Elodie of the Sea

by Shari L. Tapscott

  No one is laughing now.

  Eventually, the men filter out of the room, speaking amongst themselves in hushed tones. Stuart watches me with sharp eyes, most likely thinking we accomplished little. Which is unfortunately true, but what more can I do?

  Percival clasps my shoulder as he leaves, giving me solemn, silent support. Soon, Galinor, Dristan, Archer, and Irving are the only ones left.

  “You do realize I wasn’t actually asking permission,” Irving says, his tone very near a snarl. “I’m going to sail one way or the other, whether you approve of it or—”

  “Don’t be a fool,” Dristan interrupts, impatient. “What good will it do Marigold if you end up in the belly of a sea dragon?”

  The heat in Irving’s gaze turns to ice as his eyes shift to my brother. For the most part, they do well considering Dristan married Irving’s first love, but their renewed friendship is built on unsteady ground.

  Galinor subtly shifts between the two. “Dristan’s right, Irving. Let’s think before we take off on a mad expedition.”

  It doesn’t escape Irving’s notice that Galinor volunteers to go with him, and it’s enough to lower the king’s hackles.

  “Chances are Teagan and Marigold, along with Bran and Dristan’s parents, made it to the islands unscathed,” Archer agrees. “They’ve been gone a little over a month, and the attacks started a week ago. That’s more than enough time to reach their first stop.”

  “Besides,” I add, “the islands are to the southeast, and the other attacks reported were directly in the southwestern region. Teagan and Marigold would be far past when they finally veered toward Lestonia.”

  “Is there much in the area the attacks have been reported in?” Archer asks.

  I shake my head. “A few reefs and sandbars, rocks, and minuscule islands — the sailing is treacherous and often avoided. The ships attacked were a trio of fishing vessels, looking to catch valuable fish that can only be found in that region.”

  Archer frowns, thinking. “The vessel near the pier was a fishing boat as well, wasn’t it? Do you think that’s what provoked the attacks? The dragons wanted the fish?”

  It’s a good observation, but I have no answer.

  Galinor steps forward. “The point is, it’s extremely unlikely Marigold and Teagan’s ship fell victim to the beasts.”

  Their assurances do little to ease Irving’s worry. He lets his head fall back, looking anguished. “So, you’re going to make me wait?”

  “I’m sorry, Irving.” I shoot him an understanding look. “You must either wait or swim—it’s your choice.”

  ***

  One week passes. Then two, then three.

  Irving is going out of his mind, and I’m not far behind him.

  Needing to be away from the stifling stillness of the castle, I walk along the beach, looking for Elle. It’s overcast, the kind of weather where the sun peeks through ever-shifting breaks in the clouds, but the light is diffused. Another storm is moving in.

  The sea is choppy, and even the birds seem to be in foul spirits. They’re testy, fighting with each other in the air and on the beach as they squawk.

  I find Elle on her cliff, in her usual spot, overlooking the water. Her pale blond hair flies behind her in the breeze, making her look like a romantic, lonely figure from a bard’s tale.

  “Thought I might find you here,” I say as I join her.

  She glances over, and it takes every ounce of my self-control not to gasp. There are dark circles under her eyes, and her face is too pale. She looks like a wraith.

  “What’s wrong?” I demand, placing my hand on her forehead, more out of habit than need.

  But she has no fever—in fact, her skin is cool to the touch.

  Elle shakes my hand away and turns back to the ocean. “Headaches.”

  “Still?” I demand. “You haven’t mentioned them in weeks. I’d hoped they were letting up.”

  She shrugs.

  Fear—as real and true as the worry I feel for my parents—squeezes my chest. Something is wrong with her, something out of my control.

  Maybe she needs to go back to the sea. Perhaps staying this long on land is draining her.

  I want to fight the thought, but how can I selfishly keep her here if it’s killing her? I promised I would find her family. I sent out a few scouts, but the truth is, I haven’t put much effort into it because I don’t want her to go.

  “What can I do?” I demand, taking her cold hand.

