Jenny closed the iron grill gate of her new home and walked toward the sea. She could see it from some of the windows, could hear its song while she worked day after day cleaning more of the neglected rooms in the old house and getting them ready for her family. But standing at a window wasn’t the same as standing on the cliff, where she could feel the warmth of the sun on her skin and taste the sea in the air—where she could look to the south, hoping to see the sails of a vessel large enough to be Sweet Selkie, her brother Mihail’s ship.
Had he been gone long enough to have reached Seahaven? Surely, he’d been gone long enough. With a good wind, it didn’t take that many days to sail the coastline of Sylvalan.
He’d stayed with her an extra day to help her get herself and their nephews, Guy and Kyle, settled into their new home—and to unload his ship and store the cargo in some of the empty first-floor rooms. Then he’d sailed away, intending to go to Seahaven and wait for Craig and any cargo their cousin could send by wagon from the family warehouses in Durham. And to wait for any other family members who had chosen to flee to a harbor town in the south rather than go to their kin near the Mother’s Hills.
There wouldn’t be many fleeing south. Mihail had gambled that he would be able to find a safe harbor in the western part of Sylvalan, had taken that gamble based on a conversation with Padrick, the Baron of Breton, whom he’d met when he’d gone to fetch Guy and Kyle at the western boarding school where they’d spent the past year. Because of that conversation, and because her branch of the Mother’s power was water and her love was the sea, they had found a safe harbor here in the village of Sealand.
But there hadn’t been any way to contact the family and tell them. They didn’t dare send a letter that named a specific place. If it was confiscated by any of the barons who had turned against witches or, worse, fell into the hands of one of the Inquisitors, they would forfeit the safety they had found. All Mihail could do was return to the port town that had been the agreed-upon meeting place and wait as long as he could.
What if he waited too long? What if his ship was confiscated? What if he and his men were imprisoned until they could be tested by the Inquisitors to see if they served the so-called Evil One? What if…
Jenny shook her head. No. Letting those thoughts grow only gave them power. She would focus her thoughts on this place, this safe harbor. She would focus on the house and the family who would live there with her soon. Soon.
As she turned away from the sea, she saw the ponycart coming up the road, heading for her house. She saw the woman beside the driver and guessed it was Cordell, the witch who lived on Ronat Isle. And she saw the two small, slumped figures sitting in the cart.
Guy and Kyle must have disobeyed her, again, and snuck down to the harbor to play with the young selkies. She didn’t blame them for their fascination with the Fae, but she didn’t like their confidence that they could disobey her whenever it suited them. She was their aunt, and their only kin here.
And might always be their only kin here. And they might be the only family I have left. Please, Great Mother, please don’t let them be all that is left of the family.
Annoyed with herself, Jenny walked back to the house. How could she expect obedience from the boys when she couldn’t obey herself? The Great Mother was the land, the air, the water. Ask for a sweet wind, and if you had the power and the will, you might get it. But compassion, kindness, tolerance…those things lived within people or they didn’t. Magic couldn’t change what was inside the heart.
But thinking of a sweet wind made her wonder if it might be possible to send a message after all. Not to Durham or Seahaven, but to Willowsbrook. Even if it was too risky to send a letter overland by human means, might one of the Fae be willing to travel through Tir Alainn and deliver a message?
She would have to ask Cordell. The Crone would know if such a thing were possible. She hoped so. Just the thought of writing a brief letter to Breanna—and, perhaps, getting a message back—lifted her spirits.