Page 17 of Whispers of the Starlit Sea (Avalore Chronicles #1)

Chapter nine

“H ad a bit of a hurkle-durkle this morning, did you?”

Arick blinked the lingering sleep from his eyes as he emerged from the stairs into the mostly deserted dining room.

Elsbeth shook her head at him from a table by the fireplace.

Across from her sat Sorcha, who hid a laugh behind her hands.

His worry for her, which had plagued him half the night, drifted away at the sight.

He waved off Elsbeth’s teasing, his response lost in a yawn. “Have you got anything for a starving sailor to eat, Mother?” he asked, joining them at the table.

“I’m not your mother, and lie-a-beds don’t deserve breakfast.” She didn’t look up from her knitting. “But there might be a spot of porridge left in the crock.”

He got up and fetched the iron pot she’d indicated from where it was tucked into the coals. The remains of the morning’s fire were dying down, and he basked in the warmth for a moment. He set the pot on the scarred wooden table and helped himself to a spoon from the jar of clean ones on the mantel.

“Ack, you’re not eating out of my pot, are you?” Elsbeth scolded, even as she poured him a cup of tea.

“I was trying to save you an extra dish to wash.”

“I’ve already finished the washing up. Anything you dirty is yours to clean.”

“Then I think I’ll eat from the pot, if it’s all the same to you.”

She clicked her tongue. “Good thing I know your mother; otherwise I’d believe you were raised in a barn.”

Arick ignored her, his growling stomach demanding to be fed.

While he ate, his mind drifted to what he had learned the day before.

Merfolk were real. Not only real, but living in the very waters he sailed through — swam in.

He’d always assumed they had vanished with the magic all those years ago.

Where had they been hiding? And why? Did they know what had happened to the magic?

To avoid the plethora of unanswered questions, he changed his focus to Sorcha.

The young woman had been watching their exchange with curious eyes, but now she returned to the lines of wool she had laid out on the table before her.

He was relieved to see the shadows that had haunted her yesterday were gone.

Although he couldn’t say she seemed happy, at least she appeared rested and pain-free.

Her fingers plucked at the wool, weaving two colors together. Although not as fast as Elsbeth’s clicking needles, Sorcha’s piece grew steadily.

He rubbed his chest absently, the memory of the pain still lingering. What could have caused such a feeling, like his heart was being ripped out of him?

And why had returning to Sorcha made it stop?

A worrying thought stirred in his mind. He knew so little about her. Had she…done something to him?

He shook his head. No. Magic, if it was real, hadn’t been heard of in one hundred years. Besides, he’d seen her suffer as much as him, if not more, when they’d been drawn apart. Why would she cast a spell that caused her such pain? He sipped his tea, not noticing it had gone cold.

“Head lost in the clouds?”

Elsbeth’s words jolted him from his reverie, and he dropped the teacup. The thin china cup bounced off the edge of the table and smashed to the floor, tea spilling everywhere.

Sorcha jumped with a small shriek.

“Apologies, Elsbeth,” Arick said, getting up to pick up the pieces.

“No mind. I’ll fetch a rag.” She hurried to the kitchen.

Sorcha crouched on the floor and reached for the shattered cup.

“Careful,” Arick warned, joining her. He lifted the largest piece, shaking off the tea.

“Ow!” Sorcha jerked her hand back and sucked on her finger. She glared at the broken pieces, then an odd look crossed her face. She reached for the china again, her palm flat.

Arick moved to stop her, but she shook him off. Gently, she touched the sharp edges with her hand, then again, harder. When she pulled her hand back, it was covered in tiny flecks of blood.

She bit her lip and looked at him, her brows drawn together. Twisting around, she sat on the floor and pulled one foot into her lap. She pointed to the bottom of her foot, then to her hand, then to the broken teacup, talking the whole time.

He gave an exaggerated shrug. “I’m sorry. I hate that I don’t understand you, but I don’t know what you mean.”

Elsbeth set a bowl beside him and began sopping up the tea. Sorcha repeated her pointing, her speech slower.

Arick dropped the pieces of china into the bowl. “I wish I could understand what she’s saying. I feel so bad that I can’t talk to her.”

Elsbeth gave him an odd look, then watched Sorcha for a minute. “She’s saying the bottom of her feet feel like she’s walking on shards.”

“Oh.” Now that she explained, he could see it. “Has she let you examine her feet to see why?”

