Page 24 of Whispers of the Starlit Sea (Avalore Chronicles #1)

Chapter fourteen

S orcha sat on the edge of the pier, her feet skimming the top of the frigid water. She’d discarded the boots, hoping the ocean would offer a soothing touch to her poor, aching feet, but the sun hadn’t yet had a chance to warm it.

Another storm had raged overnight. She’d lain awake as the wind ripped past her window, threatening to tear the thatch from the roof and the ships from their moorings. She’d slipped out before dawn as the rain stilled. Without Arick, she couldn’t go far, but she found she didn’t want to.

When she’d first thought of telling him, she was sure he would run away, maybe even throw her into the dungeon with the others. If he’d even understood what she was telling him.

In the end, the telling had been easier than she’d assumed.

She’d pointed to the image of the mer in the book he’d been reading, and he’d quickly understood.

But his reaction wasn’t quite what she had expected.

At first, he’d been almost…excited? But then he had looked at the squiggles on the paper, and that excitement had drained away; he’d become worried, sad.

She pulled her shawl closer around herself to ward off a shiver. Even now, she could feel the way his hand had tightened on hers, how reluctant he’d been to let go. The waves sloshed lazily against the pillars below her, as if apologizing for the tantrum of the night.

A whistling tune carried up from the wharf as sailors appeared to check on their ships, but it was the lilting tones coming to her across the waves that drew her attention.

Two heads bobbed in time with the sea, flashes of light blinding her as the early morning sun reflected off their iridescent scales.

Even from that distance, Sorcha could tell that Maeve and Rona were arguing.

But why — and why were either of them above the surface in the daylight, so close to shore?

“Sorcha!” Arick’s deep voice broke her bubble of isolation, but she found herself turning to him with a smile.

She shouldn’t be so happy to see him. He was the reason she was trapped on land, away from her family. Yet when he smiled at her like that, with his hazel eyes crinkling at the edges, she let him take her hand and pull her to her feet. She picked up her boots.

“— shoes?” he asked with a frown. “— feet hurt?”

She gave a shrug with a half smile. Although the human’s language was becoming easier to understand, her tongue had yet to master the sounds.

He gave her a fond smile and scooped her up. “Too cold…” he said and turned back to the inn.

She couldn’t deny that he was much warmer than her previous perch, and she snuggled against him.

Glancing over his shoulder, she saw her sister and aunt staring in her direction, though she couldn’t make out their expressions.

She gave a small wave. They didn’t return the gesture, and after a moment, they sank beneath the surf.

She sighed, nestling deeper into Arick’s embrace.

Would her family even miss her if she were forced to remain on land forever?

She would miss them — did miss them. She missed her parents, her sisters, Aunt Maeve.

She was adrift without the sense of purpose the infirmary gave her, lost in a world with a strange language, different customs, where pain dogged her every step.

Yet there was also a sense of belonging that settled over her when Arick was near. Or maybe it was nothing more than relief that the pain was gone.

She contemplated this as they prepared breakfast together.

Elsbeth was already awake, cooking for her guests.

Sorcha sat in a chair near the hearth, turning the toast to keep it from blackening — a fascinating result, albeit one that earned her many frowns from the humans — and spreading the golden brown slices with a sticky substance Arick called “jam.”

He took over manning the frypan, the contents snapping and cracking as they cooked. He sang as he worked, his lilting baritone filling the kitchen.

Sorcha’s breath caught as she recognized the song. He’d been singing it the first day she saw him, sitting on the edge of the boat with Thomas and the cooky. Was that when he first had ensnared her with his siren voice? Had rescuing him been inevitable, as Aunt Maeve thought?

She shook off the idea. Although not rescuing him had never been an option, she hadn’t been compelled to do so. She had chosen to save him.

And she would make the same choice again.

He gave her a small grin, and her cheeks warmed as she turned away. After a few more slices of toast, Elsbeth shoed Arick away from the stove, and she and the young lad who helped her took the final servings out to the dining room.

Arick carried two plates of food to the table and helped her drag her chair back over so they could eat. He set a notebook down beside him, and eating with one hand, he drew sketches with the other.

After managing to stab a piece of bright yellow egg and make it to her mouth without it falling off, she leaned over to see what he was drawing. A cloud? No, a storm. With extra lines coming from it. She wasn’t sure what those were for.

