Page 21 of Whispers of the Starlit Sea (Avalore Chronicles #1)

She wasn’t sure what “dungeons” meant, but Ailsa clearly wasn’t fond of them.

They passed a man holding a spear similar to those used by the mer hunters.

He said nothing, merely nodded at the princess.

At last they reached the bottom, and Ailsa pushed open the door to reveal a large cavern of rough, gray stone. Voices immediately greeted them.

Arick was speaking, his voice louder than she’d ever heard it. Commanding, even as he asked a question.

A chorus of voices cut across his, some crying in fear, some demanding he stop.

Stop.

That wasn’t a word she knew in their tongue. It wasn’t spoken in the human language.

It was said in hers.

She untangled herself from Ailsa and ran, limping, to where Arick stood at the end of a dark body of water. “Who’s there?” she called, eagerly searching the water.

Chains rattled.

“Here.”

“How do you speak our language?”

“Stop.”

The voices drowned out her words.

She spotted one of the speakers at last. A merman lay half immersed in the underground lake, his arms chained above his head.

He glared at her, his chest rising and falling as he fought for breath.

His pale skin was beaded with sweat, and the flickering candlelight cast deep shadows under his eyes.

The face was familiar, though ghastly altered.

She fell to her knees, her heart thumping against her ribs. “Why are you here?”

“The humans blame us for the storms,” another voice answered as a younger merman drew closer. He still wore the armband of the Watchers, but she didn’t recognize him.

“Merfolk can’t…”

He nodded. “But they don’t believe us. They…” He swallowed, unable to speak further. He motioned to the one chained up, unable to reach the water he so desperately needed to breathe properly.

“Can you not free yourselves?”

Damp pale heads shook all around her. “Many of us are chained,” the Watcher explained.

“And there’s no path to the sea,” another added. “Only stones. We’re trapped.”

She turned to Arick, her eyes wide. She fought to find the words, her mouth moving but no sound coming. “What did you do?” She managed at last, forgetting to try his language.

Arick stared back. He reached for her. “I…”

She spun out of his reach and ran. Tears blinded her, and she stumbled toward the first escape she could see. Pain wound its way around her chest, but she ignored it. She wanted nothing to do with Arick ever again.

Even if it killed her.

Sharp rocks jabbed through the soles of her boots, combining with the never-ending stabbing at every step.

Her shoulder bounced off the uneven wall of the tunnel.

Ahead, the glare of daylight beckoned her forward.

She stumbled through the tunnel, her entire body aching.

Gasping for air in between her sobs, she staggered out of the darkness onto a rocky shore.

She fell to her knees, clutching her chest. Was this pain because she was too far from Arick? Or a deeper hurt?

The image of him standing in front of the imprisoned merfolk cut across her memory, and she let out a cry of rage.

How could he? She had trusted him.

A soothing voice filled the air, a melody that offered comfort she couldn’t reach. The singer drew closer, and Sorcha battled her sobs to see who it was.

“Oh, my dear little guppy.” Her aunt’s voice carried healing magic, but this was no physical ailment that could be mended with a song.

Sorcha threw herself into the water, desperate for comfort. “Oh, Aunt Maeve! They have merfolk in chains!”

Maeve patted her shoulder. “I know, I know.”

Her words sank in, as cold as the water soaking her dress. She drew back. “You knew ?”

“I suspected.”

“And you said nothing. How could you?”

“Now, now. I needed to find out for sure, to find a way to free them.”

Sorcha turned to stand, her feet sliding on the wet rocks. “Free them. I…why didn’t I try to free them?”

Her aunt caught her arm. “You can’t. They have guards.”

She fell back, staring at her aunt in horror. “How many…? How long?” She couldn’t even ask what she so desperately needed to know.

“All of them. Ciara’s fiancé, Ewan, was the first.”

Sorcha clamped a hand over her mouth as another cry threatened to escape. “That was months ago. You let Ciara believe he was dead!”

“I thought so, at the time.” She hesitated, as though unsure whether she should share more. “You have to understand —”

“No, I don’t!” She wrapped her arms around herself, sobs choking her.

“Sorcha —”

“I want to go home,” she signed, unable to speak against the tears. To be home. Safe. Surrounded by her sisters, her parents.

“You can’t. Not until the bond is broken.”

“I don’t want to be bound to him. He lied.” Her fingers formed the words.

“Well, you are bound to him.” Maeve was now signing as she spoke, as if to emphasize her words. “Only he can break it. And it must be soon.”

Sorcha didn’t want to hear it. She scrambled back up the rocks, out of her aunt’s reach. A vice wrapped around her chest, far worse than when Arick left her behind.

“Leave me be!”

“Listen, child,” Maeve shouted. “You only have until the next full moon to break the binding. Or else you’ll turn to sea-foam.”

“Go!” she screamed, not listening to her aunt’s words. Nothing the older mermaid said was worth listening to. “Go!”

Magic filled her voice, but not the warm embrace of healing. A jagged edge cut her throat. Waves twisted and crashed, and rocks tumbled from the cliffs above.

Her aunt looked ready to argue, then an odd look crossed her face, and she dove beneath the waves.

Sorcha collapsed on the rocks.

Arick had betrayed her.

Her aunt had lied to her.

She had nowhere to go.

A rick hurried along the rocky tunnel after Sorcha. What had made her so upset? Why had she looked at him like that? As he stepped out of the darkness of the tunnel, Arick froze in place, certain his eyes were deceiving him. Sorcha huddled on the hard ground, speaking to a woman in the water.