  She meets my eyes. “I don’t think there’s anything you can do.”

  I want to pull her to me, but my ever-attentive guard is behind us, staying back, providing false privacy.

  The sound of a steadily approaching horse reaches my ears, and I turn, startled. My guards rush forward, blocking me, but there is no need. I recognize the man—he’s one of my lower-ranking knights. Sand kicks up behind the horse as he gallops through patches of seagrass and onto the beach.

  The knight leaps from his mount, falling to the ground in front of me. “Your Majesty,” he pants as if it were he who ran in search of me and not his horse.

  “What is it?” The situation strikes me with a horrible case of déjà vu.

  What now?

  “Remnants of a ship have washed up on Isle Merrily. From the state of the wreckage, it appears they were attacked. We’ve identified it as the Morning Glory.”

  Sir Neil and his scouts.

  “Were there any survivors?” I demand.

  The knight looks up, his face pale. “No, my lord. None that we’ve found.”

  I want to curse and yell, but I hold my tongue for Elle’s sake alone. “Ride to the castle, find my brother. Tell him to meet me at the western pier.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” The man leaps up, heading for his horse.

  “Where are you going?” Elle asks me, grasping my arm.

  I start down the shore, making my way back to my own horse. She pulls my sleeve, holding me back. I turn, no longer caring that my guard is silently taking in our exchange. “I can’t sit by, watching as our ships are destroyed one by one. I must go, see if I can contact the dragons myself.”

  Elle tightens her grasp, and her eyes flash with equal parts of fear and disbelief. “Are you mad? You are Triblue’s king—you can’t leave.”

  I set my hands on her shoulders. “You know I don’t have a choice.”

  She winces, and at first, I think it’s because she’s worried. Then I realize there’s pain etched across her face.

  “Elle?” I say, pulling her closer.

  Her lids flutter as she mumbles something incoherent, and then she goes as limp as a rag doll in my arms.

  “Devon,” I snarl to my guard. “Fetch my horse.”

  Praying she wakes before we reach the castle—before I must leave—I ride back at a breakneck pace. I try not to focus on the way her soft form feels in my arms, but my mind wanders unbidden.

  If only the circumstances were different.

  She breathes, easing my concern only slightly, and mutters to herself.

  She’s dying. Perhaps slowly—but dying all the same.

  I know it like I know my own name, but I refuse to acknowledge it. There must be something I can do—anything.

  News of the recent attack has already reached the castle, and the courtyard is abuzz. People holler out to me as I ride past, but I don’t have time to acknowledge them. I yell for a groom and slide from my saddle with Elle in my arms.

  A guard hurries forward to relieve me of her, but I refuse and carry her into the castle myself. We’re halfway to the infirmary when her eyes flutter open.

  “I passed out,” she says, sounding groggy.

  Maids hover around us, wringing their hands, unsure how to assist. I ignore them, my focus on Elle alone. “You don’t sound all that surprised.”

  When she realizes I’m carrying her, the tiniest bit of color stains her cheeks. “It’s happened a few times.”

  I narrow my eyes as I nudge the doo
r with a tad too much force, sending it swinging on its hinges. “How often?”

  Refusing to look at me, she shrugs. “Lately? Once a day, sometimes twice.”

  “Elle!” I hiss. “Why haven’t you told me?”

  “You’ve been busy.”

  “I’m never too busy.” I make her meet my eyes, and then I lower my voice, hoping she can hear all I don’t dare say. “Not for you.”

  “Bran…” She trails off as if she’s too exhausted to continue the thought. She closes her eyes and then, unable to fight it, rests her head against my chest.

  I’m overwhelmed with the need to protect this girl. It’s a foreign feeling, something that strikes fear in my heart. I’ve grown to care for her—care as much as I do for Anwen or Rosie. More.

  Far more.

  “What happened?” Jarreth demands as he comes out of the room attached to the infirmary.

  “She complained of a headache, and then she fainted,” I tell the physician quickly. “She woke briefly as I carried her here, and then she seemed to fall asleep.”

