“I’m going to write this down.” Riley rose to grab her tablet from the lounge. “Mirror, glass, book . . .”

“You make the words so fast.” Annika angled over to watch them come on screen. “Can you teach me? I like to learn.”

“Sure.” But Riley said it absently as she finally looked at Doyle. “Why did you choose the bedroom upstairs?”

“It had a bed.”

“Stop the smart-ass. Why that particular room?”

“And no particular reason except . . .”

“Except what?”

“It faced the sea. My room as a boy here did the same.”

“Okay. That could matter. Talk among yourselves. I want to play with this.” Riley took her tablet back to the lounge.

Doyle rose, followed her over. “You pissed about something?”

“No. Clearly, I’m working something out, whether or not you support the theory.”

“You’re pissed because I don’t buy in?”

“No.” She looked up now, held a level gaze. “Theories are meant to be debated and challenged. It’s why they’re theories. I’m a scientist. I worship ideas, even when they’re contrary to mine.”

“Then what’s the attitude?”

“I’m working something out,” she repeated. “This, and something personal. If I were pissed, I’d say so.”

“Okay.” He went back to the table, sat with the others.

Riley went back to ignoring him. It seemed the best course while holding an internal debate on whether or not to tell him she was in love with him. And if she told him, when. And if and when, how.

A lot of questions, and no clear answer.

She had a lot to work out, so let those questions circle in her mind while she added items to the hunt list, and let the conversation across the room wash over her.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

At the table Annika admired her ring, wiggled her fingers to make it sparkle. She thought she would most like to marry Sawyer on the island where he’d taken her—where one of her people had given his ancestor the compass. Where he’d told her he loved her the first time.

Everyone could come, the land people who were family, the merpeople. She hoped, so much, she could marry Sawyer while she still had the legs. Then she could wear a beautiful dress, and dance with him.

She caught Sasha smiling at her while the men talked of battle plans and hard things.

“I like to look at it, and to feel how it feels on my finger. Do you with yours?”

“All the time.”

“You will come to the wedding, and stand for me, you and Riley, the way we will for you?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” Sasha laughed.

“I think, would like so much, if we could marry on the island. Our island.”

Sawyer slid an arm around her. “I was thinking the same.”

“Really? Oh, then everyone could come. Our family, your family, my family. We would have flowers, on the land and on the sea, and music. And wine. It’s more than I can imagine. More than I ever did, and I used to dream of the rite, the promise when I was a girl. I had a place for dreaming special dreams, and that was the most special.”

“What kind of place?”

“In the warm waters of the south where the water is so clear the sun strikes through it, I had a secret place just for me. A garden of coral and sea plants. I would curl there and dream my best dreams.”

Now she had the dream, she thought, and snuggled against him. “Did you have a secret place?”

“A tree house.”

Her eyes widened. “You had a tree for a house?”

“No, it’s a little house built in a tree. Up in a tree. My dad and my grandfather built it, for the kids. We all hung out there, but I’d climb up, especially on summer nights, by myself. I guess I dreamed some pretty good dreams there.”

“Especially after pawing through porn mags,” Riley said from across the room.

“Different kind of dreaming.”

“What are porn mags?” Annika wondered.

“I’ll explain later. How about you, bigmouth?”

“Me?” Riley glanced over again. “We traveled a lot, so I found places wherever. Books were my place, not so secret, but my place. Plenty of dreams inside books. But now that I think about it, there’s this old storm cellar back home. I guess that was my version of a tree house or sea garden.”

“Sasha.” Enjoying the conversation, Annika turned to her. “Where was your secret place?”

“I was going to say I didn’t have one, but that’s knee-jerk. Something you say without thinking first,” she explained. “The attic. It was very secret for me, somewhere I’d go to be alone, when I had to get away from everything, everyone. I’d draw, and imagine being like everyone else. I wasn’t happy the way I am now.”

“I wish I could have been your friend when you were a girl.”

“We’re making up for that now. Let’s keep it going. You’re up, Bran.”

“There’s a stream a fair walk from our home in Sligo. I’d set off for it when I was a boy and had deep thoughts to think. I’d sit with my back against an old, gnarled rowan tree, watch the fish in the stream, practice magicks, and dream of being a great sorcerer.”

“And you are!” Annika pressed her hands together. “Doyle, where was your place?”