Page 87 of Whispers of the Starlit Sea
Arickwatchedtheshimmerof iridescent scales vanish beneath the water until he could no longer pretend he still saw them.
Sorcha was on her way to visit her family. And though every part of him protested watching her disappear into the sea, he knew she would be safe.
He let out a long breath and turned away from the surf. The wind carried the tang of brine and seaweed, mingled now with something warmer — sunlight on drying sand, and the hush of waves no longer whipped by storm.
He crossed the sand and unhitched the horse from the buggy. It would be faster to ride than to take the buggy, as they’d had to take the long way to avoid the streets still choked with storm debris and shattered crates. He shortened the reins and swung up without a saddle. The horse stamped once, then settled. They set out down the road at a comfortable trot, the horse easily able to navigate around the deeper puddles as the sun dried out the mud. The breeze tugged at his collar, but it carried the promise of summer, not the threat of storms.
A flurry of people bustled about the Coorie Inn as he drew near. The scent of smoke and salt lingered in the air, mingling with the sharper tang of fresh-cut wood and damp stone. He reined in the horse and swung down, pausing just long enough to find Elsbeth.
Like he and Sorcha, she had spent the night at the castle. But she’d already left by the time he awoke. Now, she stood by the kitchen door, directing a pair of sailors as they arranged a table against the wall. Her sleeves were rolled, and her hair was tied up with more practicality than style.
She spotted him and offered a smile, though her eyes immediately swept him head to toe.
“Alright, lad?”
“Aye,” he said. “Sorcha’s off to visit her family.” He let the words carry more weight than they seemed to on the surface.
Her eyes widened with quiet understanding. The corners of her mouth lifted knowingly. “We were right then. She’ll be back?”
“Yes, this evening.” He took in the movement around them. “The inn was undamaged?”
“A bit of water on the floors,” she said, waving it off. “Nothing a mop and a bucket couldn’t handle. But others weren’t so lucky. And the clean-up crews need to eat.”
His grin widened. “So you’re feeding the whole harbor?”
“Not alone,” she said briskly. “Others are pitching in.”
“I’m heading to the castle now. I’ll let the steward know you could use more supplies.”
She reached into a basket on the table and handed him a tidy stack of shortbread, still warm. “Then take these for the road. Can’t have you facing royalty on an empty stomach.”
He gave her a grateful smile. “You’re a treasure, Elsbeth.”
She shooed him off with a wave.
Navigating the cluttered streets was slow going, with debris piled high and fabric banners still clinging to broken windows and railings. The air smelled of rotting seaweed, but the breeze from the hills brought with it the wild moors. His horse skittered sideways every time a scrap of cloth flapped in the breeze, ears twitching.
At the castle, Arick returned the borrowed gelding to the stables, offering a few quiet words to the stable hand before making his way to the king’s large office beside the council chambers.
Inside, the atmosphere was tense but orderly. Thomas, King Craig, Queen Freya, and Ailsa were seated around the long polished table, joined by Lady Quigley, Lord Beattie, and two other council members Arick didn’t immediately recognize.
“Ah, Arick,” King Craig said, gesturing for him to join them. “We’ve just been discussing MacIsaac and his future serving this country.”
Arick slipped into the seat beside Thomas, giving the prince a nod. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Sir,” he began, but faltered as Lady Quigley leveled a look of smug satisfaction at him across the table. “I’m anxious to hear all that’s happening,” he said instead, steadying his voice.
“Yes,” the king said dryly, casting a glance around the table. “As I was saying, MacIsaac has been stripped of his position on the council and encouraged to retire to his estate in the northern hills.”
Beside Arick, Thomas gave a barely contained wriggle of delight.
Arick flicked a glance toward Lord Beattie, noting how the man’s mouth tightened. Beattie’s gaze dropped to the table, avoiding Arick’s entirely.
Across from them, Ailsa signed “wait,” her expression calm but firm. Arick settled back in his seat. Now was not the moment to challenge a second councilman.
“Given MacIsaac’s continued efforts to sow discord among this council,” King Craig continued, “his reckless provocation toward the merfolk, and worst of all, his attempt to manipulate succession by undermining the rightful crown prince, I exercised royal prerogative and bypassed a full council vote.”
A sharp intake of breath from Beattie drew all eyes to him.
“Well,” the man began, his voice brittle, “with so many — ah — complaints stacked against him, I suppose it was inevitable.”
