Rise of the Sea Witch (Unfortunate Soul Chronicles Book 1)

by Stacey Rourke

  Perched on the edge of my seat, I listened intently while the dignitaries from each of the Seven Seas discussed Atlantica’s ongoing battle against the humans.

  “The cargo we have claimed from the humans’ sunken ships has furthered the way of life for all of us,” the Indian Sea representative stated. Humbly covered from neck to tail fin in the customary black garb of his people, he exhibited their desire to showcase the strength of their minds over that of their physique.

  “Be that as it may …” The enchanting, olive-skinned specimen from the Mediterranean Sea leaned over the table in his direction, granting him an eyeful of her bountiful curves. Blushing ferociously, the Indian Sea rep snapped his head in the other direction. The Mediterranean beauty flipped silken black locks over her shoulder with a winning smile. “… we have neither the resources nor the soldiers to launch attacks to sink ships for their booty as some of our brother seas have.” Glancing in Poseidon’s direction, she raised one brow. “Surely, you don’t mean to make such acts mandatory to ensure a place at this table?”

  Father didn’t respond, but leaned back in his chair; one arm folded over his broad chest, the opposite hand stroking the length of his thick beard.

  The representative from the Pacific rested his elbows on the stone table, the intensity of his stare could have bore holes through Miss Mediterranean if such a thing was possible. “If the rest of us are risking the lives of our own people for the cause, wouldn’t it only be fair for your district to act in turn? That is, if you still want the combined protection and good favor of the entire brethren.”

  His people viewed various forms of self-mutilation as signs of strength and valor. Squid ink tattoos, bones or sharks teeth embedded in their skin; these things were the norm within their community. The Pacific delegate represented his culture with the thin bone fragments fished through both his cheeks, jagged teeth of a Great White protruding from each end. The way they twitched when he spoke made each word seem a viable threat. The majority of the soldiers in the Royal Guard could be traced back to the Pacific, their panache for teaching various forms of combat from the day of hatching could be thanked for that.

  Bone white hair swept down the back of the representative from the Arctic like an avalanche, a headdress of icy crystals fixed across her head like a crown. The sharp cut of her cheek bones and pointed chin were a customary trait among her people, a physical attribute that seemed to warn of their bitterly harsh personalities. Steepling her fingers beneath her chin, the water chilled by roughly ten degrees the moment she spoke. “And what of those of us who have a thick ceiling of ice between ourselves and the ships? They use tools to chip away the ice and allow their ships passage. Tools we do not possess. How would you have us combat that obstacle?”

  Beside me, Triton folded in half with a humph of boredom. Catching one of the shells dangling from the bottom hem of my gown, he pulled the strand back and let it fall into place, connecting with the other shells in a series of muted claps and clicks. I slapped his hand away, not bothering to tear my gaze from the scene unfolding.

  Only then did the russet-skinned mer from the Caribbean, who had been listening intently with her chin to her chest and her hands folded in her lap, tip her head and gaze up at the others from under a wild array of sun-bleached, twisted braids. The gleam in her eyes could be described only as conniving, bordering on predatory. “The Caribbean Sea has the highest population of mer. Our bounty of soldiers and potential soldiers is plentiful. I would happily send troops to assist any district requiring them … for fifty percent of the bounty claimed.”

  Father’s face remained a mask of neutrality. “That fifty percent share customarily goes to the king,” he stated, his tone calm and bordering on disinterest.” You would have me, the patriarch of the Seven Seas, take a smaller cut than that a serving dignitary from the Caribbean of all places?”

  “A dignitary with the resources to bring down ships where others cannot,” she practically purred. “A fraction of a ship’s hold is better than full claim to an empty hold. You know more than anyone, my liege, that you can’t get something for nothing. I need to be compensated for risking the lives of my mer.”

  With the knuckle of his index finger pressed to his top lip, Father nodded his understanding and appreciation. He seemed on the verge of reaching a decision—be it good, bad, or indifferent—when the braided kelp curtains to the Summit Room were forced aside in a rustling of foliage. Father bolted from his throne, the rest of the room respectfully following his lead.