  Jarreth feels her head and frowns. “She’s cold.”

  I nod, and a lump forms in my throat.

  I’ve known this man since I was a boy. He’s kind and compassionate, and he always tended Dristan and me with a smile. But can I trust him with Elle?

  Do I have a choice?

  “Jarreth.” I carefully lay Elle on a bed. “There’s something you should know, but you must swear not to utter it to another soul.”

  He turns to me, looking less surprised than I expect.

  “Elle isn’t—”

  “Human?” he supplies, making me blanch.

  “What do you think she is?” I demand after several startled seconds.

  He shakes his head. “If I were to guess, I would say gimly, but I truly have no idea. But something feels off about her. Something I can’t place.”

  “Mermaid,” I whisper.

  The elder man’s eyebrows shoot up. “Are you sure? Of course, I assumed the same thing with her mark, but she’s been on land all this time.”

  “Almost sure. Without her memory, it’s impossible to know for certain, but fresh water makes her violently ill, she cannot consume meat or dairy, and the ocean heals.”

  Jarreth frowns at the girl.

  “She’s dying,” I tell him desperately.

  Slowly, he nods.

  “Can you help her?”

  “I don’t know, Bran.” The physician meets my eyes, perhaps not even realizing he used my name and not my title. “But I will try.”

  I sag with relief. “Thank you.”

  He nods, and sensing I would like a moment alone, disappears into the adjacent room once more.

  I brush my finger over the faint, shimmering mark on her temple. Just like Elle, it seems to be fading.

  The sea dragons, the strange storms, Elle’s headaches—they’re connected. I know it. Something far greater than I could ever imagine is at play, and though I don’t want to leave her, if I want to save her, I fear I must.

  Even in her current state, she’s beautiful. My eyes stray to the silver ring. She’s not mine; she belongs to someone else.

  Someone who failed to protect her.

  Slowly, I cover her hand with the corner of the blanket, hiding the flash of silver from sight.

  Then I lean over and stroke a stray strand of pale hair from her cheeks. My pulse quickens, and my stomach grows tight. Gently, feeling like a thief taking what does not belong to me, I press a kiss to her mouth. Her skin is cool, too cold, but the sensation sends heat straight to my chest.

  She mumbles in her sleep, and her lips curve next to mine. “Bran,” she murmurs, her eyes still closed. My name is honey on her lips.

  “Forgive me.” I press another kiss to her forehead, run my finger down her mark once more, and leave without saying goodbye.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Elodie

  I wake from a fevered dream, feeling off. Dreams of Bran—dreams I have no right to relive—dance in my foggy brain. I bring my fingers to my lips. Dreams that seem very real.

  A familiar princess is at my side, flipping through a massive book. I blink several times, trying to adjust to the dim light.

  Outside the windows, the sky is cobalt, streaked with fading red.

  “Welcome back,” Pippa says, sounding bored. She closes the book and turns to me. “Well, how do you feel?”

  “Like I was dragged through the sea by a dragon.”

  “You look like death,” she says cheerfully.

  I push myself up on my elbows. “What time is it?”

  She yawns, barely remembering to cover her mouth. “It’s past evening, not that you’d care.”

  Suddenly, the last few moments on the beach return to me. “Where’s Bran?” I demand.

  Surely, he wouldn’t leave. What will Triblue do without him?

  “Likely boarding a ship by now.” She shakes her head. “People are saying he’s a fool for hunting the dragons himself.”

  It’s evident from the pride in her voice, the princess disagrees.

  I fling back the covers. “I have to go.”

  “Go where?” she looks startled.

  “To the pier.”

  She follows me as I rush from the room, her movements graceful and sure. “Not to burden you, but the general consensus is you’re dying. Don’t you think you should rest?”

  I turn to her, shocked by her bluntness.

  Pippa crosses her arms, waiting for me to answer.

  “I need…”

  “You need what?”

  How do I explain that I can’t let Bran go? Deep in my heart, I know if he boards that ship, I will never see him again.

