Page 13 of Whispers of the Starlit Sea (Avalore Chronicles #1)

Chapter eight

T he rest of the day passed in a flurry of activity. Sorcha followed along as Arick drove the little cart around the city. Thomas and the cooky went back to the castle, but after their meeting, Arick relaxed a lot more.

They went back to the harbor, where Arick spoke to several people.

Most of the time, she stayed in the cart or got out to pet the pony.

The port was bustling, with people hurrying around and shouting.

Two groups of men wielded long poles to pull debris from the water, stacking it in large carts pulled by taller ponies with long ears.

As long as Arick stayed in sight, her chest didn’t hurt. She wondered whether he ever had that tightness. Probably not. The curse was hers.

But Aunt Maeve had said she had to get him to like her. Why? Life would be much more pleasant if he didn’t hate her, true; but Aunt Maeve’s words seemed to have held a meaning she didn’t understand. She scratched the pony’s neck and wondered what humans did to garner friendships.

Wait — Aunt Maeve hadn’t meant that , had she? Sorcha shuddered. Being stuck near a human was bad enough; no way did she want to wed one. She’d never be able to return to the ocean if that were the case.

Arick reappeared and handed her a small pocket of food. She cupped it in her hands, absorbing the warmth. She followed his example and bit into the edge. The pastry flaked to the ground. The inside was filled with rich sauce and bites of food that melted in her mouth.

“Pie,” he told her, after swallowing his own first bite.

She nodded her understanding, too busy enjoying it to try the new word.

After they finished, he offered his handkerchief for her to wipe her hands, then tucked her arm under his elbow. With an apologetic tone, he spoke as he pointed to a far building. She grasped his arm tighter and readied herself for the long walk.

It was her longest distance since gaining her human legs, and she was quite proud of herself, even though her legs were shaking from exhaustion by the time they arrived.

If she stepped firmly, the stabbing pain came and went faster, so she focused on not being afraid to walk.

They passed through a door, and Arick guided her to a bench and pointed to a nearby cave that opened off the larger one they were currently in.

He stepped inside and greeted an older man.

A boy brought her a cup of the hot fragrant beverage Elsbeth had given her.

This one smelled different, and wasn’t quite as enjoyable, but the warmth was soothing.

Sorcha sipped the drink and watched the people around her.

A line of people waited near a long shelf.

The officials on the other side looked harried.

Most were men, but a few women mingled in the busy space as well.

The noise rose and fell, and she wondered if it would be rude to cover her ears. She turned her attention back to Arick.

The older man held an air of importance, his voice authoritative. As with his other conversations, Arick often turned to face the ocean and gestured to the sky as he spoke. The older man looked grave, shaking his head. A few times she heard the word Thomas had taught her — storm .

Were the humans as bothered by them as the merfolk?

Of course they would be. They were the ones who lost ships in the storms. And if it weren’t for the Watchers, they’d also lose their lives.

She listened for the other word “magic,” but she was too far away to distinguish much of what they said, most of which she didn’t understand.

Arick’s shoulders drooped as they left. They were silent on the walk back to the cart. He joined her on the bench and covered his face with his hands.

After a few minutes, he looked up and spoke in a quiet tone. The pain in his eyes made her want to sing to take it away, but she could find no song that fit.

He pointed to the ships tied to the piers, repeating the word “ship” each time. He then put his fists together and turned them away in a quick motion. “Broken,” he said.

These words were important to him, so she concentrated on his face and what he was trying to tell her, repeating each word as he said it.

“Water.” This time he pointed at the harbor, then moved his hands side to side as he wiggled his fingers. She frowned, not sure what he was indicating. “Water,” he said a few more times, repeating the movement.

“Wah-der,” she tried cautiously. The word was easy, but what part of the harbor did he mean?

He moved on to one last sign, holding one hand flat and moving the other under it. “Under.”

“Un-der.”

He gave her a slight smile, and she found she missed it when it faded. A light breeze teased his curls. He held up one hand, fingers splayed. With his other hand, he tapped each finger, counting up to seven. She filed away some of the words, but this didn’t feel like a language lesson.

