I was the changeling, I thought, dazed, as his words began to make sense. A siren changeling. My voice had magic. A different sort of magic to the sharp, bitter metallic tang of the mages. I possessed the sort of magic that lured ogres to sleep when lullabies were sung, and mages to spill their seed when I cried out in pleasure.   “A -ing virgin siren,” he continued with amusement. “A very unusual commodity. Virginity is a misogynistic concept of course, but when it comes to spell components, the repressed sexuality does give a bit of a power kick that cannot be denied. Monks or other aesthetics’ hair is excellent. Years of repression there. Alright, let us get dressed. I have a book to read.” He released me and rose, reaching for a drying cloth as he stepped out of the water. He passed me a cloth as he worked his through his hair.   He had answered why I was precious to him, I thought as I rose from the water, less concerned with my nudity

It was the white- haired woman mage who had waylaid Rivyn in the hallway, I thought rising to my feet. They stood not far from our chamber, as her words carried clearly through the small gap in the door. Something in her tone of voice alarmed me – she spoke as if Rivyn was hiding something significant and she had gained the upper hand with her discover.   “I’d be surprised if you didn’t. Your eavesdroppers weren’t discrete, and my wife was chatty today,” Rivyn replied with indulgence. Whatever significance her statement had, he was unbothered by it, which, perhaps, should have reassured me, but I already knew that the mage was afraid of far too little for his own good.   “You are not what I expected,” she sounded disgruntled. She had a script in mind, and Rivyn was not playing to it with his response. She had expected fear, I suspected, and my Fae mage did not display it.   “People rarely are,” there was definitely super

Wrapped in the drying cloths, leaving our clothing to be washed, we took the wine and the fruit with us as we crept up to our room. The tavern was busy below, the sound of voices spilling through the floorboards. I wondered if they discussed us, and the impending arrival of the dragon the following day. It made me nervous to think of, and worried for Rivyn - he was so full of Fae confidence, but a dragon was a formidable opponent.   The room was basic, falling below the slope of the roof, with much of the space lost to the diminishing height, but the bedding was clean and the mattress thick. A small table near the bed held a lit chamberstick, the only light in the room. We placed the wine and fruit next to it and our bags at the foot of the bed.   Rivyn sat on the bed sipping wine as I ran the comb through his hair. “So,” he said, his voice somnolent. “We will offer you as tribute.”   “The dragon will know, though, won’t

“Well,” I accepted a golden goblet of wine from Rivyn who seemed unbothered entirely about the odd setting and the golden haired, naked man that dominated it. “You took up residence here, I presume, because you like the location. It is a pretty spot. Nice caves,” I looked around myself dubiously. “Pretty prosperous village... You want to settle here, make a home and family?”   His eyes narrowed, and he did not reply.   “The villagers are frightened of you. They cannot work their mines because they fear your wrath,” I told him. “Much longer and they will begin to starve. The village will not be so pretty when they cannot sustain it, and their corpses begin to outnumber the living.   “But this relationship can be mutually advantageous. They are victim to marauders, to war... with a dragon in the mountains, they will be protected from such things. And in return, they can divert dragon hunters away from your cave,” I explain

The patrons looked at us with open interest. In comparison to most of them, we were finely and overdressed. Rivyn was accustomed to being stared at, he attracted attention with his height and the breadth of his shoulders, and his unusual astonishing beauty, and he walked to the bar indifferent to their speculation. “We’re looking to book a ship.”   “A whole ship, or a berth upon one?” the inn keeper looked amused.   “It depends on whether the vessel passes the point I want to get off,” Rivyn replied. “I want to dive to the wreck of the Hirewyn DeaLothe.”   “Fae ship,” one of the men muttered. “Best left alone.”   “Strange things happen in that patch of the ocean,” another man at the bar said into his tankard. “Ships sail around that point.”   “It’s impossible to dive to,” a man straightened to standing and turned to rest his hips against the bar. His hair and beard were a reddish