Prince Bronson chuckled a bit uneasily. “Well, this was a fun day. I’m going to head back to the castle. Take your time.”
Preston walked me to the ocean and sat with me in his arms, but the water up to his waist and over my tail.
I breathed out a sigh of relief.
Home.
“Where will you go?” he asked.
I scowled, looking back up at him. “What?”
He smiled. “You don’t have legs, Morgane. You can’t walk here with me. And while I wouldn’t have a problem carrying you everywhere, you might get annoyed.”
“I could help with that,” a handsome man said as he walked out of the water before us.
He looked like Preston, so I assumed it was his father, which meant he was a god.
“Dad,” Preston said. “What are you—”
“Your brothers told me what happened and that you’d fallen for a mermaid,” the god said. He looked down at me. “Hello.”
“Hi,” I breathed.
He squatted down beside us and asked, “Would you like the ability to shift?”
“Shift?” I asked.
“Dad, what are you—”
He held up his hand, silencing Preston. “Morgane, you were wronged in my seas and that does not sit well with me. So, I will give you this one thing to repay the debt. I will give you the ability to shift your tail into legs and vice versa.”
“Will it hurt as much as it did with Sacha’s spell?” I asked.
He shook his head. “It will be pain free.”
I looked up at Preston. “Would you be willing to put up with my presence a bit longer?”
Preston smiled and nodded. “I would love you staying here longer.”
I turned to the god and nodded. “I accept.”
He smiled and touched my tail. Magic coursed into my tail from his hand and he whispered a single word into my ear, “Pumpernickel.”
Scowling, I asked, “Pumpernickel?”
My tail shifted into legs with a pair of pants magically on them, making me gasp.
The god stood and said, “It had to be a word you wouldn’t say often. Son, I expect you to come for dinner next Saturday… and bring your girlfriend.”
Preston opened his mouth, but his dad walked through a portal before he could respond.
I stood and smiled. “So, what now?”
Preston stood as well, slid his hand around my neck, and kissed me. “Whatever you want,” he whispered against my lips.
Throwing my arms around his neck, I whispered, “Take me home, boyfriend.”
About the Author
Catherine Banks is a USA Today Bestselling fantasy author who writes in several fantasy subgenres under multiple pseudonyms. She began writing fiction at only four years old and finished her first full-length novel at the age of fifteen. She is married to her soulmate and best friend, Avery, who she has two amazing children with. After her full-time job, she reads books, plays video games, and watches anime shows and movies with her family to relax. Catherine is also C.E.O. of Turbo Kitten Industries™, a company with many hats including being a book publisher and Etsy store full of nerdy fun.
Connect with her:
http://catherinebanks.com
The Sea King’s Daughter
Anthea Sharp
The Sea King’s Daughter © 2020 Anthea Sharp
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
Chapter 1
The surface of the North Sea rolled and ruffled quietly beneath the May wind. In the sky overhead, gulls caught the eddies, calling in high, lonely voices. The rocky shore of Eire rose on the horizon, a dark blur of land before the water stretched away for thousands of miles to the west.
Beneath the waters, the calm beauty of the day mattered little. Pale sunshine filtered down, and further down, to the very halls of the Sea King, where the matters of the world above meant very little. His palace rose from the sea bed, whorls of shell and pearl glowing with iridescence. Four fanciful towers, one for each of his daughters, were decked with banners of woven sea grass that waved in the gentle eddies
The open, curved halls were traversed by fishes and merfolk alike on their way to the throne room for the birthday celebrations of the king’s youngest daughter, Muireen.
This was not any birthday, however, but the coming of age Muireen had been waiting years for. Finally she was turning seventeen and would be allowed to rise to the surface for her first glimpse of the mortal world.
Six years earlier, her eldest sister Aila had been the first of them to break the surface of the bright water and see what wonders the world above held.
“Tell us, tell us,” her sisters had clamored when she returned, then listened, wide-eyed, to Aila’s descriptions of the wheeling birds, the bright sun, the taste of air in her lungs instead of water.
She had even glimpsed a mortal ship riding majestic over the waves, all unaware of the kingdom they traveled over. Although her bodyguard had not allowed her swim any closer, for fear of discovery, Aila had heard singing, and a strange buzzing instrument not known beneath the sea.
The next sister to rise, Dagmar, had shaken her head dismissively upon her return.
“It’s gray and cold,” she’d said. “Water spits in cold drops from the sky, and the bones of fish float, rotting, in the waves. There is no reason to visit the world above.”
“What of the mortals?” Muireen had asked.
“I saw no sign,” Dagmar said, flat disinterest in her voice.
When the second-youngest sister made her trip to the surface, she proclaimed it “quiet and a bit boring.”
Privately, Muireen vowed that she would swim toward shore. She would stay from dawn to dusk and do everything she could to catch a glimpse of the mortals who inhabited the world of air. Whether or not the guards that would accompany her would allow such a thing was a question she pushed away. Her determination was strong enough to succeed.