“Other than a few bumps and scrapes, there’s not a mark on her.”

Arick pondered the question as he finished picking up the broken china and cleaning up breakfast. Often his hand drifted to his chest, leaving a damp spot from the dishwater. Once he was done, he returned to the dining room.

“I need to head out. Do you mind if I take the cart again?” Speaking to as many people as he could about the storms was not going to be a quick task, so he wanted to get started on it. It wouldn’t be easy, either, so he was mentally preparing himself for the anger and frustration he’d have to face.

Elsbeth cast a shrewd look between him and Sorcha, then nodded. “I won’t need it today. You two have fun.”

Arick couldn’t stop the heat rising to his cheeks. “It’s not like that.”

She waved a knitting needle at him. “I never said it was, my dear boy.”

Protesting would only make her more convinced, so he turned to Sorcha. “Do you want to come with me, or stay with Elsbeth?” He used his hands to mime it out as he spoke.

“Arick,” she replied promptly, then ducked her head.

He wondered if the lightness that filled him at her choice was joy that she’d chosen him or relief that he wouldn’t be risking the agony of the day before if he was separated from her.

O ver the next few days, Sorcha and Arick visited many homes around the town. Everyone was kind, but most ignored her once they discovered she couldn’t speak their language. After the first house, she asked Arick what they’d said. The man had been so angry, and she couldn’t see why.

“Storm,” Arick told her, using the hand signs Thomas had used to indicate lightning. He pointed to the sun and motioned backward twice.

Of course. The storm that had changed everything.

She frowned and pointed back to the house. “Why that man?”

Arick ran a hand over his mouth, his eyes sad. “Broken ship,” he said simply, putting his two fists together and breaking them apart.

Oh.

No wonder the poor man was so upset. Arick was asking him to relive a harrowing experience.

They continued on to visit others. Sorcha paid more attention, gleaning as much as she could from the few words she knew and piecing things together from expressions and hand movements. She was quiet as Arick helped her into the cart after the fourth house. She should have understood sooner.

“What is “dol-fem’?” she asked, fearing the answer. All the people they’d spoken to had used the word.

“Dolphin,” he corrected her. “Big fish…” He pointed to the water, then put his palms together and wove his hands back and forth. Next, he held his arms out wide to show size.

She swallowed as he confirmed her fears. He was trying to figure out how all the people had been rescued.

Father and the Watchers were always so careful. But never had there been that many people in the water, so many lives that had needed saving at once.

What if someone had seen one of the merfolk?

What if Arick remembered seeing her?

A lifelong habit of hiding her existence from the humans fueled her hope that he would never learn the truth. The tiny part of her that longed to be truly seen by someone wished he could.

On this morning, Arick kept up his usual chatter as they drove.

At first, she thought he was doing it only for her benefit as he pointed out the landmarks and taught her his language.

But today there was a heaviness to his words.

He wasn’t talking aimlessly; he was thinking aloud, inviting her into his thoughts.

She listened quietly, able to make out only a few words yet sensing his meaning from his tone.

Was this what her life would be like from now on?

Only a partial participant to what was going on around her?

In time, she would learn more of the language, she was sure.

But that would only resolve one of her troubles.

Her fingers brushed the hollow below her throat, seeking the caged heart necklace. It had gone missing after her fall, but she couldn’t break the habit of worrying it when something was bothering her.

The cart stopped outside a little thatched house. A low stone fence enclosed the tiny garden. Sorcha looked at the stone path and sighed. Even that short distance would be painful. But waiting in the cart would be worse. Arick offered his arm as always and led the way to the door.

A small girl answered his knock. Only after a voice from inside called out did she allow them entry.

Arick ducked his head as he entered, his hair grazing the doorframe. Heavy beams across the ceiling weren’t much higher, and he stood with his head tilted. Sorcha blinked at the gloom after the gray brightness of the sky outside.

The house was tiny, with only one room. The hearth took up most of one wall, with a table and low counter at one end and a bed at the other.

With a start, Sorcha noticed the small woman lying in the bed.

He introduced himself, then her. “— friend, Sorcha. — storms —.”

The woman gave a wan smile and dabbed her forehead with a handkerchief. She motioned for them to sit as the girl clattered dishes in the other corner. Sorcha took the low chair beside the woman while Arick perched on a narrow settee.

The woman shifted positions, hissing softly.