writhed in its bracket from the wind they created in the close confines of the cave.
Simeon had forgotten the magnificence of the dark lord’s wings. They appeared whenever he chose to use them in flight, or involuntarily, when he was angered or aroused. The hindrance they presented during the latter being one of the primary reasons Gideon had embraced celibacy. Simeon didn’t need to wonder which emotion brought them out this time. The dark lord’s eyes were smoldering with rage.
“Then finish what you’ve started,” Gideon seethed through clenched teeth. “She is strongly sexed and ripe for conquest. Had another come upon her as I did, half-naked, her fingers where a cock should be, he would have remedied the lack of one quickly enough and ravished her.”
“I have no right…” Simeon said, as if to himself. “What can I possibly offer her?”
“You had no right,” Gideon pointed out. “Now, you have an obligation. You selkies are all alike: The great seducers. You take well enough, and then abandon. I see you divested of your precious skins, content to live above the waves. I see your kind sire offspring, which you leave behind along with your beloved mortal wives the minute your stolen sealskins are returned to you.” He waved his hand in a rough gesture, ruffling his great wings. “All right, you cannot be faulted for these things, for it is in the blood, but that does not exempt you from reprisal. You have received fair warning. If I come on her thus again, there will be no more need of summoning. She will be mine.”
“You make it sound as if I planned it all on purpose,” Simeon said. “She summoned me, and I responded.”
“In true selkie fashion.”
“I am what I am, just as you are, Gideon.”
“Do not bring me into it,” the dark lord said. “I do not play the games of the Lord of the Deep.”
Simeon heaved a sigh. “Midsummer’s Eve is soon upon us. If she can dupe the shamans into believing she still possesses her maiden skin, she will be taken into the fold as a priestess of the Isle of Mists. Better that than consort of the Lord of the Deep. She would be safe—protected. If I were to take her below the waves with me, the others would kill her. Why, coming here, I left a rumpus in my bed. The jealous consorts pulling hair and tweaking tits, and the gods alone know what I’ll find when I return.”
“You had best be about it then,” Gideon said, flexing his wings. “It is your coil to unwind, none of mine. My way is clear. You have been warned.”
He turned away then, his magnificent wings drawn in, though they had not diminished. When he held them thus, their tips touched the ground. The interview was over. There was no more to be said. The deliverer of justice of the Principality of Arcus—usually a man of few words—had spoken more in this interview than he had in eons. Simeon offered a silent heel-clicking bow to the dark lord’s winged back and melted into the shadows.
Outside, the wind had risen, ruffling his hair and billowing his cloak about him. The wind was always strong on the Dark Isle. The surf would be up, just as Elicorn liked it, but the magnificent animal would soon grow bored with no mortals to tempt, and Simeon quickened his pace. He could hear the roar of the breakers as he picked his way through the murky swamp among the dark waste of petrified trees that served as a forest. Sprinting down the dunes, he squinted toward the shore in search of the waterhorse. Dark clouds scudding across the moon only showed him the strand in brief glimpses, and he cupped is hands around his mouth and whistled as he approached the water’s edge. Simeon strained his ears for Elicorn’s familiar whinny, but only the thudding sound of the surf crashing on the beach met his ears.
Simeon’s heart began to quicken. It constricted in his chest. Just for a moment, the veil of clouds parted and the moon showed him his worst fear. There, in the dark volcanic sand,
Simeon had forgotten the magnificence of the dark lord’s wings. They appeared whenever he chose to use them in flight, or involuntarily, when he was angered or aroused. The hindrance they presented during the latter being one of the primary reasons Gideon had embraced celibacy. Simeon didn’t need to wonder which emotion brought them out this time. The dark lord’s eyes were smoldering with rage.
“Then finish what you’ve started,” Gideon seethed through clenched teeth. “She is strongly sexed and ripe for conquest. Had another come upon her as I did, half-naked, her fingers where a cock should be, he would have remedied the lack of one quickly enough and ravished her.”
“I have no right…” Simeon said, as if to himself. “What can I possibly offer her?”
“You had no right,” Gideon pointed out. “Now, you have an obligation. You selkies are all alike: The great seducers. You take well enough, and then abandon. I see you divested of your precious skins, content to live above the waves. I see your kind sire offspring, which you leave behind along with your beloved mortal wives the minute your stolen sealskins are returned to you.” He waved his hand in a rough gesture, ruffling his great wings. “All right, you cannot be faulted for these things, for it is in the blood, but that does not exempt you from reprisal. You have received fair warning. If I come on her thus again, there will be no more need of summoning. She will be mine.”
“You make it sound as if I planned it all on purpose,” Simeon said. “She summoned me, and I responded.”
“In true selkie fashion.”
“I am what I am, just as you are, Gideon.”
“Do not bring me into it,” the dark lord said. “I do not play the games of the Lord of the Deep.”
Simeon heaved a sigh. “Midsummer’s Eve is soon upon us. If she can dupe the shamans into believing she still possesses her maiden skin, she will be taken into the fold as a priestess of the Isle of Mists. Better that than consort of the Lord of the Deep. She would be safe—protected. If I were to take her below the waves with me, the others would kill her. Why, coming here, I left a rumpus in my bed. The jealous consorts pulling hair and tweaking tits, and the gods alone know what I’ll find when I return.”
“You had best be about it then,” Gideon said, flexing his wings. “It is your coil to unwind, none of mine. My way is clear. You have been warned.”
He turned away then, his magnificent wings drawn in, though they had not diminished. When he held them thus, their tips touched the ground. The interview was over. There was no more to be said. The deliverer of justice of the Principality of Arcus—usually a man of few words—had spoken more in this interview than he had in eons. Simeon offered a silent heel-clicking bow to the dark lord’s winged back and melted into the shadows.
Outside, the wind had risen, ruffling his hair and billowing his cloak about him. The wind was always strong on the Dark Isle. The surf would be up, just as Elicorn liked it, but the magnificent animal would soon grow bored with no mortals to tempt, and Simeon quickened his pace. He could hear the roar of the breakers as he picked his way through the murky swamp among the dark waste of petrified trees that served as a forest. Sprinting down the dunes, he squinted toward the shore in search of the waterhorse. Dark clouds scudding across the moon only showed him the strand in brief glimpses, and he cupped is hands around his mouth and whistled as he approached the water’s edge. Simeon strained his ears for Elicorn’s familiar whinny, but only the thudding sound of the surf crashing on the beach met his ears.
Simeon’s heart began to quicken. It constricted in his chest. Just for a moment, the veil of clouds parted and the moon showed him his worst fear. There, in the dark volcanic sand,
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