Chapter 3

Morgan was probably the only person in the clan who didn’t attend that evening’s council. At least not much of it.

Everyone had an opinion on the ship and its contents. The pieces of many bodies—none of them whole—had been found in the water, humans wearing black clothes covered with some sort of metal skin, many rings that locked together almost like scales. Some wore swords at their shredded waists, and the fact that their ship had blown apart so thoroughly implied that they’d had some sort of weapon on board that could have been disastrous for the Agnarra if it hadn’t turned on its bearers first.

“We have to flee!” some had insisted, including Garen’s self-important uncle Dinigan and his odious son Denikel. “Move to the hidden island farther north! If the humans have found us—”

“They didn’t find anything,” Brevaer had said firmly. “They didn’t get close enough to find us, and then they went and blew themselves up. No one knows that we’re here.”

“But that they came this far in the first place is of concern,” Rozyne put in. “We’re already far enough north that humans should have no interest in this area. What has brought them here now, then? To assume they don’t know about us is the height of arro—”

That’s when Sariel, Rozyne’s husband and the clan’s mad chieftain, had come barreling out of his hut, a wild look in his eyes. Morgan had been astounded at how such an energetic person, who spent so much time lying down, could be lost in his own mind.

“Humans?” he’d shrieked, wrenching a spear from the nearest warrior, who’d stared in shock. “Where? Where?”

“Father,” Garen had said, tears springing to his eyes. “Please, put that away. Let me—” He’d reached out, but his efforts were rebuffed with a wild cry. Brevaer had been pulled in to disarm Sariel, all while Rozyne hissed reprimands at her son for not keeping his father in the hut—as though he could have anticipated such an act.

That was when Morgan left, slipping through the crowd and back toward the beach. Not the same beach, though—no, it was covered with ship debris now, all of it brought back in an effort to discover what it was that had destroyed the humans’ ship so thoroughly. None of the bodies were there although some of their armor had been retrieved. After all, that was the most interesting thing about the bastards.

But it isn’t, Morgan had wanted to say when he first heard that. What about their clothes? What about their dishes and cups, their trinkets and idols? What more could we learn about them that might help us understand them if only we tried? He wasn’t stupid enough to actually voice that thought where Brevaer could hear it, though.

He avoided the sandy beach and pressed on for another twenty minutes until he reached the small, rocky beach that was far less popular among his clan. Unlike the other, it wasn’t protected by the shape of the island, a cove of safety during storms. This beach was rough, the wind constantly crashing waves against it. The only bit of creature comfort to be found there was an overhang, almost like a shelf, that had been dug out of the shore by the waves long ago. There was just enough space beneath it for a pair of children to plot and play, or for a single adult to watch the waves come in while marginally protected by the wind.

Morgan climbed down and sat beneath the overhang, stretching his feet out into the dark water. His scales came into view, glimmering in the faint moonlight as they adapted to their new element. If he pressed his feet together right now, they would form a perfect sea dragon’s tail.

I’m the most useless sea dragon in existence.Morgan had always known he had different priorities than his brother, but today’s events had driven that fact home for him in a most uncomfortable way. Fear, anger, frustration—he understood why his clan was feeling that way, he did! Humans had brought them terrible pain and trouble in the past. Of course, every avenue ought to be considered, but …

If they left this place, what would their lives become? It was already hard to grow enough during the warmer months to take them through the winter without rationing, and their next choice in refuge was even farther north. Was it smaller too? Flatter? Less colorful, less hospitable? In their efforts to escape humanity, were they going to turn themselves into beings who didn’t even have lives worth living?

Morgan didn’t know the right answer. No one did; that was why the council and everyone else was debating right now, but … He reached down and dipped his hand into the water, watching his green scales glimmer. He could just barely remember swimming in waters that were warm and welcoming. These ones were cold but bearable. If he couldn’t even swim, he would lose his mind, he knew it.

Morgan sighed and looked out at the sea, the water reflecting the pale light of the moon. Perhaps a midnight swim was in order. Brevaer wouldn’t like it, but then, his brother didn’t have to know every … little … hmm.

What on earth was that?

Morgan wasn’t entirely sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. There shouldn’t be anything floating in the water so far around the side of the island—the tides were against it right now, not to mention the winds. But that looked like … it looked like it might just be …

Morgan dove into the water a moment later, and his curiosity was momentarily overcome by the bliss of stretching out into his full length. He dodged the rocky outcroppings with ease and swam hard for the drifting lump that marred the surface of the sea.

Perhaps it was another piece of the boat—that was an exciting thought! It would give Morgan a chance to examine one for himself, to take time with it instead of having it wrenched from his hands and thrown into a great pile on the beach like the rest of them. Or perhaps … or … oh.

Oh, no.

There was fresh blood in the water. Strange blood, not from any creature he’d ever scented before. It had to be human. One of the humans must have survived the explosion.

Morgan wasn’t the only one to realize it either. Not far distant was a pod of orcas, the matriarch leading them steadily toward this new prey. Orcas and sea dragons usually ignored each other, but Morgan was small for his people, and if these orcas were hungry enough, they might challenge him for whatever—whoever—this was.

I could let them have it. The human must be close to death. But … Morgan had never seen a human up close before! This could be the only chance he ever got to inspect one for himself, and he wasn’t about to lose it. He let the waves carry the body past him as he twisted his body into a threat display, baring his teeth and holding his short, stubby claws out in front of him.

The mama orca slowed down, bemused by his appearance. She made to go around him, and Morgan darted sideways, blocking her path. After two more tries, both thwarted, she pulled back and chattered a bit to her pod.

Morgan didn’t speak orca fluently, but he got the gist of things. She and her family had been snacking on pieces of humans all day. A fresh kill appealed to her, but they weren’t hungry and didn’t need trouble with the Agnarra. That’s right, you don’t. Morgan opened his jaws a little wider and wiggled the pointed tip of his tail for emphasis.

The matriarch did the orca equivalent of shrugging and turned around, leading her petulant pod away. Once they were distant enough not to be a threat, Morgan relaxed, a bit astounded he’d managed to pull that off. He hadn’t even been able to threaten off little reef sharks when learning his displays as a child, and now he had dispersed an entire orca pod!

In a good mood, he swam after the bleeding human, who was somehow clinging to a buoyant piece of the ship even while unconscious, and dragged them to the beach. Morgan was careful in how he maneuvered the person onto the rocks—out of the water, the scent of blood was even more profound. They would surely be dead soon. He would have to get his fill of looking at them fast.

Once the person was securely on the beach, Morgan pulled himself out of the water, changing into his bipedal form without thought. He knelt beside the wretched human, whose body appeared to be covered with burns, and rolled them over onto their back to get a better look at them.

The clouds cleared from in front of the moon, strengthening her light. Miraculously, the human’s face was unburned. It was slack with unconsciousness but otherwise in perfect form.

Perfection. That was the word Morgan was looking for. He had never seen a more beautiful face—the long nose, smooth jaw, lovely high forehead, and sharp, sloping cheekbones. It was hard to tell in this light, but he thought the person’s hair might be red. What a glorious color. Morgan was transfixed, first with astonishment, then with fear.

Brevaer could never be allowed to find out about this.

Never.