Page 33 of Whispers of the Starlit Sea (Avalore Chronicles #1)

Chapter twenty

W hen Sorcha awoke, the room was dimly lit with soft sunlight.

Heavy pink curtains were pulled across the windows, giving the cream walls a rose hue.

Gentle strains of music filled the room, and Sorcha turned to see Ailsa in the corner, a tall wooden instrument cradled against her.

Her fingers flew up and down the strings, plucking and strumming.

The princess smiled and nodded at her, finishing the song before setting the instrument upright and bouncing from her chair.

“I’m so glad you’re awake! I’ll have a late lunch sent up right away, as I’m sure you’re starving, then we’ve got plenty of time to prepare for the ball.”

She signed as she spoke, her hands shaping the words almost faster than Sorcha could keep up.

Still, she couldn’t help but smile at the younger woman’s exuberance.

Thankfully, she was growing more accustomed to the humans’ language and could understand many of the words — namely “lunch,” which made her stomach growl in response.

“Yes…food, please,” she said, forming the words with care.

Ailsa’s eyes lit with wonder, and she clapped her hands.

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re learning!” She crossed to the fireplace and pulled a heavy gold cord.

In the distance, three gongs chimed. “I love having someone to sign with, but learning more will make things so much easier for you. And I can teach you a few words and phrases you may need this evening.”

Sorcha gave a small smile. There wasn’t much point in learning more. Not if she was going to turn to sea-foam before the next dawn. She sat up, pushing the blankets away.

Ailsa swept open the curtains, flooding the room with the afternoon sun. She gestured to a basin and pitcher on a carved white stand. “You can freshen up there, then I’ll show you some dresses while we wait for lunch to arrive.”

Sorcha stepped carefully across the soft carpet, inlaid with dainty pink and purple flowers on delicate green vines.

The soles of her feet still hurt, but the cushioning of the carpet relieved some of it.

She took her time splashing cool water on her face and scrubbing away the dried tears.

Thoughts of the ball swirled in her head.

She missed the freedom of dancing underwater, but it wouldn’t be the same on land, where gravity pulled at every step.

And there would be so many more humans there to laugh at her if she got things wrong.

But Arick would be there, and dancing would mean his arms wrapped around her…

She bit her lip to hide the smile that threatened.

Ailsa hummed as she moved between her wardrobe and the bed, carrying four different white linen dresses.

“I’ve got two for you and two for me. We can decide together which ones we love best!” Ailsa clasped her hands together and spun in a circle.

Sorcha cocked her head, frowning at the identical shapeless dresses.

Did they even have sleeves? The only difference she could see was that two were much longer than the others.

Judging by the length, the longer pair must be for her, as Ailsa was nearly a head shorter.

After regarding them a moment longer, she turned to Ailsa, who was dragging two chairs closer to a small table.

“They’re…same?” she asked, unsure if she had the right words.

Ailsa looked up. “What? Oh! They’re covered — see?” She lifted the bottom of the white skirt to reveal a glimpse of a rich material the color of heather in bloom.

A knock on the door gave Sorcha a moment to hide her embarrassment over not realizing the white linens were just covers. The gentle maid from before entered when Ailsa opened the door, a covered tray balanced in her hands. She set it down on the little table and lifted the cloche.

Sorcha drifted toward the chairs, drawn by the warm, savory scent of stew that curled through the air like an invitation.

“I asked Cook to send something hearty,” Ailsa said as they dug in. “I never get much chance to eat at these parties, so I like to have a good meal beforehand so I don’t get faint.”

Sorcha didn’t care the reason — she hadn’t eaten since the day before, and the warmth of the stew removed the last of the chill that had lingered. The soft rolls were dripping with melted butter, and the cold milk soothed her parched throat.

The maid moved silently around the room as they ate, and when their bowls were empty, she lifted two of the dresses from the bed to show them. She had removed the coverings, and the long skirts draped across the floor.

One was the heather Ailsa had shown her before, the bodice woven with a subtle tartan of violet, gray, and green.

The other gown echoed its shape, but in shades of sea-glass blue and kelp green.

A row of pleats ran down one side of the skirt, sweeping back to reveal a contrasting underskirt.

