Page 52 of Whispers of the Starlit Sea
“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.
Arickwriggledonthehard 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.
Arick stood up at last, lending his strength to Thomas. “Lady Quigley, I understand your incredulity at this revelation, but if I might just point out that not all of your fellow councilmembers are as surprised as you.”
She looked at him shrewdly. “What are you implying?”
He motioned to some of the more guilty expressions that surrounded him. “Would you not say that Lord MacIsaac is one of your more skeptical peers?” When she murmured her agreement, he continued. “Yet he is not scoffing at the prince’s imaginings. Nay, he is protesting the sharing of what some may consider sensitive information.”
She regarded her fellow council members. “You’re right. What do you suppose that signifies?”
