My editor tells me he has only twenty pages to go on the new Tides of Fire book. He isn’t a fantasy fan so I can’t ask him for a meaningful opinion but he has stated that he thinks it is ‘gruesome’ and ‘disturbing’ which has me rubbing my hands with glee. He also said something about ‘Game of Thrones under the ocean,’ which I think refers to all the merfolk sex and violence.

For those readers only familiar with my Regency romances, I should put in a disclaimer here. The style and the subject matter couldn’t be more different. On the other hand my mermen do have some things in common with my Regency heroes. They are gorgeous, brave, passionate, often brooding, and even, occasionally, witty.

Since we’re into the home stretch I’m going to post the (short) prologue and first chapter. Apologies for the formatting, I can’t seem to get the paragraphs to indent properly here.

I’ve tried to ensure that the book can be read as a standalone, but I’m going to make the first book Tides of Fire: The Rebellion free for a few days before I publish The Golden Queen. I’ll post when the freebie begins.

Prologue

Andy McMillan had been a hard man all his life. On the day he left Glasgow, one step ahead of the police, he planned to return one day to take his rightful place as leader of the hardest gang of bastards in Scotland. But that was many years ago and, though time had not softened Andy, the years as skipper of the leakiest ferry in the islands had blunted his rough edge. He had not killed anyone for a very long time.
The ferry was, as usual, well behind schedule. But no one on the hot deck, grilled under a blazing sun, was bothered about the schedule. Time meant little in the islands. So, when Andy’s watery, old eyes, scanning the coastline, glimpsed a woman who was struggling in the water, her white arms raised in desperate supplication, he gave the order to turn the wheel without a second thought.

* * * * *

Chapter One

Makhulu forced himself to concentrate on the closely inscribed tablets in front of him. It was at times like these that, late at night when he was tired and alone, the emptiness hit him hardest. Before Vahtu’s death, there had always been Kahlutu or Leteal and his lover, Tahki. But Leteal was dead, impaled on Makhulu’s dagger, and Tahki had perished by his own act. Kahlutu spent his nights with Aula, the pretty, silent, ice-maiden he had married, and their newborn son.
Slit! I’m just bored. That’s what’s the matter with me. What are these flaming tablets about anyway? He passed his hand across his eyes and focused once more on the work in front of him.
He glanced up as a circle of ripples in the entry channel alerted him to the approach of a visitor. A sleek head appeared, with hair neither black nor gilt but a brindled mixture of the two, like the pelt of a seal pup.
“Vakahtu?”
Vakahtu rose out of the pool, bowed in a perfunctory way, and pulled himself onto the sand with smooth economy of effort. His tail gleamed in the light of the whale-oil lamps. It was neither Kiakhu black nor Leahtu silver. Where his muscled torso met his tail, the thick hide was pearly silver, then dark grey and silver alternated in blurred lines down to his tail fin, which was pure Kiakhu black.
He was of both clans, and neither, an outcast since birth, fit only for the oyster beds or the Pleasure Caves. Yet he carried himself with assurance, and his ice-blue eyes did not shift under Makhulu’s. He waited for Makhulu to speak.
Makhulu tossed him a bottle salvaged from the wreck of a four-arm vessel. He caught it one-handed, lifted it in a silent salute, and drank deeply.
Makhulu broke the silence with a touch of impatience. “What have you to report?”
“I’m in.”
“Any trouble?”
“There are some don’t like muck-tails. I wouldn’t call them trouble.” He drained his nectar and tossed the bottle onto the sand. Makhulu jerked his head to a stash of bottles beside the divan.
Vakahtu shook his head. “No more.”
“Have you been out yet?”
“We took a vessel yesterday. Not worth it. All we got was a few weapons, gold rings, nectar.”
Makhulu made a note on the tablet in front of him. “How many four-arms dead?”
“About twenty.”
“Twenty!! That brings the total for the last three tides to—wait—” He made some calculations on a slate, “—a hundred and fifty two! The fools! Do they think the four-arms won’t notice?”
“What can the four-arms do?”
“Do? Have you never seen how they can kill creatures under the water with their iron pellets while they stay safe on their vessels? But that’s not the point. The security of all the clans depends on the four-arms remaining oblivious.”
“Nakki is greedy.”
“Under Vahtu the wreckers knew their limits. Now they are out of control. Besides, we should protect the four-arms where we can. They’re not all vicious. We can’t let them be slaughtered.” He made a notation on the tablet.
“Who did you use for bait?”
“A female.”
“Her name?”
“Kalita.”
“Age?”
“About a hundred and ninety tides.”
Makhulu looked up. “Pretty ?”
“Yes.”
“Is she a willing participant?”
“She’s Nakki’s daughter,” Vakahtu said, indifferently
“That doesn’t mean anything. You’re Vahtu’s son. You had no choice.”
“There’s always a choice.”
Makhulu resisted the impulse to grip the young male’s shoulder. He had learned that Vakahtu did not care for such gestures.
“Even Kahlutu did what he must to survive. You are the son of a slave and the monster that abused her. Whatever you have done, you shouldn’t blame yourself.”
Vakahtu’s expression remained unreadable. Makhulu felt snubbed and, consequently, irritated. “Well, we will give this—” he checked his notes, “—Kalita—the benefit of the doubt. Now, give me the rest of the names.”
Vakahtu reeled off a list in his level, expressionless voice. When he came to the last name, his tone changed and betrayed a fleeting emotion.
Makhulu looked up, interested. “Is there something I should know about this one?”
“They all kill. He plays with them first.”
“Torture?”
“And rape. Male, female, youngling, he doesn’t have a preference.”
“Don’t let a personal dislike jeopardize your mission.”
“I won’t. But I will find a reason to kill him. It won’t be difficult, and it will impress the others.”
“And what if he kills you?”
For the first time that night, a slow smile spread across Vakahtu’s face. He said nothing but looked steadily at Makhulu, who gave a harsh crack of laughter. “My apologies—for a moment I had forgotten.”
“You are fortunate.”

