Page 35 of Whispers of the Starlit Sea (Avalore Chronicles #1)

Chapter twenty-one

A rick had longed all day to be near Sorcha — and now, with her finally by his side, he hated that etiquette compelled him to let her dance with another. From outside the tall windows, twilight crept in, swallowing the edges of the sea in shadow. It was a reminder of how little time she had left.

He drummed his fingers against his leg, fighting the urge to walk over and cut in. The sharp tinkle of glass made him turn. A young servant girl was crouched near the wall, gathering shards from a shattered goblet.

Before Arick could move to help, Thomas was already there, kneeling beside her. The prince offered a few quiet words as he helped collect the fragments, and the girl smiled as she carried the pieces away.

Thomas looked around for Cookie, spotting the little dog making friends with the young son of the ambassador from Fenmere. Thomas joined the party, and soon their indifferent expressions vanished as everyone lit up around the prince.

Arick shook his head. People loved Thomas. He carried an infectious joy that drew others to him. But was that enough to stop the naysayers?

“He’s going to be a great king someday,” a soft voice at his elbow said.

Arick glanced down at Ailsa, a delight in a pink shimmering dress similar to Sorcha’s but with skirts twice as wide. The determination in her eyes belied the frothy confection of her gown. He nodded.

“Yes. He will.”

And he meant it.

“Father’s about to make the speech. Unless there’s a reason he shouldn’t?” The words were a challenge.

Arick looked chagrined. “You know.”

“Of course I know,” she scoffed. “It’s my castle. I live here.”

He laughed. Of course she knew. And of course she believed in her brother. Just like he had — before everything had gotten so complicated. With Ailsa on his side, Thomas could hardly fail. “Excuse me,” he said with a slight bow. “I need to speak with the next king of Toravik.”

With one eye following a head of red curls above a shimmering blue dress among the dancers, Arick threaded his way through the crowd toward Thomas.

“…dog in the ballroom,” the Edelish representative muttered, just loud enough to draw attention.

Arick’s fist clenched as he spun around, intent on cutting off the man before Thomas heard.

But the prince was already smiling up at the gaunt, angular man towering over him. “Cookie isn’t just my pet,” he explained. “He’s trained to help me if I have trouble with my breathing or other difficulties.”

His lips curled in mockery. “A prince who needs a lapdog to steady him? Charming.”

Arick stepped up beside his cousin. “Support isn’t weakness. Even you serve your king in your own way.”

“Are you comparing me to a dog?”

“If I am, then I’m comparing myself as well. I am here to support and advise Thomas in any way he sees fit.”

The man looked between the cousins, then moved off with a sniff.

Thomas turned to him, hope flickering behind the uncertainty. “Do you mean that?”

“I do,” Arick assured him. “You are the true prince. And I will stand by you — as an advisor, on your council, whatever you need. This kingdom wasn’t built by bending to pressure, and we’re not going to start now.”

Thomas’s whole face lit up, and for a moment Arick thought he might throw his arms around him on the spot.

But before either could say another word, the ballroom doors slammed open.

A guard stumbled in, breathless, his uniform dripping. He halted at the top of the stairs, panting.

“The city is flooding!”

The guard’s shout rang across the ballroom. A shriek from the violins cut through the swell of startled chatter.

Arick and Thomas surged forward, slipping through the edge of the startled crowd. Across the room, the king was already moving, his expression grim. Several men joined them around the dripping guard, and the king took charge of questioning them.

“Start the music again,” King Craig barked over the rising murmurs, after a brief moment of discussion. “We won’t let a little water ruin the night.” The herald took over the forced cheerfulness of the king and shepherded the partygoers back to the dance floor.

Once the crowd turned back to the dancing, the king moved swiftly. Pages were dispatched with messages. Guards were ordered to the port to secure the ships, others to assess the castle’s defenses, and still more to begin flood barricades.

Thomas turned to his father. “What about the people in the city?”

“Not now, lad.” The king waved him off, focused on ensuring the needed infrastructure was in place to protect the city.

Rebuffed, Thomas hurried out of the ballroom, a stubborn tilt to his jaw. Arick followed on his heels.

“We have to help them,” Thomas said, worry creasing his young face. “The nobles are safe in the castle, but the others have nowhere to go.”

Arick nodded, his heart filled with pride. “We will help. Whatever it takes.”

W ith the ballroom doors thrown wide, the storm was no longer a distant threat. Thunder cracked overhead, shaking the castle to its foundations. Lightning flickered in the tall windows, illuminating startled faces. Tables rattled, and a tower of sugared pears crashed to the floor.

Many of the guests continued to dance, but an undercurrent of fear grew, as did the lightning outside.

Rona.

She was back.

With no merfolk in the castle, there was nothing to stop her sister from destroying it. She didn’t care about the humans.

Or me.

Sorcha shoved the thought aside and followed the tug in her chest that led to Arick. Gathering her skirts, she hurried up the stairs past the king holding a murmured council.

“Sorcha!”

She turned, breath catching in relief. Arick and Thomas stood in the hall, both wide-eyed but resolute. The cooky stood beside them, his ears perked and tail aloft.

Servants rushed to secure doors that banged open on the wind. Rain streaked the flagstones, puddling in the corners of the hall. Somewhere far above, the groan of shifting stone set the chandelier swaying.

“It’s Rona,” she told them, her hands forming the letters of her sister’s name. She hated how it still felt like a betrayal. “I have to stop her. She’s going to destroy everything — this castle, the city, everyone in it. But I don’t know why.”

Arick looked shocked, then determined. “She’s trying to take down the tower to get the mirror from the mosaic.”

“The mirror in the floor?” Thomas asked.

A memory of white-hot magic flashed through her. “It holds powerful magic. I touched it once, and it…” She struggled for the right word. “…bit me.”

“It bit you?”

“Yes...like fire.” She pointed to the flickering torch on the wall to emphasize her point.

“Oh. Burned!” Thomas said, showing her the sign at the same time.

“If it has magic like that, we can’t let her get it,” Arick agreed. “MacIsaac said it was held in by magic, hence the storms.”

“The townspeople could be hurt. There’s so many houses close to the water,” Thomas interrupted. “I have to help them get to safety.”

“Go,” Arick urged him. They gripped arms, then Thomas raced toward the courtyard, the cooky at his heels.

Then he turned back to Sorcha, entirely focusing on her.

The storm pressed against the stone walls beyond, thunder muttering at a distance, but in this narrow corridor, the world held still. The echoes of running feet faded. Candles flickered, but the light between them stayed steady.

Her breath hitched.

“I need to find Rona,” she signed, torn.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” he replied, his voice quieter, rough. “It’s not your fault.”

“But what if I can stop her and I don’t? Then it is my fault.” She looked at him, this man who had accepted her into his life and carved a place in her heart. Tonight was supposed to be spent in his arms. But she couldn’t be selfish, no matter how her heart ached for her to give in.

“Sorcha?” His steady hand on her arm belied the uncertainty in his voice. But when she looked in his eyes, she saw her own desire reflected there.

He leaned down, his thumb on her chin. She tilted her head up, delicious shivers running up her arm. His lips claimed her own before she could think, then all thought was gone in the wonder of his kiss. Warmth spread from his fingertips as they grazed her jawline, sending sparks all through her.

She clung to him, her fingers curling into his jacket. If only this moment could last.

But the storm shook the walls again, and a painting crashed to the floor. She broke off with a gasp. “I have to go.”