“What? When?”

“When you were bringing me back. Didn’t you hear them sigh, hear them sing?”

“I . . .” He cast his mind back. “I thought it was you. I did hear something. Jesus, I did.”

“And I’ve got something,” Riley put in. “Since you’ve been in your magickally induced coma, I’ve been able to spend more time on it. I’ve got some nibbles.”

“And now you tell us?” Doyle demanded.

“I got the nibbles right before Sleeping Beauty here woke up. I was coming out to report. There is a legend. I know a guy who knows a guy who knows. But the guy who knows is currently on a retreat, so I can’t tap him for more data for a couple days. Meanwhile, I’m digging on my own. Like most legends, it has a lot of variations, but the one that strikes me connects the Bay of Sighs to the Island of Glass.”

“Interesting.” Bran leaned forward. “What do you know?”

“Know, not much. Speculate, a lot more. In the version I’m leaning toward, at one time, long ago, the bay and the island were connected. And like the legends regarding the island, the bay moved, and could only be seen by a chosen few.”

Since she’d swapped research for lunch, Riley helped herself to some pasta.

“Then we’ve got a race of people who shared the island. A race that could live on land and in water, and did so peacefully. All’s happy and joy until some dude—names vary, but most common is Odhran.”

“That’s an Irish name,” Doyle said.

“Got that. So Odhran decided, hey, we can live on land or in the sea, why shouldn’t we have everything? They’ve got that fancy castle on the hill. Maybe I want to have that. And we’re better and stronger than they are.”

Bran nodded. “A popular excuse for war.”

“Yeah, and they got one. First, they lured people into the bay, drowned them.”

“With the songs?”

“Not clear,” Riley told Annika, “but possible. Then they burned, pillaged, on their way to storming the castle. But the queen ruling them wasn’t afraid to fight back. Which she did. I’ve got variety again. Raining fire, earthquakes, her riding a winged horse and sweeping the ever-popular fiery sword, and so on. But the result’s basically the same in my research. While the rebels scattered, tried to get back to the bay, the queen rounded them up. She gave them a choice. Death or banishment. Odhran chose death, and got it—according to most of my digging. So did a few others. But the bulk chose banishment. So she blew the bay out to sea. She would spare their lives, and some were innocents. But they would float and wander forever, cast away from their home. Or in some versions until one who came from them redeemed them. Redeemed, they could once again join with the island and live in peace.”

“Mermaids?” As he spoke, Sawyer ran a hand down Annika’s hair.

“I have never heard this story,” she told them. “It is not one we sing of in my world.”

“It’s pretty damn obscure,” Riley said. “And I’ve yet to find the source. But like Doyle said, the rebel leader’s name’s of Irish origin. Or English. In some it’s spelled Odran, and that’s the English variation.”

“There must be more.”

Riley gestured at Bran. “I’m looking, but this is the first layer I’ve uncovered. It fits. I’ve been trying to translate varieties from Greek, Latin, and some old Irish. And I’ll keep at it.”

“I can help with that.”

Intrigued, she shifted her gaze to Doyle. “You read Greek, Latin, and old Irish?”

“Well enough.”

“Okay then. And when I can contact the guy who supposedly knows more, I’ll tap him for it. But all in all, it feels like we’re being pointed toward the Bay of Sighs.”

“The trick is to find it. Annika’s heard it twice when we’re traveling. I could—”

“Recover.” Sasha simply cut him off. “No diving, no heavy lifting, no traveling until you’re fully healed. It’s five to one on that, Sawyer. No point in arguing.”

Because whatever Bran had given him was wearing off, and he felt as if he could sleep a week, he didn’t.

“You should rest again.” Rising Annika took his hand.

“Don’t argue there either. I can feel your pain coming back,” Sasha told him. “Sleep’s healing. Anni, do you have enough balm?”

“Yes, there’s enough. I’ll tend him.”

“I’ll be ready tomorrow.” And though he meant to be, was determined to be, even the effort of getting to his feet left him light-headed.

By the time he’d climbed the stairs, with Annika’s help, sweat popped out on his skin. When he passed out on the bed, even without the medicine, Annika gently undressed him, carefully spread the healing balm on his wounds.

Then she lay down beside him, covered his heart with her hand so she could feel the beat. And for the first time since they’d been taken, slept soundly.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

When he could walk on his own, but couldn’t have run fifty yards if his life depended on it, Sawyer accepted he wasn’t ready to come off the bench. Since his right arm remained weak, he worked on improving his left-handed aim. But even target practice tired him out in under an hour.