Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

August 2002. Half Moon Bay.

The fog brushes against my skin, unspeakably gentle. The sea is black around my feet—no moonlight finds me here. The rock beneath me is slick with sea spray, but I only ever fall into the waters when I want to.

The formal passing of the skin last worn by Frederick Ryan will be tomorrow, the night after the funeral. A skin doesn’t linger unclaimed for long. I don’t know who’s been chosen to inherit it—Elizabeth’s daughter is too young, too Roane to wear a skin.

But I’m certain that Liz won’t pass the skin herself. As the closest living relative to its previous wearer, she’d have the right to, as would the closest living relative of the new Selkie. But Liz, who already buried a child, who slept with a near stranger to avoid offering the bargain to her next one—Liz wouldn’t risk it.

Her grief clings to my skin, and I fear I won’t ever be able to scrub it free.

If her mother had never passed her skin, Liz would never have inherited the clan. I would never have needed to spin a lie about why the sea witch let her own daughter die in infancy. It’s so easy to resent Dorothy for forcing my hand. For draping my Liz in the death of my children.

But it doesn’t soothe my own guilt for long.

She carries the burden of my dead child, and I carry the burden of hers. It is only fitting. I can resent her mother, but Liz is perhaps the only Selkie I can’t hate.

The waters respond to my bitterness, heaving into foam, climbing the rocks to douse me. Wind writhes through the fog, and if I cared less about my privacy, I would let it build to my own personal hurricane.

I force the sea and sky back to stillness.

It’s been two months since I last visited the Duchy, long enough that Pete will be expecting me soon. I pull a blue glass jar free of my pocket, already sealed with magic. I whisper its destination, and the sea catches it when I let go. The spell will carry it to my sister’s shores.

I can’t face Elspeth now.

October 2002. San Francisco.

I hate it when the doorbell rings. I have to answer, and it’s never pleasant.

I rip open the door. “What do you want?”

Pete raises an eyebrow. She should look out of place on this San Francisco street, but she’s always been good at looking at ease wherever she is. I envy her that comfort.

“Hi,” she says. “I wanted to make sure you’re not dead.”

I stare. “Why would I be dead?”

“You haven’t visited in four months.”

“I told you I couldn’t come to the Duchy right now.”

“You told me that two months ago, and you didn’t say why, and you haven’t answered any of my messages since. And I doubt you really want to have this conversation on your porch, so let me in, Annie.”

I turn my back on her reluctantly, stalking to the kitchen as she saunters into my front hall.

“Wow,” Pete says. “You’re really still leaning into the monster of the deep aesthetic.”

I wave a hand to dispense the illusions I threw up when the doorbell rang. “I have to try to deter them somehow.”

I’m leaning against the cabinets, glaring, by the time she settles at my kitchen table, kicking her feet up on a chair.

“Who’s watching Elspeth?”

“Half the adults on the Duchy adore the kid. She has no shortage of babysitters. And she’s seven, she learned not to put strange things in her mouth ages ago.” Pete sighs. “And you’re deflecting.”

Deflection is one of the few means of deception left to me, so yes, I am. I won’t admit it though.

“Why are you avoiding me?” Pete asks. “Or Elsie? Both of us?”

I focus on pinching a crumb between my toes. “It’s not anything you did.”

“Then what?” She sounds unbearably earnest, and there's no way I can avoid this conversation any longer.

“Frederick Ryan died in August.”

Pete frowns. “He was the head of the Ryan clan, wasn’t he?”

She doesn’t remember. I don’t want to have to spell it out. I slump further against the cabinets and look anywhere but at her.

“He was Liz’s father. And the leadership of a Selkie clan usually passes from parent to child, unless a direct heir is absent. Which means.” The words choke in my throat, for reasons completely unrelated to my geas.

“Oh,” Pete says quietly.

“Yeah.”

“What did you say?”

I finally look at her. “Do we really have to do this? Do you really want to make me explain, in excruciating detail, how thoroughly I’ve fucked up Elizabeth Ryan’s life?”

She winces. “Annie—”

“She buried a manikin that I left for her. She won’t ever stop grieving. And now she believes that the sea witch abandoned her and left her child to die, and half of that is true and half of it is a lie, and I don’t know which is worse.”

She doesn’t say anything. What is there to say?

“So how the fuck am I meant to look Elspeth in the eye and smile, when I left her mother broken and alone?”

Pete takes her legs off the chair and stands. The swagger is gone from her footsteps; her eyes are dark and stricken.

“Maybe—” She hesitates. “Maybe it’s not too late.”

