Silver's Bane. Anne Kelleher

Their first child’s death, she thought, placing her hand on her swelling abdomen. It could happen to anyone, she thought. Lots of people lost children. She felt a feeble flutter against the thick silk of her new chemista and she smiled. Swim, little fish, swim.

      But it worried her more than she wanted to admit to find him sitting alone in the dark, leaning so far out the open casement that his hair was damp with spray. But his expression reassured her, as did his words of sweetly accented Humbrian, “Ah, here you are, Merle. Come sit a moment. The sunset’s splendid, don’t you think?”

      “My love, aren’t you cold?” But she edged closer, curling her cold fingers around his surprisingly hot hand.

      “Come, I’ll warm you.” He folded her against his chest, snuggling her against him so that she felt the beating of his heart against her shoulder. The sea looked angry as it lashed against the rocks and the sky was streaked with red. It reminded her of the blood dripping down the gray stone walls of Ardagh. She still heard the screaming of the dying and the screeching of the sidhe in her dreams. It was one of the reasons her father had given them this house. Only the insistent rhythm of the waves washing over the rocks soothed her. She closed her eyes and turned her face away, willing herself to relax into the circle of his embrace.

      “I don’t know what you like to look at up here,” she said. “There’s nothing to see but the water and the sky.”

      “Maybe you’re right.” She could feel his breath through the linen of her veil, hot against her scalp. It reminded her of all the nights they’d lain in her bed during his madness, when he’d clutched her to his chest like a little boy. “But when I sit here, and the light is right, I think I see Brynhyvar, sitting out there like a purple jewel, right across—” he extended their arms, folding his hand over hers, pointing with his index finger “—there.”