  “Help me,” I finally say, desperate. “Please.”

  For half a moment, the princess looks torn. And I don’t have time for her indecision.

  “I appreciate that you have enough affection for me that you don’t want me to up and die,” I say. “And while that’s lovely, the last thing I need right now is coddling.”

  A smile flashes across her face before she chases it away with a look of determination. “Swear you won’t keel over?”

  “I swear I will do my very best not to.”

  “Good enough.” She sweeps past me, motioning for me to follow her. “Come along.”

  ***

  It’s fully dark by the time we reach the pier, and my head swims. I feel the gentle allure of unconsciousness trying to claim me, but I fight it knowing that if it wins, I might never wake again.

  I stumble from the carriage, and Pippa catches me by the arm.

  “What’s your plan?” she asks.

  “I don’t have one.”

  “Sounds reasonable.” Keeping hold of me, she pushes through the crowd. It’s thick, especially for this time of night, but it doesn’t take long to figure out why. The people of Saltwreath have gathered near the pier, watching Bran and his men prepare to set sail. A half-moon of guards keeps the people back.

  A great deal of shouting and commotion comes from both Bran’s chosen crew and the crowd.

  “I need on the ship,” I decide out loud. “How?”

  Pippa looks around and then jerks her head past the pier, where the beach disappears into the night. “If you can go around the back and swim to the ship, perhaps you can climb aboard.”

  Then she shakes her head, changing her mind. “But you can’t attempt it in the sorry state you’re in.”

  “The water will help,” I insist, already pulling her in the direction she suggested.

  And I have no choice. The guards won’t let me through, and even if they did, I’d never be able to convince Bran he must abandon his plan, especially not in front of all these people.

  “May I just take this moment to formally declare I think this is a bad idea,” Pippa says.

  “Noted.”

  “Very well.” She studies the guards and crowd. “As soon as you reach the ship, I’ll create a distraction
.”

  I squeeze her arm, very much hoping I’ll be able to stand on my own. “Thank you, Pippa.”

  “Mmmhmm.” The princess is already entirely focused on her task.

  Wobbling and dizzy, I move toward the darkness. No one pays me any attention—why would someone try to sneak on a ship sailing toward certain death, after all?

  I sigh as I step into the water. It doesn’t take away the vertigo, but it eases it. As I wade in, I feel energy moving from my chest, spreading to my fingers and toes. It’s as familiar as a long-lost friend, but I can’t control it.

  Magic.

  My magic.

  I know nothing of it, can’t recall using it, but it’s there, and for some reason, I find comfort in it.

  But something is wrong. It’s weak, listless.

  As tired as I am. But why?

  With the water surrounding me, I push at the fog. I know Pippa’s waiting for me, but this feels urgent.

  For the first time, I feel a break—thinness in the endless, suffocating clouded blankness. Dropping into the water, sitting on my knees on the cold, shifting sand, I let the water cover my shoulders. It bolsters me, gives me much-needed strength.

  Just as I feel the fog lifting, there’s a scream from the pier. It’s followed by near pandemonium as the people shift and yell, bleating like frightened sheep in the night.

  Unable to hold my concentration, I face the crowd. The mass has turned from Bran’s ship, and now they’re looking and pointing at the sky behind them, north of Castle Calland.

  I follow their gazes and suck in a breath.

  There are three shadows in the night, giant beasts, and they wing their way toward the pier with frightening speed.

  “Dragons!” a knight shouts, though he’s too late with his warning—there’s not a soul who hasn’t spotted them at this point.

  People flee as the beasts begin to descend, leaving an opening so the creatures can land. A flurry of astonished whispers rises from the crowd. The largest dragon, the beast at the center, carries a rider.

  The dragons land, shaking the ground, making even the water tremble. The rider swings from the great black beast, touching its shoulder as he would a human man, nodding to show respect.

  The man’s huge, as large as Galinor and Audette’s knights. There are gasps and hurried whispers, none of which I can make out. His hair is shorn close to his head, and he wears a beard so short, it’s just too long to call stubble.