Hæra recoiled. Kelpies were also unseen water creatures who looked like horses and could take human shape, but as far as she was concerned, there the similarities ended. Denizens of freshwater rivers and lochs, they were smaller, weaker, less intelligent, and less circumspect in preying on people—which was probably why humans knew more about them than they did about Each-uisge. They dwelled alone, not in herds, and so had little protection. There were almost none left.

“Asgall’s no prize, but he’s no kelpie either,” she snapped. “No more am I.”

“So he said. Looked as disgusted as you, and I knew that was true, even if nothing else turned out to be.”

Silence. She was at something of a loss after that.

“I thought it was over,” Jonathan whispered. He was looking at Hæra, but at the same time, he still seemed to be looking at something else. His face had lost color. “And now it’s not.”

“It is,” Hæra said firmly. “Asgall will never come for you again.”

Jonathan blinked. Then he looked down at his shoes, so Hæra did too. They were worn and scratched. Sand crusted their edges.

After a moment, Jonathan said, “Oh.” The word sounded thick, as if an anemone had just unfurled in his throat.

“You can believe me,” Hæra reassured him. “I know my brother. He won’t revisit a failure.”

“Failure. Aye, I suppose it was.” Jonathan rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. When he looked back up at Hæra, his face had some color back, and he was looking at her, not at some phantom of the past. Something else had changed, too.

“Your eyes are wet,” Hæra said in alarm.

“What?” Jonathan dashed the back of his hand across his face, rubbing at his eyes. He sniffed. That sounded wet too. “Sorry. I’m a silly sod, is all.”

She hadn’t known human eyes could leak. Jonathan wasn’t treating it as a serious condition, though. He only seemed embarrassed.

“Silly, useless,” Jonathan muttered. “Failure. And here I am, forty years later with piss on my trousers and naught else. Wasted time. Wasted life.”

He certainly seemed determined to waste Hæra’s time. She fought not to stamp her foot, not least because it would hurt. Her side still ached from her stumble. “Then let it be different this time. Help me.”

The words seemed to jolt Jonathan back into the moment. He blinked, droplets still on his eyelashes. “How’s that?”

“I don’t want from Sister Madeleine what Asgall wanted from you.” Also the truth. Asgall saw everything and everyone as a means to an end. He wouldn’t have thought twice about honoring this man. “Aren’t my actions proof enough of that?”