“For what.”

“For her to know that Elsie’s alive?” Pete sounds uncertain. “The secret wouldn’t go beyond her. We could bind her to silence easily enough.”

I want, so badly, to throw Pete out of my apartment. She hasn’t been the one stuck with sleepless nights, stuck rotting away in this lonely corner of the world, stuck thinking through what would happen if I did tell Liz the truth and how it would inevitably, inevitably, put Elspeth in danger.

“Of course the secret would go beyond her. What, do you think she’d be content just to know that Elspeth’s out there and never see her? Do you think, if she started vanishing without explanation, it would go unnoticed? Do you think the Selkies wouldn’t ask questions?”

“She wouldn’t be able to answer them.”

“And someone would get alarmed and follow her, and it’s not as if the Duchy is closed to Selkie visitors. All it takes is one person putting the pieces together for word to spread all the way up the coast. All the way to Goldengreen.”

“That would be an extraordinary amount of pieces to put together, for a Selkie who doesn’t even know who you are.” The uncertainty in her voice is gone. She’s the sea again–wave after wave crashing against my shores, hoping she can wear me down.

“You don’t understand. You never had to bury all your children. You get to pretend there’s a happy ending. You get to look Elspeth in the eye and be the good mother, the one who did everything right, who didn’t become more of a monster than ever to keep her daughter safe. I don’t have that luxury.”

The stench of the bog rises around me. Saltwater streams from the tap, pooling at my feet, twisting up my ankles. I am eye to eye with Pete, and the electric charge of a storm crackles between us.

“That’s not fair,” she says quietly.

“None of this has ever been fair.” The water twists up my arms, and I can’t stand the sight of her expression, stung and soft. I let myself dissolve into brine, and when I pull myself back together eventually, curled into a ball on my bed, my apartment is empty.

November 1, 2002. The Duchy of Ships.

The next message comes from Elspeth herself, formally inviting me to her eighth birthday party, which is always more or less an extension of the Samhain celebrations, but she hasn’t yet minded. It’s emotional manipulation on Pete’s part, and I am not immune to it.

The lighthouse glows with a smattering of different colors when I step ashore. It’s only a few hours before dawn, but the heart of the party is still as energetic as ever. Music and laughter spill from the receiving room, and partygoers overflow onto the rest of the island and into the waters. The other ships of the Duchy bustle with smaller gatherings—Pete isn’t the sort of liege to be offended if some of her subjects prefer to avoid large crowds, and I’m sure the underwater side of the Duchy is just as awake.

No one looks my way. It’s easy for me to slip beneath their notice, as I climb the lighthouse steps and find a neglected corner of the room to lurk in. If anyone knew that the sea witch had darkened their door, their smiles wouldn’t be so bright—more awestruck and terrified, and I don’t have the patience for that on the best of days.

I see Elspeth first, running laps around the dessert table with two other kids. It’s unclear who’s chasing whom, but all three are laughing and shouting, and I feel vaguely like a burning rod has lodged itself between my ribs.

I send over a trickle of water to nip at her ankles, and she stumbles, one of the other kids nearly slamming into her. He shouts triumphantly, but she ignores him, her eyes meeting mine.

“Be right back!” Elspeth calls.

I duck back outside. She knows enough to follow the glittering trail of seawater I’ve left behind. I’m leaning against the wall of the lighthouse when she barrels into my waist, her wavy hair an absolute mess.

“You came!” Elspeth stares up at me with wide eyes.

“I won’t ever miss your birthday.” My voice chokes on the last word, and Elspeth hugs my waist tighter.

“Why are you sad?”

I kneel and pull her into my arms. It’s easier if I don’t have to look her in the eye.

“I’ve missed you,” I say. “I’m sorry I haven’t been able to visit.”

She squeezes me. “Will it be a long, long time before you can visit again?”

With my daughter in my arms, it’s impossible to think of leaving her for so long again. Seeing her will always break my heart, but so will walking away. There is no winning, and I can’t bear the smallness of her voice.

“No, sweetheart. No, it won’t.”

“Good,” Pete says.

I flinch, and Elspeth twists away, her smile bright again. Pete stands half in shadow, and I refuse to look her in the eye.

“Mom!” Elspeth vanishes from my arms, running to tug on Pete’s sleeve. “You were right, she came, and she brought lots of presents because she’s very sorry she hasn’t been to visit for so long.”

I manage a laugh. “I don’t believe I said anything about lots of presents.”