For years, Muireen and her sisters had scavenged the shipwrecks scattered on the ocean floor. But while her older siblings had lost interest, Muireen still was fascinated by the strange objects to be found in the detritus. She could not make heads nor tails of many of the items, but whether they were weapons or decorations or strange tools, they piqued her imagination.
“Why can we not visit the surface more than once a year?” she’d asked her father. “Surely we can learn things from the mortals above.”
“No,” the Sea King had said, his voice hard. “The only thing they may teach our kind is death and destruction. Our history is filled with tales of murder, the blood of our people staining the currents while they hunted us down without mercy. Once a year is danger enough.”
Only the weight of law and custom kept her father from forbidding all merfolk from ever rising to the surface.
Today, though, was her day. Muireen’s heart beat faster. Today, she would feel the mystery of the sun on her face, breathe the strangeness of air, hear the sounds of the birds.
And maybe, if luck was with her, she would set her eyes on a mortal.
Eiric Airgead set his carefully folded nets in his small boat, checked that it was not taking on water, then stepped in and pushed off from the stone jetty. The sky overhead cupp
ed the pearly pre-dawn light, and the village’s small harbor was busy with fishermen heading out to make the day’s catch. Half the fleet was already gone, their boats patches of darkness over the pewter water.
The sea wind blew Eiric’s dark hair about his face, the breeze strong enough for him to raise sail. Quickly, his boat flew out, rocking up and down when he hit the rougher water outside the sheltering curve of the harbor. Behind him, whitewashed cottages glowed softly with the dawn over their shoulders. The stone-walled fields and lanes climbed up the hillside, and he could see a half dozen villagers striding up to tend the fields and flocks.
He’d never had the heart of a farmer, himself. The sea always called to him, the waves whispering his name. The village lived by the sea. And died by it, as well—as no doubt would be his own fate.
But while he lived, he’d ride his small boat over the waves, casting his nets beneath the surface to pull up silver shimmering wonders of fishes. He’d sing, and play the tin whistle tucked in his pocket to pass the time. Most of all, he’d know the freedom of the wind and water, the language of current and cloud.
Bright porpoises danced beside his boat, and seals watched him with their large, dark eyes. The huge Ainmhí Sheoil moved like a dark shadow below him, but he was wiser than to cast a line for the shark. His boat was too small, his arms too weak.
It took many men in a larger craft to be able to ride out the death run of such a massive fish. Once, one of the village’s boats was gone for nearly an entire moon. When they finally returned, they told a harrowing and heroic tale of being dragged far to the north by the basking shark, at last overcoming it, and then making the long journey home. That winter, the village ate well.
Though Eiric fished alone, he contributed enough to the village’s stores that he was considered a hard worker, and a good match for any of the lasses. Red-haired Biddy had made it plain she’d welcome him to come courting, but she had a hard edge that Eiric misliked. Perhaps he might instead woo Orla, who tended her flock of sheep, but she was a quiet girl. Too quiet, mayhap.
Eiric’s mother was gone, and his father as well, leaving no one to push him toward a marriage he was not certain he wanted. And so he fished, and played tunes up to the sky, and was content to live alone.
Muireen’s sisters combed out her hair and braided it with pearls. They burnished the silver-blue scales of her tail until it glowed, and told her she was as beautiful as the sun slanting through the midsummer waves.
When she was finally ready, her sisters accompanied her to the curved-walled, iridescent throne room. There, the king and all the court had assembled to bid Muireen a safe journey to the surface. After an eternity of toasts and speeches, it was at last time for her departure. The currents swirled, tugging at Muireen’s hair and slipping over her scales, whispering come, come.
“Don’t do anything foolish,” her eldest sister said as she embraced Muireen in farewell.
“Princess.” An older warrior bowed before Muireen, her silver hair braided tightly against her head. “I am to be your bodyguard today. My name is Ceilp.”
“Well met, Ceilp,” Muireen said. “And thank you for your escort.”
The Sea King beckoned, and she went obediently to float before him. Soon. So soon.
“Daughter.” The king’s strong voice sent ripples through the water surrounding them. “Today you will breathe air for the first time and claim your birthright between the worlds. I call upon the blessing of the sun and moon to protect you. I command the tides and currents to carry you safely to the world above, and back home to us. Go now, and see, but take care not to be seen in return. The safety of our people rests in concealment and caution. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Father.” Muireen dipped her head in consent, but she could not contain the racing of her pulse.
Of course she would be careful, but she would not return until she’d at least glimpsed a mortal. She’d waited her entire life to visit the surface.
The king lifted his scepter made of glimmering shells.
“Safe travels to you Muireen, daughter of the sea,” he said. “And to you, warrior Ceilp.”
The merfolk and water creatures let out a liquid cheer. Muireen clasped her finned fingers together and bowed to her father. Her escort bowed even lower, and finally they were free to go.