  “My wife?” His voice rose at the end of his acknowledgment ever so slightly, making it more of a question. Not that anyone could blame him for his confusion. The newly crowned queen used her magic to glamour her appearance and never wore the same façade twice. No one willing or able to speak of it had ever gazed upon her true face—that they knew of. It was public knowledge that she considered such a revelation the ultimate act of vulnerability.

  I suppose I should offer a bit of backstory here. My father went through the Choosing Ceremony alongside his brother, Hades, just as I would with Triton. The Trident chose Poseidon, the Ursela Shell selected Hades. The brothers served the kingdom alongside each other for years. Then, for reasons my young mind couldn’t begin to decipher, dear Uncle Hades requested a new assignment in another realm. It was shortly after my mother’s funeral that he took my face in his hands, kissed my forehead, mumbled a brief apology, and said his good-byes. Did I miss him? Yes. Did I blame him for leaving? No. I was certain my father’s obstinate streak had something to do with the rapid departure. For years the kingdom was without the services of an alchemist, the search for a worthy replacement dragging on. At the time I was not privy to the talks and negotiations. I learned, along with the rest of the kingdom, that a marriage had been arranged to an heir from one of the most magically inclined blood lines under the sea. Her name was Amphrite, and I had only shared the same space with her a handful of times: the day the announcement of their betrothal was made to the kingdom, their wedding—which redefined extravagance, her coronation day—that managed to make the wedding look tame, and this very moment.

  Each and every time, she had appeared as a completely different person.

  Her current guise made a wry smile curl across my face. “Brilliant,” I marveled, and slapped Triton’s hand away from my dangling shells once again.

  In a room full of self-serving negotiations and ulterior motives, she was the vision of innocence. Hair, the beguiling pink hue of Harbour Island, flowed around her in mesmerizing waves. Her bra was compromised of the most delicate looking Lion’s Paw shells I had ever seen. Eyes, the warm, welcoming shade of the ocean on a clear day, sparkled sweetly as she batted impossibly long lashes at her husband. Squinting to get a better look, I noticed that the shape of her eyes was a touch too wide, and a bit too round to pass for natural. That was just another fine detail of her costume thought out to make her appear the virtuous damsel.

  One flip of her golden tail propelled her into the room.

  Addressing her king and Council, she curled one shoulder in a deliberately coy fashion. “You started the meeting without me. How disappointing not to be included.”

  “She should wear that every day,” Triton sighed dreamily, suddenly upright and attentive.

  Nose crinkling, I shot him a disgusted grimace. “She beds your father. Stop being gross and … go back to playing with the shells or something.”

  “There was no insult intended,” Poseidon replied, dipping his head in a gesture of apology. “We were deliberating over the seven districts sinking passing ships in order to claim their bounty. Do you have anything to add, my Queen?”

  Nodding her head as she mulled over the matter, pink curls bobbed up around her flawless face. “Wasn’t it humans who killed your first queen?” she asked, batting her lashes.

  Father flicked his tailfin once, the only visible sign of discomfort at the sensitive topic, and jerked his chin for the lot of us to be seated. “You k
now that to be true.”

  “Yet you wish to intensify our current war by sinking their ships and stealing their wares?” Amphrite tipped her head and twirled one lock of hair around her forefinger.

  Members of the Council exchanged tight-lipped scowls at the queen’s expense. She was new. She was flighty. She was young. What could she possibly know? I couldn’t understand how it was that they failed to see the challenge in her stare as she peered in my father’s direction. It reminded me of a circling shark, bumping its prey to test it before the attack.

  “In turn,” Amphrite continued, “they will seek us out and kill any of our kind they can find. And for what? Treasure we have no real need for that will rot on the ocean floor in heaps of once sparkling baubles? That hardly seems worth the lives of our people.”

  “It actually makes a lot of sense,” the representative from Atlantic agreed, eliciting a groan from the other members. Midnight blue hair faded to turquoise, turquoise to sea foam, as her waist-length strands stretched down her back. Squid ink blended with purple sea flowers lined her dark eyes with dramatic violet swirls. Atlantic mer possessed a flair for the flamboyant I could appreciate. They wore their hair and make-up in every conceivable color, and designed extravagant clothes that made my mouth water. Still, their panache for costuming had earned them a reputation of being erratic and unreliable within the Council.

