Page 5 of Whispers of the Starlit Sea (Avalore Chronicles #1)

Chapter three

T he sun was setting in a glorious banner of purples, pinks, and oranges as the royal yacht cast off from the dock. A cheer went up from those gathered on the deck for the official inaugural voyage.

The plan had been to leave a bit earlier and watch the sun go down as they sailed outside the harbor.

But with the unpredictable storms, Arick had advised the king not to take the risk.

And so they had pushed back the start time of the party to begin with the floating ball — enough of a novelty in itself to be talked about around every teapot in the city for at least a month.

As the guest of honor, Thomas stood on the bridge, leading the cheer.

His parents stood behind him, their expressions more reserved.

His sister, the princess, Ailsa, graced the top of the port flight of stairs while Arick positioned himself on the starboard.

He joined in the clapping, again impressed with the gracefulness of the ship.

Over the past few days, he’d had the opportunity to speak further with Captain Blair and learn more about the vessel.

She would never win any races or haul great cargo long distances.

But she was a delight to handle and would be perfect for the royal family to travel to other parts of the kingdom by sea.

The yacht made a sweeping circuit of the harbor, then lowered its anchor in the same spot where they’d gone swimming a few days earlier.

The musicians slid from the jovial tunes that had welcomed everyone on board to the more sedate strains of a dance.

Thomas turned and bowed over the queen’s hand.

She was a petite lady, but her elegant demeanor made everyone forget her size, and she glided down the stairs on her son’s arm with a benevolent smile.

Arick crossed the bridge and offered his first dance to Ailsa.

She flushed a pretty pink and curtsied in reply.

As they descended the staircase to the dance floor, Arick couldn’t help noticing the pleased looks they were receiving from several of the councilmen who were gathered along the rail.

Arick guided Ailsa through the dance, concentrating on the steps — and on not stepping on her. At sixteen, Ailsa was full grown, yet her head didn’t reach his shoulder.

“They wish for us to marry, you know,” she said, proving that she wasn’t really a child.

“You noticed them too, then?” he asked wryly.

She nodded. “The topic has been brought up more than once in council meetings of late.”

“You attend the council meetings?”

“Why wouldn’t I? As princess, it’s my duty to know what is happening in my kingdom.” She hesitated. “And Thomas appreciates having someone to talk to about the meetings after.”

Arick nodded. Even though Thomas was quite smart, there were times when he did struggle to grasp concepts. Although from what Arick had seen, the thing Thomas struggled the most to understand was why the council didn’t do more to help the people, a testament to his pure heart.

“You don’t seem bothered by the idea of marrying me,” Arick said. Etiquette would say he had no right to mention it without being ready to ask for her hand, but she had broached the topic first.

She shrugged a tiny shoulder. “There are worse men they could want to marry me off to for an alliance. At least you’re nice and not twice my age.”

Arick tamped down his own protests about their close relationship. As a man, and not a royal, he had the choice of whom he would marry. Women had far less freedom, and princesses were expected to wed in a fashion that would be advantageous to the kingdom.

“But our marriage is designed to legitimize my claim to the throne. Would you want to see Thomas stripped of his role?”

She gave him a sharp look. “My brother is perfectly capable of being king, so long as he has advisers he can trust and lean on. I intend to be one of those advisers. Marrying you won’t change that. And I hope it would give Thomas another trusted person on his council.”

The music came to an end before Arick needed to reply. He left her with a bow.

Being an unattached man below a certain age, he was expected to dance as much as he could, so he spent the next hour on the dance floor.

New partners were introduced to him as soon as he returned one to her chaperones.

At this point, he’d forgotten nearly all their names, but Ailsa’s keen eyes watched him throughout the evening, and he knew she could recount each of the young ladies he’d been paired with.

Her words continued to nag him. Married to the princess or not, did he owe it to Thomas to set aside his dream of being a captain to serve at his side?

As another song came to an end, he paused his dancing and left the floor in search of a drink. He should have asked the lady he’d been dancing with if she wanted something, but he wasn’t in the mood for her constant chatter about sheep.

MacIsaac appeared at his elbow. “You haven’t danced with the princess in quite some time,” the councilman pointed out.

