One Salt Sea: An October Daye Novel

Asrai: as-rye. Plural is Asrai.

Cephali: she-fall-li. Plural is Cephali.

Cetace: sea-tay-see. Plural is Cetacea.

Hippocampus: hip-po-cam-pus. Plural is Hippocampi.

Kelpie: kel-pee. Plural is Kelpies.

The Luidaeg: the lou-sha-k. No plural exists.

Merrow: meh-row. Plural is Merrow.

Naiad: nigh-add. Plural is Naiads.

Nixie: nix-ee. Plural is Nixen.

Roane: rone. Plural is Roane.

Selkie: sell-key. Plural is Selkies.

Undine: un-deen. Plural is Undine.





ONE


June 30th, 2011

As many arrows, loosed several ways, come to one mark;

As many ways meet in one town;

As many streams meet in one salt sea;

So may a thousand actions, once afoot, end in one purpose.

—William Shakespeare, King Henry V




THE SWORD SWUNG FAST AND HARD toward my face, leaving me with barely enough time to raise my own sword into position to parry. The force of the blades colliding knocked me back a step and made my wrists ache even more than they already did.

“Oberon’s balls, Sylvester!” I snapped. “What are you trying to do, kill me?”

“That’s generally the point of hitting someone with a sword,” he said, almost cheerfully, and swung at me again.

Having Sylvester Torquill—Duke of Shadowed Hills, pureblooded Daoine Sidhe, and most importantly, my chosen liege—swinging a sword at my head wasn’t getting less unnerving, or more fun. Not even the knowledge that our blades were magically blunted could stop my atavistic “oh, hell no” response. I blocked this stroke marginally faster than the last, shoving his sword aside and sliding my own blade under his arm. Theoretically, this should have let me hit him.

Reality wasn’t that forgiving. Sylvester twisted his sword underneath mine and slammed the flat of his blade against my fingers, causing them to open involuntarily. My sword dropped to the ballroom floor, clattering on the polished marble.

The sudden disarmament startled me enough that I forgot to dodge. Sylvester grabbed my arm, spun me around, and slammed my back into his chest, pressing his sword against my throat. “Dead again,” he said conversationally. “Can you tell me what you did wrong?”

I swallowed, trying to ignore the blade pressing against my skin. It wasn’t easy. “I didn’t run away the second you suggested I learn to use a sword?”

“You left an opening.” He let me go, stepping back. “You need to watch that.”

“I’m sticking with my first answer.” I took a moment to wipe the sweat from my forehead before bending to retrieve my weapon. Cold moonlight flowed in through the windows above us, filling the ballroom with shadows. “Are we done yet?”

“I’ll tell you when we’re done. Now, on my word . . . begin.” Sylvester fell into a defensive position. I mimicked it as well as I could. At least he’d managed to teach me that when someone’s about to swing a sword at you, you should be prepared to stop them. Not that I ever seemed to succeed, but hell, I was trying. That was something, right?