  “I couldn’t agree more,” the representative from the Gulf chimed in. Shirtless and rippling in the all the right places, he leaned forward with his elbows on the table. The glow of the lights glistened off his sun-kissed skin. “Our culture is a deeply rooted tree that shields and protects us. It makes us who we are. We needn’t bring in items from the outside world when we have all that we need here, under the sea.”

  Around the table lips twitched, stares were deliberately averted, yet no one else risked speaking for or against their king or the newly placed queen and Royal Alchemist.

  Fighting off boredom, Triton had returned to messing with the seaweed strands of my gown. Sneakily as he could, he attempted to braid them tight around my tail in hopes I’d flop to the ocean floor the second I rose from my chair. Absentmindedly, I shoved him away and kicked the braided strands free. Returning the act of sibling love, he pushed me back hard enough to knock me off my seat.

  “Vanessa,” my father’s head whipped in my direction—the potency of his glower froze me mid-scramble back to my chair, “did you have something to add?”

  Glancing in the opposite direction, Triton casually rubbed one hand over the back of his neck. “Don’t say anything,” he quietly coached.

  Swallowing hard, I stalled for time. “No, Father, I—”

  “Can’t be bothered to pay attention?” Poseidon finished for me, with an accusatory sneer.

  “Ah, crap,” Triton grumbled. His head fell, forehead slapping against the cradle of his palm.

  Straightening my spine, I pulled myself up to my full, unimpressive height. “Please excuse my clumsiness, Father, but rest assured I absolutely was listening. Enough to state that I agree with Queen Amphrite.” If I really did, I couldn’t say. Desire to come out against him spurred the words from my lips before I had time to weigh their full consequence. “Our way of life existed long before we began pilfering wayward ships. We can do without such extravagances.”

  “Says the spoiled princess,” Fleet Master Neleus scoffed. Many a mermaid throughout the kingdom would be giddy at the prospect of the golden Adonis of the Royal Guard acknowledging them in any way. That was my first actual interaction with him. Political goals aside, the guy was the slimy underside of a Hagfish.

  “You disagree with the princess’s views?” Father ventured. Pivoting his upper body, he addressed Neleus and Doralious, the Command Master that flanked him, with interest.

  “Yes, Your Majesty, I do,” Neleus stated. Clasping his hands behind his back, his bulging pectorals flexed. “It’s my opinion that if the princess ever hopes to find a mate, she should realize that in Atlantica it’s she who holds her tongue that gets a man.”

  A scalding current of embarrassment flooded my face. Biting the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste a rush of coppery warmth, I mentally willed my father to come to my defense. To scold and belittle the commoner who dared speak to the princess of Atlantica in such a way.

  The silence of the king was deafening.

  It was Doralious who countered on my behalf. While his rigid posture matched that of Neleus, his features were warmer, and far more welcoming. “That seems to be primitive thinking for a man that could be beached at that same maiden’s command. It may serve you well, Fleet Master, to remember she could be the future ruler of Atlantica. Although I would enjoy stepping into your position when you’re demoted to a stable hand.”

  His gaze flicked my way for a moment, to cast me a conspiratorial wink and smile.

  At the snickers which bubbled through the room, Neleus rolled his shoulders. The tendons of his neck straining in annoyance. “The day you replace me is the day I voluntarily beach myself.”

  “And what of you, Triton?” Father inquired. Ignoring the verbal sparring of his soldiers, he lifted one brow at his treasured boy. “What say you on this matter?”

  Clenching the edge of his stone seat in a death grip, Triton’s head snapped up. “I … uh … agree with the Council majority, and you, Father.”

  Such a tail polisher.

  While I was certain he had no idea what the conversation had actually been about, his dismissive answer was enough to make father’s chest puff with pride. “That’s my boy! Willing to make the hard choices to preserve the way of life for his people! Aye, Neleus?”

