grew in number and volume. Two of the whistles were repeated over and over. Names. They were the two names the merman had whistled to her on a weak breath. His kinsmen were calling to him and the wee girl trapped with him.
She resumed her sprint toward the tidal pools, splashing water as she ran. The whistles abruptly stopped, and the waves went dark. The merfolk had seen her. Brida prayed they didn’t swim away.