But his next drawing she recognized immediately as the merfolk in the cavern.

And his next was merfolk under the sea. Finally, he drew arrows connecting each of these in different directions.

And in the middle of it all, he put a squiggle and a dot.

With toast crumbs sticking to her chin, she reached over and tapped the squiggle, giving him a curious look.

He laughed. “Yes, a question .” He gave her the same quizzical look in return.

Oh. The symbol represented asking something. She tried out the human word, her mouth struggling with the shape.

Arick repeated it and helped her until she got it right, never once laughing at her failures. Then they turned back to the drawings. She still didn’t know what the lines around the storms meant, but she had an inkling of what the arrows were for.

“Question?” she said, tracing the arrows with her finger.

“Ahh,” Arick said, leaning back. He pursed his mouth. “One, two, three.” He held up fingers as he counted, then he tapped on the page. “One, merfolk mad. Two, storms. Three, merfolk captured.” He used his hands and facial expressions to convey his meaning.

She frowned at him. That’s not what happened at all.

“Orrrrr,” he said, interpreting her frown. “Storms, one. Merfolk mad, two. Merfolk captured, three.”

She shook her head at him and reached for his drawing, fork still in her hand. A piece of egg fell off and landed on one of the free merfolk, looking like Rona’s golden hair. “One, merfolk captured. Two, storms. Three, merfolk…” She paused, unable to find the word she needed.

“The merfolk are making the storms,” he said, signing at the same time so she understood him.

She glared, not wanting to agree. But… A tide pool of dread swirled in her stomach, and she pushed her plate of food away. She didn’t want to think about what she had seen.

She was certain about one thing though.

“Merfolk captured,” she said firmly, jabbing her finger at the image on the map.

“You think the merfolk were captured first,”Arick said, then signed. “That…that would change everything.”

She met his eyes, nodding slowly. Her hand lifted, her fist nodding forward once, twice. Yes.

“If we free them…” he started, his hands forming the words clumsily.

“The storms stop,” she finished for him.

A rick wriggled on the hard wooden bench. As his uncle had said, he was permitted to join the council any time he wished, but the unwelcoming atmosphere was one of the many reasons he had refrained from doing so in the past.

But as Thomas shuffled to the center of the horseshoe-shaped seating, Arick directed all his attention to his cousin.

“Your Majesty, ladies and gentlemen of the council, esteemed guests, thank you for allowing me to speak before you today. I bring to you a matter of national security.”

As practiced, Thomas paused here, and the council dutifully filled the space with gasps and demands of explanation.

Arick gave Thomas an encouraging nod. Ailsa had written out the speech for her brother, and it had been her idea to start with that captivating declaration.

It had worked exactly as she had predicted.

Thomas cleared his throat and began talking again as the hubbub died down. “Beneath this very castle, there are imprisoned members of a foreign and sovereign nation.”

“Eh?” interrupted Lord Murray. “What foreign nation?”

“Pishposh, the lower dungeons are flooded,” Lady Quigley scoffed.

Thomas ignored the questions, focusing on the paper in his hand. “By holding these persons captive without cause, we are placing our own nation of Toravik at risk of attack.”

“That’s quite enough fearmongering for today, Your Highness,” MacIsaac said, rising to his feet.

Arick glared at him, though he was surprised it had taken the councilman that long to protest. Maybe he had only just realized what Thomas was referring to.

The king caught Arick’s eye, and he was pleased to note the twinkle in the older man’s face.

They had spoken to Thomas’s father prior to this; he had been the one to point out that the entire council had a right to know about the merfolk, but as he had already agreed to the secrecy, he couldn’t be the one to reveal it.

“These people have not committed any crimes against us.” Thomas raised his voice to be heard over the growing rumblings. “This is why I petition the council here today to release the merfolk imprisoned in our dungeons and let them return to the sea!”

Silence followed the declaration as the two groups sought how to respond. Those who had been aware of the merfolk’s presence were the first to recover, protesting loudly.

Donald Beattie, a confederate of MacIsaac’s whom Arick loathed, thumped his fist. “How dare you accuse your betters of such duplicity?”

“Merfolk? There’s no such thing as merfolk.” The strident tones of Lady Quigley cut across the bickering.