Page 65 of Whispers of the Starlit Sea
The sea fought him for every boat length. His arms shook with every pull, yet the ache in his chest drove him back to Sorcha. Magic or love — he needed to be with her.
Although the distance wasn’t far, the tide and wind were against him. Waves washed over him, soaking him again and again. He shivered uncontrollably.
The lightning fizzled out first, leaving the sea in darkness. The beacon atop the tower was out, the cupola a broken silhouette against the brightening sky. Thunder faded over the distant hills, and he breathed in relief. Being on open water in a storm was a frightening proposition. The rain stopped, and the wind stopped pushing him toward the open harbor, but the stillness was unsettling.
He dug deep, and after a few minutes of hard rowing, the bottom of the boat scraped the shore. With a reluctant glance at the waves, he stepped out. The water sloshed over the top of his boots, adding to the damp already there. Glancing around, he took stock of where he was, surprised to see the shapes of the town looming nearby. He could fight his way across the rocks back to Sorcha, but cutting through the castle would be faster.
He staggered toward the cliff door, hand digging into his chest as if he could rip out the bands trapped there.
The entry was unguarded, but his pounding was quickly answered by the guard sheltering inside.
“Apologies, sir. I should have stayed out there.”
“No, you were right to seek shelter,” Arick reassured him, already moving past.
“Yes, sir. I’ll go back out now that it’s calmed down.”
Arick hurried through the castle halls, leaving a trail of wet footprints in his wake. The pain accompanied him, and it gave him an odd comfort. Surely if Sorcha were dead, the magic wouldn’t be drawing them back together. He slipped past the guardroom where several of the king’s men were gathered around the roaring fire, speaking in low voices and casting frequent glances at the narrow window.
He reached the tower and pulled open the door and stopped.
MacIsaac stood there, just as surprised as Arick, until a sneer took over his face. “You fool,” MacIsaac hissed. “You’ve doomed us all.” An odd sound, almost like a giggle, came from the tower below.
“What are you talking about?” Arick didn’t want to deal with the dour man. He wanted to get back to the shore to find Sorcha.
“The storms will only get worse, thanks to you.”
“Much worse!” came an odd echo.
Arick pulled himself upright. “Freeing them was the right thing to do.”
“Maybe for you and that soft-headed little prince, as neither of you can see what isn’t right in front of your eyes. But I was protecting this city.”
“How was starting a war with mer — who have magic — protecting anyone?”
“Because while we had prisoners under the tower, they tempered their attacks.” His words were punctuated by a shriek of wind through the narrow embrasures.
Arick struggled to concentrate on MacIsaac’s words around the aching pull. “Why? What does the tower have to do with it?” A deep creak echoed through the spiral stairwell, as if the tower knew they were speaking of it.
“The mirror holds the key!” The voice was high and eager, coming from the shadows behind MacIsaac. A stooped figure shuffled into the light — the odd little man from the caverns, all twitchy fingers and darting eyes. He had recovered, then, from the sleep spell Sorcha’s father had placed upon him.
Arick hesitated, his brow furrowing. “The mirror that’s part of the beacon? How is that a key?” He had so many questions, but none of them were bringing him back to Sorcha.
MacIsaac glared at the mouse-like man before addressing Arick once more. “Thatis none of your conc—”
“Magic in the mosaic!” He giggled again, rubbing his hands over his face as though smoothing whiskers.
“The mosaic…” So not the lighthouse. But what did the oddly shaped piece of glass in the middle of the terrace floor have to do with the storms? “Why not just give it to the mer if they want it so desperately?”
“Fool. It’s held in by magic. And only magic can remove it.”
“The storms are caused by magic,” Arick said slowly, the truth settling like cold iron in his chest.
“Yes,” MacIsaac said grimly. “And now that they don’t have to protect their own…”
He stepped aside, nodding toward the window. “They’ll destroy the tower to take it.”
Chapter nineteen
