Page 79 of Whispers of the Starlit Sea
He kept one eye on her as he went, for even drenched and shivering, her dress in tatters, Sorcha was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. But then he noticed her hands. They moved with purpose, fingers forming shapes against the yellow glow. The merman was too distracted to notice.
She was signing for him.
“Why would you do this, Ewan?”
Her hands moved deliberately as she asked the question, even as her voice carried it into the cavern.
The merfolk’s chant broke off. Ewan’s expression twisted with something darker than anger — resentment. Regret. Rage.
Arick couldn’t understand his bitter words, but Sorcha’s signs filled in the gaps, his own limited knowledge helping him bridge the rest.
“Why? Ha. At first, it was just a job. Get the mirror, get paid. A lot of gold, too. Enough for Ciara and I to disappear. To start over. Somewhere far from duty and rules and all the people and their expectations.”
His voice scraped like broken coral.
Arick slipped another step closer, water swirling around his boots as he drew his sword from its sheath.
“But you disappeared months ago,” Sorcha said.
“And if I’d succeeded then, none of this would have happened.” Ewan’s voice dripped with bitterness. “Merfolk wouldn’t have been captured, and the humans wouldn’t have found out about us. But some fool human was where he didn’t belong.”
Arick’s grip tightened on the hilt.
Ewan sneered. “There was a shipwreck. I got trapped inside. The humans found me before the Watchers even knew I was missing.”
A laugh, low and cold. “How…unfortunate the human died. Couldn’t tell anyone what I was doing. So the mosaic stayed unguarded. And no one saw the next storms coming.”
Arick froze, his mind cycling through the words Sorcha had signed.
Shipwreck. Human. Killed.
Months ago.
Only one human had died in that storm.
Daniel.
Arick’s breath caught, the world narrowing to a single, awful truth.
Ewan was talking about Daniel.
His brother.
The perfect son. The heir. The man everyone expected Arick to become.
The one who should’ve been here tonight.
Not lost to the sea. Not an accident.
Murdered. By the traitor floating smug in the water.
Something inside Arick cracked.
A surge of grief, love, and pressure came to the surface. Rage and hurt blinded him.
He roared, lunging forward, water crashing around his legs as he plowed toward the pool, sword raised.
“Arick!” Sorcha’s cry pierced the chaos, startled and afraid.