White lace trimmed the bodice and the cuffs of the bell-shaped sleeves.

“They’re beautiful,” Sorcha signed. She loved that the styles matched, so she knew she wouldn’t stand out. The dress would allow her to blend in with the other ladies. And the colors of the one meant for her reminded her of home.

“Oh, I’m so glad you like them! But don’t decide yet! I want you to see this next one first!”

“You had two dresses made for me? How?”

“Of course I did — I knew Arick would invite you to the ball, and I wanted to be sure you had something appropriate to wear. Elsbeth helped me with the measurements.”

Sorcha swallowed back tears. These two women she barely knew had accepted her and treated her with such kindness. She tucked her head to wipe her eyes.

Warm arms wrapped around her. “You’re one of us now.”

Sorcha returned the hug. “Thank you,” she whispered around the lump in her throat.

Ailsa returned to her seat and nodded to the maid, who lifted the other two dresses. One was a delight of pink and gold, but the second had Sorcha gasping, tears springing to her eyes.

The rich sapphire silk spilled to the floor in gentle waves, a myriad of tiny iridescent gems twinkling in the sun.

The bodice draped off the shoulders, right where her scales had started, crisscrossed with threads in varying shades of blue.

Two swathes of sheer, shimmering fabric cascaded from the sides, fanning out like the sea curling at her feet.

It was a dress for a mermaid, an exact match of her scales and fin, and it made her heart break from longing for what she had lost.

“That one,” she whispered in her own language. “I want to wear that one.”

L ord Beattie’s words hung heavily over Arick, clinging to him like damp wool as he made his way back to the central hall.

The piercing call of bagpipes drifted in from the courtyard, a lively tune at odds with the churning in his mind.

Inside, the noise had doubled since he’d passed through earlier.

The hall now brimmed with velvet and brocade, polished boots and practiced laughter.

Guests lined up for admittance to the ballroom, their voices rising with the clatter of heels and the rustle of silk.

Arick accepted a goblet of cordial from a passing server out of habit, but the scent turned his stomach.

He was expected to smile. To dance. To make conversation.

But all he wanted was to find Sorcha.

And still Beattie’s words echoed: Wouldn’t it be kinder if you stepped in?

He straightened his shoulders and wove through the crowd, trying not to look like a man with a decision weighing down every step.

“That’s a long face to be wearin’ at a party, lad.”

The familiar voice cut through the din like a warm fire on a stormy night. Arick turned, his lips tugging into a smile. “Elsbeth! You’re here.”

“Of course I’m here,” she said, wrapping him in a hug that smelled of tea and cinnamon. “I might only be an innkeeper, but I still remember Craig in his nappies long before he became king.” She drew back, peering up at him. “But tell me what’s bothering you. Is it Sorcha?”

“No, no. She’s well. There was…a lot. But she’s with Ailsa now, getting ready together.” Now was not the time to explain all that had happened the previous night.

She waited for him to continue, and he took a deep breath, wondering how much to tell her.

But Elsbeth had been the grandmother he’d never had, being far more approachable than his own socialite mother.

As a child, he’d never been able to keep anything from her.

And now, with everything weighing on him, he found himself wanting her counsel more than ever.

He drew her to the side and into a concealed alcove, where they wouldn’t be overheard.

“It’s Thomas…well, not him exactly. But the council.

” He rubbed his neck, unsure how to say it aloud.

“They want Thomas to abdicate his position as heir to me.”

Her brows rose, then drew together as her tone turned probing. “And you’re considering this?”

“No! I mean, yes. Maybe?” He dragged a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what to do.”

“You’d best explain yourself, then.” Her voice held a hint of censure, softened by concern. “You know how much he looks up to you, but he’s also a good prince.”

Arick winced. “I know. The speech the other night was a disaster. Thomas did a decent job, all things considered, but the council ripped him to shreds. Then MacIsaac and his lot laughed the whole thing out of consideration.” He looked away, jaw tightening. “You should have seen Thomas.”

Elsbeth’s tone gentled. “And you think taking his place will protect him from all this?”

Why did Beattie’s argument feel like logic but Elsbeth’s make it sound like betrayal? The conflict churned in his gut. Arick groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face, caught between guilt and duty.