Page 34 of Whispers of the Starlit Sea
He waved off Elsbeth’s teasing, his response lost in a yawn. “Have you got anything for a starving sailor to eat, Mother?” he asked, joining them at the table.
“I’m not your mother, and lie-a-beds don’t deserve breakfast.” She didn’t look up from her knitting. “But there might be a spot of porridge left in the crock.”
He got up and fetched the iron pot she’d indicated from where it was tucked into the coals. The remains of the morning’s fire were dying down, and he basked in the warmth for a moment. He set the pot on the scarred wooden table and helped himself to a spoon from the jar of clean ones on the mantel.
“Ack, you’re not eating out of my pot, are you?” Elsbeth scolded, even as she poured him a cup of tea.
“I was trying to save you an extra dish to wash.”
“I’ve already finished the washing up. Anything you dirty is yours to clean.”
“Then I think I’ll eat from the pot, if it’s all the same to you.”
She clicked her tongue. “Good thing I know your mother; otherwise I’d believe you were raised in a barn.”
Arick ignored her, his growling stomach demanding to be fed. While he ate, his mind drifted to what he had learned the day before. Merfolk were real. Not only real, but living in the very waters he sailed through — swam in. He’d always assumed they had vanished with the magic all those years ago. Where had they been hiding? And why? Did they know what had happened to the magic?
To avoid the plethora of unanswered questions, he changed his focus to Sorcha. The young woman had been watching their exchange with curious eyes, but now she returned to the lines of wool she had laid out on the table before her. He was relieved to see the shadows that had haunted her yesterday were gone. Although he couldn’t say she seemed happy, at least she appeared rested and pain-free.
Her fingers plucked at the wool, weaving two colors together. Although not as fast as Elsbeth’s clicking needles, Sorcha’s piece grew steadily.
He rubbed his chest absently, the memory of the pain still lingering. What could have caused such a feeling, like his heart was being ripped out of him?
And why had returning to Sorcha made it stop?
A worrying thought stirred in his mind. He knew so little about her. Had she…done something to him?
He shook his head. No. Magic, if it was real, hadn’t been heard of in one hundred years. Besides, he’d seen her suffer as much as him, if not more, when they’d been drawn apart. Why would she cast a spell that caused her such pain? He sipped his tea, not noticing it had gone cold.
“Head lost in the clouds?”
Elsbeth’s words jolted him from his reverie, and he dropped the teacup. The thin china cup bounced off the edge of the table and smashed to the floor, tea spilling everywhere.
Sorcha jumped with a small shriek.
“Apologies, Elsbeth,” Arick said, getting up to pick up the pieces.
“No mind. I’ll fetch a rag.” She hurried to the kitchen.
Sorcha crouched on the floor and reached for the shattered cup.
“Careful,” Arick warned, joining her. He lifted the largest piece, shaking off the tea.
“Ow!” Sorcha jerked her hand back and sucked on her finger. She glared at the broken pieces, then an odd look crossed her face. She reached for the china again, her palm flat.
Arick moved to stop her, but she shook him off. Gently, she touched the sharp edges with her hand, then again, harder. When she pulled her hand back, it was covered in tiny flecks of blood.
She bit her lip and looked at him, her brows drawn together. Twisting around, she sat on the floor and pulled one foot into her lap. She pointed to the bottom of her foot, then to her hand, then to the broken teacup, talking the whole time.
He gave an exaggerated shrug. “I’m sorry. I hate that I don’t understand you, but I don’t know what you mean.”
Elsbeth set a bowl beside him and began sopping up the tea. Sorcha repeated her pointing, her speech slower.
Arick dropped the pieces of china into the bowl. “I wish I could understand what she’s saying. I feel so bad that I can’t talk to her.”
Elsbeth gave him an odd look, then watched Sorcha for a minute. “She’s saying the bottom of her feet feel like she’s walking on shards.”
“Oh.” Now that she explained, he could see it. “Has she let you examine her feet to see why?”