Next he pointed at the ships. “Seven ships.”

The fists together, then snapping apart. “Broken.”

One hand tucking under the other. “Under.”

Fingers wiggling back and forth. “Water.”

Tears pricked her eyes as she put the words and their meaning together. Never before had she heard of so many ships being sunk in one night.

Memories of the chaos of the storm threatened to choke her. She pointed at him, her hand shaking, then repeated his movement for “under.”

He shook his head, not understanding.

What was the human word for “human”?

Or “death”?

“Arick — Ta-mas — El-bet.” She strung the words together in quick succession. “Under?” She followed the hand movement for the word by holding her hand out as he had for counting the number of ships.

Understanding filled his eyes, and he caught her hands in his, stilling their agitated motions. “None.” He shook his head and smiled softly. Shifting to hold her hands in one of his, he pointed at himself, then her, then the men walking by. “People.” He shook his head again. “No people under.”

She sank back in relief. Father and the Watchers worked so hard to rescue the humans. She hoped none of them had been hurt saving their lives last night.

But Ciara had been. Had Ciara gone searching for her? Had she been caught up in a sinking ship? Why hadn’t Sorcha asked Aunt Maeve for more information about her?

A sob escaped, and she buried her face in her hands.

Strong arms wrapped around her, and she cried as Arick held her.

T he king’s earlier request to look into the cause of the storms suddenly made sense. The more he spoke to people around the harbor, the more Arick understood why King Craig wanted someone outside his usual circle to investigate.

Now that he had reassured himself that Thomas was okay, with only a minor earache after his ordeal, Arick wanted to speak to everyone who had been on the water during any of the storms.

He’d taken a risk, going to the moors instead of straight to the castle in search of Thomas.

But explaining Sorcha’s presence to the guards, not to mention the crowds of nobles who often hung around, would take time he was loath to waste.

Thankfully Thomas had remembered their old meeting place — a hillside that could be seen from the prince’s window and easily accessed by one of the back stairs.

Thomas’s signs had come in handy too, as he was able to communicate with the woman far more than Arick had managed so far.

Thomas had been born differently, and as he’d grown, some of those differences had become more evident.

When he didn’t speak as early as other children, the queen had sought a way to communicate with her bright, happy baby.

Arick and Daniel had learned the hand signs as well, incorporating them easily into their play with their cousins.

In the years since he’d moved away, however, he’d had little use for them and had forgotten much.

He tried not to mind that her first true smile had been aimed at Thomas and not him.

Thomas had offered to take her back to the castle with him so Arick wouldn’t have to worry about her while he investigated, but a fierce protectiveness had taken over him.

He had found her on the beach, and until he knew where she had come from, he would look after her.

Something deep inside him compelled him to stay near her.

As he made his way along the docks, talking to all the captains and sailors who would give him the time, he watched her. More often than not, she was watching him in return. Whenever he got too far away, she would fidget and show signs of wanting to go after him.

He stopped at the far end to catch his breath. He must still be tired from the night in the water. A heavenly scent drifted past, and he followed his nose to an old woman with a basket of meat pies.

“How much for two, Mother?” he asked.

The old woman grinned up at him from under her shawl, taking in his well-cut clothing, and held up three fingers. He laughed and handed her four coins. He wrapped the hot pies in his handkerchief and hurried back to Sorcha, delighting in her enjoyment of his favorite snack.

The meeting with the harbormaster was the last on his list for the day. The man confirmed what he’d learned talking to the sailors, but with less fanciful theories than placing the blame on a mythical being.

Even having spent most of his adult life among sailors, he was still amazed at how many believed in the supernatural. As he guided the little pony back up the hill to the castle, he wondered what Sorcha believed. He wished he could communicate better with her.

Her tears, which he could only assume were of relief, had torn at his heart. Had she been on one of the ships that had gone down? Was her family washed up on another beach somewhere, equally lost and afraid?

He’d asked around about whether any foreign ships had been spotted in the harbor, but no one had heard of any, and the harbormaster had none on record.

The castle guards gave him odd looks as he handed off the reins and helped Sorcha down.