  “That he is, Your Majesty,” Neleus agreed. Swimming around the edge of the table, he peered up at Triton with a smug smile. “Exhibiting insight and intuition such as that, it is my honor to offer you the apprenticeship with the Royal Guard, Prince Triton.”

  Black swirls tinged the corners of my vision, my pulse roaring in my temples.

  My dream.

  My studying.

  My training … all dissipating like a stirred up dust cloud.

  It was my own fault. If I hadn’t disagreed with Father; if I was capable of holding my tongue— No! Raising my chin slowly, I watched Father give Doralious a jovial elbow to the ribs before clasping forearms with Neleus in a handshake of brotherly solidarity.

  Four words from their muted conversation floated my way, spearing my heart. “… mustn’t ascend the throne.”

  I may have thought I imagined the exchange, had Doralious not picked that moment to peer my way. His features clouded by a blend of regret and pity.

  Nothing about this had been spontaneous. Father had decided whom he wanted to get that position long before any of us entered the room. To my great regret, it had never been me.

  Chapter Three

  T he second we were dismissed from the meeting, I swam from the decomposing corpse of my fallen dream as fast as my fins could carry me. The Temple of Kings passed in a blur, the novelty of seeing the Hall of Records all but forgotten. Fighting off tears, I kicked through the throne room with my chin to my chest. The only thing that could make this day worse in my mind would have been for my moment of such extreme vulnerability to be viewed by the servants or milling members of the court. Diamonds of light danced over my skin as I burst from the castle’s gold-etched grand entrance. Working my hips rapidly side to side, I tore down the pillar-lined entryway until it spat me out in the middle of the bustling town square.

  Weaving between bodies, I forced my way through the crowd. While each of the Seven Seas had its own distinct customs and styles, all were represented in the melting pot of Atlantica. I dodged around one merman, who had blended the easy, natural style of the Gulf district with a fish-bone barb pierced through his eyebrow like those of the Pacific. Ducking past a lass with flowing fuchsia locks, I noticed with little interest she had swirled the extravagant Atlantic flair with the contradictory stoic fashions of the
Indian Sea. Barely keeping my threatening tears in check, I paused to let a dreadlocked mermaid holding the hand of her snowy-haired beau pass.

  From behind me I faintly heard Triton holler my name over the buzz of the crowd. I could’ve talked to him like a mature, well-adjusted member of the royal family, or I could forego manners and shove my way through the sea of bodies with no consideration to the well-being of others. I went for the later.

  Outside the heart of the kingdom, through the coral gardens, my belly skimmed along the ocean floor as I plunged into the abyss of the deeper waters where light dare not venture. A few quick blinks and my burning, red-rimmed eyes adjusted to the darkness. Where I was headed, I didn’t know. My only goal was to swim the pain away … if such a feat was possible.

  I only slowed when a stitch in my side made doing so a necessity. With two fingers, I pushed back against the cramp, bending in half to steady my rapidly fluttering gills. A quick glance around and I was struck with the realization that I had ventured farther into the chasm than I ever had before. Poseidon’s unlimited rule was the propaganda he boasted for all to hear. But here, in the depths, a far different truth existed. One where the biggest fish, with the sharpest teeth, reigned. In that moment I dared the worst of them to come. No physical damage could compare to that of my shattered hopes ... or so my sheltered little mind thought.

  Breath coming in rapid pants, I forced myself upright and turned in a slow circle. Down the ridge from me laid the yawning maw of a cave. It was dark. It was foreboding. And it beckoned to me in a truly ominous way I simply couldn’t resist.

  Glancing in one direction, then the other, I half-expected a reasonable minded adult to materialize and warn me away. When no such rationale argument was interjected, I set my jaw and swam straight into the pitch-black cavern. The rush of the forbidden altered the nervous drumming of my heart into an alluring chorus that spurred me on. The stagnant stench of mildew welcomed me to the primitive grotto. Creeping inside, I skirted between the looming stalagmites which dangled like ravenous fangs. Prickles of foreboding awareness awoke, dancing up and down my spine. The rising hair on the back of my neck warned I wasn’t alone. Something lurked in the shadows … and I longed to look it in the eyes.