It took all Muireen’s control to keep herself swimming at the sedate pace required by politeness. Although she wanted to give a mighty sweep of her tail to propel her through the pearly opening of the palace gates, the backwash would disrupt the onlookers. Only children and uncouth swimmers sent disruptive wakes when they swam inside the palace. Certainly no princess of the sea would behave so rudely—even though her blood bubbled through her like air, seeking to rise.
Up, up to the brightness above the waves.
When the palace was a glowing shell behind them, Muireen glanced at her guard.
“Might we swim a bit faster?” she asked, trying to control the impatient twitch of her tailfins.
Ceilp frowned slightly. “Very well. I can see you won’t settle until you take your first breath of air.”
Muireen didn’t hesitate. Stretching her arms ahead of her, fingers spread wide, she thrust her tail up, then down and surged forward. The sea pulled past, strands of kelp waving wildly behind them. Small silver fishes scattered before them and Muireen laughed aloud.
Ceilp kept pace on her right, and though she was not smiling, some joy sparked in her eyes.
Far off and below them the water shaded to indigo, marking the territory of the sea witch. Muireen glanced down and shivered. No one ventured into the witch’s domain without a very good reason, and even then such a journey was fraught with peril. She was an unsavory creature who wished nothing but ill upon the mer.
Legend held that once she had been the sea king’s lover, but that her ill-humored nature had at last turned him against her. She’d been banished from court and left to dwell in the bitter shadows she preferred, stirring up mischief when she could.
Still, her magic was powerful, and sometimes merfolk in great need turned to her when all other hope was lost.
A shaft of sunlight sifted overhead, lightening the sea to a delicious greeny-blue, and Muireen banished all thought of the sea witch. Today there was no room for dark tales and darker waters. Not when the adventure of a lifetime awaited.
Eiric fished all morning, his nets yielding a fair catch. When the sun neared its zenith, he pulled out a hunk of brown bread and some dried fish to make a meal. As he finished, brushing the crumbs overboard, the breeze freshened from the west.
He shaded his eyes with one hand and looked to the horizon. Clouds smudged the line between sea and sky, and he frowned. Might be a storm brewing, or mayhap just a squall, but a wise fisherman knew when it was time to head for shore.
Glancing back toward the sheltering bulk of Eire, he realized with a stab of dismay that he’d gone quite a distance from land. Sometimes the currents were tricky out of the north, pushing small boats such as his from their paths and out to sea.
He’d been careless, focused on the good fishing and the sparkle of sunlight on the water and paying little heed to the wind and waves carrying him away. Quickly, he stowed his nets, then wrestled with the sail. The wind was stubborn, changing direction as soon as he’d caught it. The sail luffed, sounding suspiciously like it was laughing at him.
“Hush now,” he said, trying to soothe the coarse cloth as well as his own mounting unease. “We’ll make it to shore soon enough.”
At that, the wind died down entirely. Eiric let out a breath. Why did the elements mock him so?
He didn’t want to cast his nets or line back out, in case the breeze freshened. To pass the time, he pulled out his tin whistle, the metal warm from where it had rested inside his coat, and began to play.
Perhaps he could coax the wind to rise if he played something sprightly. Fingers flicking over the holes, Eiric spun the bright notes of a jig into the air. The slap of w
ater against the boat kept an arrhythmic counterpoint but, alas, the sky remained still.
He played another jig, then a reel full of flurries and turns, and then a quieter tune, the melody of an old song about a lover lost at sea. He was not a singer, his voice too rough and low, but with the whistle he could sing out, the notes pure and aching.
Something splashed in the waves behind him.
Eiric turned, halting the music, but there was nothing to be seen except a white froth like lace, already dissolving into the blue green waves. Likely it had been a fish leaping, or perhaps a curious seal, drawn by the sound of his music. Still, that didn’t explain the prickling between his shoulder blades.
He waited for several breaths, but whatever it was had gone. Still, he resolved to keep a sharp eye on the water. Fishermen who ignored their instincts went soonest to the bottom of the sea.
“Halt,” Ceilp said when Muireen was only a few lengths from the enticing glimmer of the surface.
Impatience surging through her, Muireen did as her escort asked. Overhead, the bottoms of the waves beckoned.
“Why?” she asked.
Ceilp gave her a serious look. “You have never breathed air before. And although our mer magic should make air no different than water, sometimes the transition can be awkward.”
“I know,” Muireen said. “We must take in a long sip of seawater, then let it out in three quick puffs, then rise to the surface and not breathe in for three heartbeats.”
“Indeed.” Ceilp said. “Remember it well. Also, it helps to be touching someone who has breathed both air and water. It aids the magic for some reason. Wait.” She held out her hand to stay Muireen, who could not seem to keep herself from floating up.
“I will rise first to make sure it is safe,” the guard said. “Stay two tail lengths below. Once I determine all is well, rise and take my hand. Then we will break the surface together.”
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