No, not a woman. A mermaid.

And they understood each other. Sorcha’s hands formed a series of signs, her shoulders shaking with sobs. The mermaid replied, repeating one of the signs. Arick copied the motion, committing it to memory.

Whatever the older mermaid said only angered Sorcha more.

She screamed, her voice harsh and desolate.

Full of agony. Arick flinched, knowing he was partly to blame.

The mermaid looked up and spotted him as loose dirt from the cliff showered around him.

She vanished in the tumultuous waves as he ran forward.

Even if she hated him, he wasn’t leaving Sorcha unprotected with stones falling down on her head. He spared a glance at the sky, wondering whether this was a precursor to another storm, but the overcast day grew no darker.

He pulled her to her feet and tugged her along the shore. She resisted, shoving him away. He pointed ahead. “Let’s go inside. We’ll find Ailsa and Thomas and talk.”

She shouted at him, but there was only one word he was able to understand: “No.”

His mind reeled as he watched her.

She had spoken to the merfolk in the dungeons. They had understood each other.

And the woman in the water, with the shimmering black scales.

He’d been trying for over a week to understand Sorcha. The scholars had been trying to communicate with the captives for far longer.

They’d first met on the shore after the storm. She’d been completely devoid of clothing. Unsure how to walk. He glanced back at her, and a memory flashed across his vision. A face in the water. Hands reaching for him. A voice so beautiful it had made him desire nothing more than to hear it again.

Her.

Sorcha had saved him.

Had only been able to save him because she was a mermaid.

He stumbled away from her.

Why hadn’t she told him?

She stood swaying in the light wind like a sapling alone in a field. Her head hung down, her hair loose and covering her face.

A shout heralded the arrival of several guards, pulling his attention from her. They gathered around, asking if he was alright. Arick nodded, still dazed by his revelation.

“You’re needed inside, sir,” a guard told him.

He hesitated, not wanting to leave her alone.

“Keep an eye on her. Take her to the infirmary, if she’ll go,” he ordered one of the guards. He didn’t know whether she was a prisoner. Surely she wasn’t their enemy. But…she had lied, hadn’t told him who she was. So it was safer to have them take her somewhere she could be watched.

He trailed behind the other guards as they entered the castle’s shore entrance. He would go find the king and tell him what he knew. As he climbed the stairs to the main level, he thought of how to approach the topic.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he muttered under his breath. “I did bring an enemy into the castle and introduce them to your children.”

But how was he to know? Mermaids were a thing of the past — creatures of stories and lore. They weren’t real.

Yet they were. The dungeon was full of proof of that.

He clenched his fist. That was another thing he needed to speak to the king about. That creature studying the mermaids hadn’t loosed the one in chains as he’d been ordered. Arick should have stayed and ensured it was done this time, but he’d been too distracted by Sorcha.

His mind was so busy he didn’t pay attention to who else was near until a dour figure stepped in front of him.

“Ah, Sir Arick. Just who I was hoping to speak to.” MacIsaac smoothed his lapel. “Do be so kind as to join us for a moment, won’t you?”

Arick kicked himself for not noticing in time to escape. “I’m sorry, Councilman. I’m on my way to a hearing with the king, so if you —”

“The king has just left for a ride with his queen, so you’ll have plenty of time to hear us out.”

He was cornered with no way out, so he followed MacIsaac to a large room near the council chambers.

A quick glance around the room proved that most of the council was present.

Remnants of tea and sandwiches testified they’d been there for quite some time.

The chatter stopped as he entered, and all turned to face him.

The door clicked shut behind him, and MacIsaac strode to the center of the room. “I’ll cut to the chase, my lord. It’s time for you to stop running about town with that bungaid of a woman and step up to your responsibilities.”

“I beg your pardon?” Arick demanded. He wasn’t sure whether he was more offended at the insult to Sorcha or the implication he was neglecting his duties. “I am doing exactly what the king has requested of me.”

“Making a weather report can happen any time. We have less than a week until the prince’s coronation, and we all know what needs to be done before that date.”

Murmurs of agreement rippled around the room.

“Well, I don’t, so why don’t you make it plain to me?”

MacIsaac looked around the room, as if someone else would step up, but the others avoided eye contact. “Very well. I’ll be frank. Thomas is not fit to rule the kingdom.”

“ Prince Thomas,” Arick bit out, “is as capable as any other to rule.”

“I know how you feel. It pains me to say it, but it is true. Thom— the prince is…simple-minded. He doesn’t understand enough to make the difficult decisions required of a monarch.” MacIsaac looked anything but pained as he spread his hands as if to say, What else could we do?

A barrel-shaped man leveraged himself out of a chair and approached. Lord Beattie smirked. “There’s also the fact that the crown will inevitably fall to you anyway. We’re just skipping a step.”

Arick looked back and forth between them, baffled by what he was hearing. “Why is that?”

“Well, it’s unlikely he will find someone to marry him, and even if he could, do we think him capable of siring children?”

The fire that had been smoldering in his belly since he’d discovered the truth about Sorcha spilled forth.

“How dare you?” Arick’s hands tightened into fists that he barely kept by his sides. “How dare you speak of your prince like that? And to be such cowards? To wait until your king was out of the castle to hold this in his house?”

“Now, lad, calm down,” Lord Beattie said. “Your brother —”

“My brother would never have participated in this…this treason.” Arick spun on his heel, no longer trusting himself to stay in the room with them.

“If you won’t, we’ll find someone else,” MacIsaac called after him.

The slam of the door was Arick’s only reply.