“But she’s right, isn’t she?” Pete says, and there’s a smile in her voice. I look up, and her eyes are gentle.

I swallow. “Well. She does only turn eight once.”

Elspeth inhales a bar of chocolate peanut butter fudge before I can protest that too much sugar this late will spoil her bedtime.

But the sugar high doesn’t keep her up for long. She falls asleep on the couch, hugging her new stuffed toy that changes between a great white shark and a giant Pacific octopus every time she squeezes it. Her head is on my lap and her legs stretch onto Pete’s. I’ve mostly managed to ignore my sister, but as Elspeth’s chatter drifts into yawns and slow breaths, a fragile silence stretches between us.

I brush Elspeth’s curls off her forehead. She looks more obviously like me, with her green eyes and freckles, but the muddy brown of her hair is a mix of Liz’s blonde and my black, and the curve of her nose and the way her smile dimples are achingly familiar.

There is no universe where she could have grown up happily with both her mothers. Even if Eira wasn’t a threat, Liz would have balked at the reality of raising a child with the sea witch. I would have had to claim custody of her no matter what. Liz would always have hated me.

That doesn’t mean I don’t imagine Elspeth holding both of our hands, dragging us along a San Francisco beach. Or Elspeth running around the kitchen and stealing sliced fruit from the counter as Liz and I cook dinner. Or our daughter falling asleep between the two of us during a movie, the three of us snuggled under a blanket.

Pete’s hand squeezing my shoulder brings me back to reality.

“Do you want to tuck her in?” she says, and that’s how I know she’s forgiven my outburst.

Elspeth stirs as I scoop her up. She’s gotten so much bigger. No matter what I’ve done, how could I have let myself miss five months of her life, when she’s getting bigger every day?

She mumbles incoherently and clings tight, her legs locked around my waist, her arms around my neck. When I lay her down in bed, she doesn’t even bother wriggling under the covers–I have to pull them down and back up over her.

“Auntie Annie?” she murmurs.

“Yes?”

But Elspeth only yawns and snuggles up in her blanket. She’s asleep again in seconds.

I lean down and kiss her forehead. “I love you, my sweet girl. More than you can know.”

I watch her sleep for another minute, her breaths even and peaceful. It never ceases to be a miracle—a child of mine, in this world, breathing. When I force myself to my feet, my cheeks are damp.

Pete hasn’t left the sofa. She’s leaning against one arm, legs tucked up beside her.

“I’m glad you came,” she says quietly.

“Me too.” I sit beside her. “Pete—”

“I know. I know. You don’t deserve any of this, and Elizabeth doesn’t either. But you’re the Seer between us. And you’re the one Eira has a personal grudge against.” She blows out a breath. “If you say this secrecy is necessary, I believe you.”

I nod, staring at my hands.

“I brought more of the dampening potion.” My nails dig into my palms. “I was furious with Amy for what she was doing to October—she had no right to strip away that girl’s connection to Faerie. And what am I doing?”

It’s not the same. I try to tell myself it’s not the same. Amy meant to change October forever, to make her always too weak to face our world. I can’t, I won’t, hold back the tide forever with Elspeth. But there’s too much of a chance that the unique gifts of her descendant race will be obviously tied to Maeve, tied to me. The longer they stay buried, the less eyes will be upon her. The more time we have to find a way to truly shield her.

“What Amy did was selfish,” Pete says firmly. “This isn’t. And it isn’t permanent.”

I make a small noise between a sniff and a sob.

“And you don’t get to carry the blame all on your shoulders.” Pete reaches over and hooks her arm through my elbow. “When I agreed to raise Elsie, I knew that meant taking her from Elizabeth. I knew it meant hiding what she is. I understood the consequences. I made myself complicit in the worst of this, Annie, and I won’t let you forget that.”

I slump against her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey. None of that either. I know I’m getting the better deal here. I should be the one who’s sorry.”

“You never intended to spend these years raising a child.”

“Neither did you. But don’t tell me you would ever wish she hadn’t been born.”

“No,” I breathe. “Never.”

“Well, then.” Pete squeezes my arm. “I can’t look to the future, I don’t have grand plans the way you do. I take my life as it comes, and if that means loving a little girl who I never expected to exist, that’s what it means.” I can hear the smile in her voice. “I didn’t know I missed having a kid getting underfoot all the time. Although she’s somehow significantly less trouble than most of the Merrow. I feel like I should be offended by that.”

I snort. “She’s only eight. Give it time.”

Pete laughs and tips her head against mine, and we stay like that for a long time.

Art by valel-draws.