Arick jerked at his voice.

“If you are to be betrothed, it's good for the people to see you together.”

Clenching his fist at his side, Arick kept walking. “‘If’ is the key word here. And any relationship between the princess and myself shall be kept private.”

The corner of MacIsaac’s mustache lifted in a shrewd smile. “So you do have a relationship?”

Arick’s face flushed. Confound the man . “That is not what I said, and you know it.”

“Well, hopefully, you’ll be able to make your private relationship more public before the week is out.” He smirked.

For a moment, Arick wondered whether it would be entirely inappropriate to punch the councilman.

Fights weren’t uncommon in the island courts, the people being much more fiery and passionate than those in the lower countries.

But it would ruin Thomas’s party, and a fight over her would do nothing for Ailsa’s reputation.

He clenched his fist and sought a polite way to escape.

Someone jostled him from behind, and he turned to see one of the smartly dressed sailors hurrying to the foremast. His eyes traveled up the mast to the sky. The stars were winking out one by one as clouds swirled overhead.

A storm was coming.

T he song she’d heard the humans sing continued to play in her ears over the next few days, and Sorcha often found herself humming the melody as she went about her duties. Was it the odd instrument that drew her or the man’s voice?

Another storm raged overhead. One ship had already crashed onto the rocks, and several Watchers had been injured trying to free the sailors.

Chaos reigned in the infirmary. Sorcha leaned over a merman with a chunk of wood sticking out of his tail.

She held him down as her aunt Maeve worked to free it.

Maeve waved a hand in front of her face, drawing Sorcha’s attention. Chagrined, Sorcha realized it wasn’t the first time Maeve had tried to talk to her. With the seashells tied over her ears, it was hard to hear.

Maeve held her hand near her throat, fingers pinched together, then twisted her wrist back and spread her long, bony fingers at the same time. Sing , she mouthed, just in case Sorcha had missed the hand sign.

With a nod, Sorcha cleared her throat and searched for the words of a song.

Lyrics from the lullaby came to mind, but as she tried to sing it, her voice kept searching for the tune from the human song.

She faltered and tried again, concentrating on the familiarity of the lullaby, letting her magic flow into the music.

The merman writhed as Maeve pulled the wood from him, forcing Sorcha to tighten her hold. She lost her place in the song, and the human melody took over again. As Maeve bandaged the wound, Sorcha focused on her song, and the merman relaxed.

Maeve pulled her aside when they were done. She removed the shells from over her ears and motioned for Sorcha to do the same. “That’s a human song. Where did you hear it?” Her fingers were tight around Sorcha’s arm, and her unnaturally blue-white hair stood even more on end than usual.

“No…nowhere,” Sorcha gulped. Going to the surface wasn’t exactly forbidden, but the heat of Maeve’s eyes made her feel as though she’d committed the worst offense.

“Humans aren’t to be trusted. You forget that song, or before you know it, you’ll be flopping on dry land like a dead fish.”

Sorcha nodded, her eyes wide. How dead fish flopped, she wasn’t sure, but it didn’t feel like the right time to ask Maeve.

“And you forget the human who sang it, you hear me? You must never go near them again.”

Sorcha nodded again.

“Good, now get back to work. Give this to the one by the entrance; he’s looking a little green around the gills.

” She handed Sorcha a vial of turquoise liquid before swimming off to help someone else, her black scales showing purple in the light.

Despite her bulk, Maeve floated around the infirmary with grace, bringing an odd sort of comfort to the injured.

As long as Maeve was snippy and cantankerous, you knew you’d be okay.

She was only kind when there was no hope.

Sorcha settled the shells back over her ears, wishing she could use the starfish the way the Watchers did.

But there were only so many that could be convinced to help, and the Watchers needed the extra protection.

Picking a different song, she sang as she navigated through the chaos, letting just a bit of her magic seep into the upbeat tune — not enough to drain her, but just enough so that the magic would help ease the pain of any who heard.

She offered a comforting smile to the Watcher reclining on a shelf by the entrance. The merman clung to the coral as he gasped for oxygen.

Studying him, she frowned. There was no mark of injury anywhere on him, yet his eyes were wide, and he shook as he tried to breathe.

His starfish!