14Lena nibbled on her breakfast, but whatever appetite she’d woken with was effectively lost. The sausage was too oily and slick, sliding swiftly through her throat, and the rye bread sat heavy on her stomach. She pushed the meal this way and that on her plate, spying discreetly as one by one, the guests cleared from the makeshift dining hall. Talk of sailing and fishing floated into her ears as the sturdy throngs ambled through the front door and out into the sparkling sunlight.
Lena traced a finger over the painted edge of her plate. She’d stored whole shelves of human kitchenware in her secret grotto beneath the waves—cracked porcelain bowls and brassy utensils, treasures she and Javelin had gleaned from shipwrecks over the years. What would become of their collection now? What would h