* * * * *

Kalita was watching for Vakahtu, but she had almost given up hope of seeing him before he finally returned. She could not explain her obsession with him, even to herself, much less to her father. Where did he go when he left the wreckers’ caves, deep within the bowels of the rock? Below the elegant sand-chambers and the Pleasure Caves, below the Sentinel garrison, further down even than the household slaves’ quarters? Where did he go—and who was he with? Night after night she had searched the Kiakhu Base, neglecting only the high-caste nobles’ quarter in her quest. No muck-tail would ever be welcome up there.
Now, when she knew that he neither expected nor desired to see her, she shot out from the mouth of the channel and floated between him and the entrance to the tiny, dark cave where he spent his nights. He must have known she was there because he did not react to her sudden appearance.
“Where have you been?” Nerves made her voice high and shrill.
“If your father asks, I’ll tell him.”
Her tail tapped the water. “Why won’t you answer me?” She swam nearer, knowing she was close to passing some invisible barrier but unable to stop herself. “You will tell me!”
“I will tell your father,” he repeated.
“My father trusts me to—”
“Spy for him?”
“No!”
“Then let me pass. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“If you hurt me, my father will kill you.”
“He reserves that right for himself?”
“What are you talking about?”
His face was quite expressionless. “Nakki beats you. It is not a secret.”
“That’s crack-juice!”
“No. I, too, had a father who beat me until I would do anything he asked to avoid more punishment. I understand.”
She thought she had never been offered such cold comfort. How could he know what she endured? “Did he ask you to kill?”
“Yes.”
In her pain and anger, she turned on him. “Don’t you get the idea we have anything in common, muck-tail! I don’t care about you or your father or what he did to you. Do you understand me?”
His smile was not pleasant. “I expected nothing else. Will you let me pass now?”
She twirled angrily out of his path.
He nodded. “Thank you, Lady.”
She nodded back, straight-backed and stiff. But, as soon as he was swallowed up in the gloom of the tunnel, her face crumpled into a mask of despair, and her silent sobs rippled through the chill, black water.
Vakahtu made his way down a steep channel to the very edge of the mount, far from the warming Fire. In a murky, foul-smelling pool, a gang of around fifty, black-tailed, battle-scarred veterans was assembled. Some had shaved heads or wore shark’s teeth pushed through the lobes of their ears. Others had fearful patterns tattooed in swirls across their cheeks.
Vakahtu’s stern mouth twisted into a sneer. Fools! A true killer does not make a parade of his calling. As he swam into the cavern, he heard voices raised in anger and realized that he had arrived in time for one of the wreckers’ periodic clashes. Noisy, but futile. He could teach them better ways. Never raise your voice. It is a waste of energy. Just slide the blade in, nice and easy.
A big male of around six hundred tides was in the center of the group. This was Nakki, their leader. He reminded Vakahtu of his dead father. The likeness did nothing to make his work with this band of killers any easier. The gang chief had not yet run to blubber, but, thought Vakahtu, his leadership was based on nothing but brute strength, and he would soon be replaced by a younger challenger.
Vakahtu swam closer to hear what the angry tails were shouting about. “I say Nakki and his kit get one share, not two. She does nothing.”
“He’s right!” chorused the crowd. “Why should she get a full share? It’s us takes the chances.”
Nakki glared at the tails circling him. “Kalita gets a full share,” he growled.
Another male moved forward. He was as big as Nakki, thick-necked and heavy with muscle. “You think we’re that stupid? Kalita sees nothing of the gold. All it means is that you get double, besides the cut you take on everything we bring you.”
There was a rumble of agreement. Nakki glanced around, for the first time showing uncertainty. The other male continued, “She’s just a kit, what does she need? Give her these.” He lifted his hand to display two shell necklaces and a bracelet. “That’s what pleases a kit.”
Vakahtu watched with interest to see what Nakki would do. To back down meant a loss of authority that he might never recover, but the big male seemed intimidated and, with a shrug of his massive shoulders, he turned away. “We’ll talk about this further, Patik,” he muttered and swam out of the chamber. Vakahtu followed.
“Are you going to let him get away with that?” he said as he caught up with Nakki in the dark channel.
Nakki grunted. “What can I do? He has the tails on his side. There was a time—”
“I can take him for you,” said Vakahtu quietly.
“You?”
“Why not?”
“Have you seen him fight?”
“I can take him,” Vakahtu repeated.
Nakki moved closer. “If you can rid me of that crack-eating ‘phin-leaper, I’ll—”
“You’ll what?”
“—put you in his place, second-in-command, my friend, that’s what.”
“Consider it done.”
“When?”
“Before the next raid.”
Nakki grunted, “You don’t say much do you?”
“What else is there to say?”