Page 28 of The Merman's Betrothal
‘I already gave him a gift,’ Fionn cut in. ‘A fine clam knife, made by my own hand. He didn’t appreciate it properly.’
He caught Neacel’s wince and understood the other Minchman thought he’d made a faux pas.
‘Perhaps not the best gift for a human. A very fine gift for a Minchman,’ Neacel added quickly, ‘but I’d suggest finding something that uniquely interests your human, or is useful to him. I was going to suggest that perhaps you could gift him some new traps to replace those you destroyed.’
Fionn’s lip curled. ‘You won’t ever catch me making one of those foul things.’
As Neacel came full circle, turning upright once again, his eyes seemed to be searching for an answer beyond the ones Fionn was giving. ‘Do you think they are foul because they are traps, Your Highness, or because they are made by humans?’
Fionn scoffed. ‘Both. But why should it matter?’
‘We use traps too. We farm, like humans do. We are shepherds and hunters and fishermen, in our own way.’
Fionn noticed, belatedly, a net of fresh-caught spider crabs hanging from Neacel’s kilt. Neacel followed his eyeline and patted them. ‘My uncles breed them. They are my dinner, for later. I expect you know where your dinner comes from too, Your Highness?’
Was that… Was that a blatant insult from Neacel? His DeepSong was so light and casual, yet there seemed a cutting undertone to the words themselves. Fionn found himself bristling, not daring to be called out.
‘Of course I do,’ he replied imperiously.By the end of today, I shall know where all the food in the palace comes from.
Fionn nodded at the strange cloth that had floated from Neacel’s pouch. A patch of white lacework made of a material he didn’t recognise. ‘Is that another trap of yours? A net?’
Neacel froze for a second, eyes darting to the cloth. Then he laughed, hurriedly shoving it back inside the pouch. ‘Yes, a net. An experiment. I haven’t tried it yet. Ahem.’
‘What will you catch with it?’
Were Neacel’s cheeks turning a deeper shade of blue?
‘Prawns,’ Neacel blurted, then changed the subject. ‘I urge you to listen to Rory, Your Highness. Learn from him, in order to move him.’
‘I shall consider it,’ Fionn readied his spear. ‘I need to get back to training. Will you meet me again tomorrow?’
Neacel blinked, surprised at the obvious dismissal. ‘I—yes. I can come back tomorrow.’
He gave a respectful, perhaps slightly worried nod before leaving, as though anxious he’d stepped over a line.
Fionn groaned internally, not wanting to have already soured what little comradeship they had. ‘Thank you,’ he called out impulsively.
Neacel stopped and waved back at Fionn, before disappearing though one of the courtyard’s many arches.
* * *
By the end of the day, Fionn did indeed know where all the food in the palace came from. After Neacel left, he started by travelling to the uppermost reaches of the spire where the records were stored—the clay records, to be precise. For the whole of the palace itself was a giant record as well.
Every crystal-studded wall was adorned with Pictish marks telling the history of his people; just like their bodies were adorned with tattoos telling the history of each person. Not an inch of the palace was bare.
Fionn knew much of it by heart, now. The origins of Bluefolk from the fae realm. How his tribe had travelled to this world many thousands of years ago. Mixed with humans for a while, like many fae did at the time.
This was when the story of Nechtan and Bridei took place. Nechtan gave up his crown in the fae realm in order to follow Bridei into this world, so the legend went. Together, they forged the earliest Bluefolk tribe that would eventually unite all others into the kingdom of the Minch.
The records indicated a period of relative harmony with humans. But eventually Bluefolk retreated into the shadows, pushed back into the ocean by human violence and strange new industry. They learned how to adapt and hide, which was all very well until humans gained mastery of the sea as well as the land.
That was when the bargain with the Redfolk had been struck. The rival tribe that had remained in the fae realm had only grown more powerful in the absence of their blue brethren. The Redfolk offered fae protection from human hunters—the very same magical wards that now kept the palace hidden from outsiders.
And in return, the First Prince of each Blue King was promised away by the cursed soul bond and the Bluefolk sent regular tributes of food to the fae realm. All in the name of ‘peace’. Fionn felt it was a hefty price to pay.
Despite knowing this, it hadn’t previously occurred to Fionn to find out how all of that Redfolk tribute was gathered in the kingdom. The answer, he was sure, would lie in the clay tablets stored in the upper chambers.
So, he spent the next several hours poring over palace records of trade spanning the entire Minch and beyond, and of local tributes paid by family groups to honour the king and his warriors who kept the territory safe.
