CHAPTER 91: MERROW’S SON

Hermes blinked hard as the clay jar was tilted again, the liquid sloshing into his cup.

His throat burned with every swallow, but he refused to cough. Glasán was already flushed pink from head to toe, giggling between gulps, his hair sticking to his damp forehead.

"Yer lookin’ fair wobbly there, lad," Glasán teased, leaning in and lightly tapping Hermes on the nose. "That all ye’ve got in ye?"

Hermes gritted his teeth and forced himself to keep going. His head lolled to the side. The tavern was spinning, voices turning to muffled hums.

He laid his head down on the table for just a moment... just to rest his eyes...

Glasán watched him with a sudden glint of curiosity. He wondered, just for a second....

If his voice could command outside the battlefield.

What harm could a small test do? He leaned forward, close enough that Hermes could smell the salt and smoke in his clothes.

"Kiss me."

Hermes’ eyes shot open, the words striking something deep in him. He recognised the pull instantly.

Sirentone.

His own power inside him repelled it, clearing some of the haze from his mind. But he couldn’t just ignore the order — Glasán would notice.

Still... a heavy unease churned in his stomach.

It was too familiar. Too much like Eirwyn. The memory hit him like a slap, uninvited and sharp. He could almost feel that old, ugly sense of being trapped.

His jaw tightened. He leaned in slowly, not from desire but from something darker. A mix of pain and simmering anger.

Apple was no longer inside him, so there was no violent instinct pushing him... only the raw ache of being reminded of what it was like to be used.

But Glasán stopped him halfway, pressing a hand over Hermes’ lips. His blush deepened.

"Christ... I didn’t think it’d work," he muttered, almost to himself.

His eyes flickered, and for a moment Hermes caught something that wasn’t smugness or playfulness.

Fear.

The same kind of fear Hermes had once felt when he realised the depth of his own thieving ability... when power stopped feeling like a gift and started feeling like a curse.

Hermes pulled back slightly, his voice low. "If you want to make up for it... Fulfill your promise. I already finished the damn bottle."

Glasán’s eyes widened at the quiet authority in his tone. He swallowed, nodded quickly. "Aye... somewhere private, maybe?"

Hermes stood, holding out his hand. Glasán took it without hesitation.

At the tavern door, Somner was in the middle of trying to coax Apple and Aphrodite into a dance. "Go on, just one reel. I’ll lead—"

He stopped mid-sentence when he spotted Hermes leading Glasán out into the night.

His eyes narrowed in jealousy, hissing. "Not my grandaddy!"

Apple caught him by the arm. "Stay."

Aphrodite added, "If Hermes wanted us to interfere, he’d have said so. He must have a plan."

Somner grumbled but turned back to his wine, watching the door like a hawk.

Hermes led Glasán down to the beach. The cool night air rushed over them, carrying the tang of sea salt. The moon cast a pale light on the waves. In the distance, Irishmen were hauling the abandoned Viking ships ashore, but they were far enough away that only the crash of the water filled the air.

They sat on a smooth boulder, the damp stone cold through Hermes’ clothes. Glasán’s pink cheeks were beginning to fade as the sea breeze sobered him.

Glasán’s eyes stayed on the horizon, where the moonlight bled silver into the water. When he spoke, it was slow... measured... the way old men tell a story at the hearth.

"They say merrows keep to themselves. That they stay under the deep, singin’ their songs where no man can hear. But my mam... she was different. Could walk the earth like any lass, skin warm to the touch, eyes bright as the tide. And when she stepped into the sea..."

He shook his head, a soft awe in his voice. "The change came over her. Fins like green silk, scales that caught the light like coins in the water, tail flashing like silver armour."

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

"My father... well, he wasn’t the first man to be lost to the sea, but he was the first I knew to go willingly. He followed her one night, down the cliff path, into a cave hidden by the tide. Said the air in there was thick with the smell of salt and sweet like blossom. They stayed there, the two of ’em, and the sea kept its mouth shut about what happened."

His gaze dropped. "That cave gave them two children. Me... and Muirenn, my sister. We were half of the land, half of the water, but never whole in either."

The corner of his mouth twitched in a smile that wasn’t happy. "My father’s wife—aye, she was furious—but when he said a merrow bewitched him, she believed it. Her kin still clung to the old gods, the old fears. So she let us stay under her roof... but made sure we were kept apart from her blood. We lived like shadows in our own home."

His voice grew softer, almost lost to the wind. "Muirenn was all I had. And I was all she had. The rest of them looked at us like we were some bad omen come walking. If they’d known what we were... really known..."

He glanced at Hermes, a flicker of fear behind his grin. "They’d have dragged us down to the sand, gutted us... and let the gulls finish the job."

Hermes understood why Glasán kept it secret. Half-merrow. In this place and time, it was enough to get a man killed.

He didn’t say it aloud, but the parallel struck him hard. The way his own Void-born heritage had to be hidden, the way fear and superstition made monsters out of people before truth ever could.

"Your secret’s safe with me." Hermes said with every fiber of honesty in his body.

Glasán turned his head toward him, his expression softer now. "You’ve been nothin’ but good to me since the first time we met. Saved me neck, treated me fair... I don’t get that much."

Hermes said nothing, but his gaze didn’t leave Glasán’s.

"Could you..." Glasán hesitated, eyes dropping. "...hold me? Without me using my merrow’s voice?"

Hermes could see the need in him. Not desire.... Not entirely. But a hunger for warmth, for proof he wasn’t untouchable.

Hermes reached out and pulled him close.

At first, they just sat like that. The wind tugged at their hair, the waves rolled in and out. But slowly, the touches lingered. Glasán’s fingers trailed up Hermes’ arm. Hermes’ hand slid along the small of his back.

Under the pale moonlight, it deepened. A tilt of the head. The press of a palm against a jaw.

Until finally, their lips met. Slow, searching, deliberate.

A siren’s son and a thief... their shadows stretching long across the rock as the sea sighed around them.