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

by Stacey Rourke

  Heavy eyes had finally claimed sleep’s sweet serenity when I was gently swatted awake by Loriana’s tailfin.

  “Rise and be well, Princess!” she chirped, fluttering around the room on one task or another. “We have lots to do for tonight’s celebration and limited time to do it! The staff is all abuzz about the preparation details! It seems your father is determined to make this a gala unlike anything Atlantica has ever experienced before. I do wish it was your apprenticeship we were celebrating, along with Prince Triton’s birthday. Even so, that gives us further motivation to make sure you appear the resilient, enchanting royal you are!”

  “Too many … words.” Grumbling, I ground the sleep from my eyes with the heels of my hands but refused to budge from the sanctuary of my bed.

  “Get a decent night’s rest and mornings won’t be so unbearable.” Face folding in a maternal frown, she dangled a whale hide canteen in front of me to lure me from my cocoon of covers. “Fresh spring water infused with a hint of water lily … it should chase away the drowsiness.”

  “Nectar of the gods,” I murmured, grabbing for the much needed beverage.

  Loriana, clever minx that she was, kept it just out of reach until I sat upright to seize it. Before I could flop back down, she swooped in to slather a clay mud mask under my eyes.

  “Sneaky.” Bringing the canteen to my lips, I shot her a sideways glance.

  “You will be more than appeased when you see what I have in store for you today.” Nudging me to the edge of my giant shell bed, Loriana positioned herself behind me with a basket of goodies. “I saw some kids in the square with a fun new look inspired by the Atlantic Sea mer. After a bit of conversation, and coaxing, they explained how to create it!”

  “Let’s make this quiet time until I get to the bottom of this canteen.” Cradling the supple leather between my hands, I gazed lovingly at the soothing liquid.

  “Always such a blowfish in the morning.” A hint of laughter could be detected in her tone. Still, she granted me my peace.

  Working in a comfortable silence, her hands flew around my head with flawless accuracy. Dividing my hair into sections, she traveled the length of it with a salve made of diluted squid ink and ground flowers. The end result was a savage, wild mane of black and fuchsia stripes. She finished her task by fixing a headband—spiked with sharks’ teeth—across the crown of my head.

  Turning my head one way and then other in front of my vanity mirror, I sucked in my cheeks and admired her handiwork.

  “Father will hate it,” I giggled. “What kind of respectable princess attire can even accompany such a bold look?”

  Squeezing my shoulders, Loriana’s reflection locked eyes with mine. “I have laid out a choker for you with an aquamarine stone. It’s said that the gem can ward off evil spirits. You will wear that, your stylish headband, and a shell bra. That’s it. Be you without apology or explanation. None is needed, Princess, and don’t you forget that. Do you hear me?”

  My only response was to squeeze her hand and offer her a thankful smile.

  My own mother was molting, but at least I had Loriana.

  Human architecture is limited by stairs, heights, and other such hindrances. Mers had no such limitations obstructing them when the Atlantica ballroom was designed. The soaring tower, perched high over the tallest point of the castle, crested over the city as a stately beacon of nobility. Every inch of surrounding wall space within it was lined with open current windows, allowing the peasants of the town to gaze up at the regal elegance that lingered out of their laboring reach.

  Father spared no expense on the banquet. Two long tables overflowed with scrumptious culinary extravagance. A raw bar of shrimp, salmon, squid, and eel filled one table. The other was lined with seaweed puffs, and entrees cooked over a hot spring for the less adventurous guests. A plethora of tables filled the space to accommodate all the guests deemed worthy to attend. In the center of each sat coral candelabras illuminated by glowing sea plants which danced and waved in the day’s relaxed current. Overhead, a collection of the largest sand dollars I had ever seen had been suspended from the ceiling. Rumor had it, Father sent guardsmen to scour the farthest reaches of the ocean floor in search of them. Spiraled tendrils of kelp dangled from the middle of each shell. Each masterpiece was then painted with luminescent plankton until they shimmered like live, bobbing jellyfish. The effect was stunning, if not a tad ostentatious.

  As the first member of the royal family to arrive, I was immediately whisked from one pompous guest to the next. Smile fixed in place, I played my part of the demure princess impeccably, and suppressed each dramatic eye-roll that threatened during the frightfully dull conversations—and there were a lot of them.

  That’s true talent.

  “Had it been up to me, I would have selected you to succeed Poseidon to the throne.” Snow white lips pinched tight, the delegate from the Arctic Sea cornered me at the hors d’oeuvres table. The crab puff had been my undoing in that conversational sink hole. “With this latest development, the unlikelihood that your rule will come to pass disappointments me.”

  Covering my mouth with my hand, I talked around my mouthful. “My deepest apologies for letting you down.”

  Yes, bits of food spraying from my lips was rude. The same could be said for practically every word that came out of the emotionless, ice-mer’s mouth. So, at least in that regard, I figured we were even.

  “Your brother seems to be a doofus,” she stated. Clasping her hands behind her back, she squared her shoulders in her usual snooty posture. “I once observed him attempting a staring contest with the tailfin eyespot of a damsel fish. They use those to fool predators and the simple-minded. It’s safe to say there were no winners in that particular situation. This concerns me for what kind of king he would be. I anticipate him flipping a sand dollar to resolve perplexing political issues.”

  I wanted to argue and stick up for my brother in some way. Unfortunately, I remembered that day and how Triton pouted over his loss and what it meant for his staring abilities.

  Gulping down the rest of my shrimp fritter, I tried to think of some acceptable proclamation to appease the frosty politician. Thankfully, three sharp conk shell blasts spared me from any lackluster sentiments. The trumpeters, positioned on either side of the sweeping archway, announced the king’s arrival in the customary formal fashion.

  I heard the sharp intakes of breath before seeing the imposing spectacle that triggered them. Normally, Father arrived to such occasions in the royal chariot pulled by four of his strongest porpoise bulls. This particular happening demanded a bit more wow factor, one that any history buff would be anticipating. Judging from the frightened squeals and panicked gasps that resonated through the ballroom, I was clearly not in the presence of such scholars.

  In their defense, the gnashing rows of teeth that burst into the room were a bit off-putting. It’s not every day that a massive Great White invades a formal gathering, his wide head flipping side to side in a vicious fight for freedom from Poseidon’s taunt rein. The onlookers had no idea the king had spent months scouring the shallower waters off the shores of Lemuria in search of specimen docile enough to be tamed—to a certain degree—for the sole purpose of this pretentious display.

  Suppressing an eye roll, I joined the applause of the startled merfolk nervously clapping their mandatory appreciation as Father rose from his over-sized Chestnut Turban shell chariot and threw his arms out wide. Tossing the reins of the gnashing shark to Neleus, Poseidon floated down to be swallowed by the tittering crowd that swelled around him. Diplomats slapped approving hands to his back; members of court bowed and curtsied in search of Poseidon’s favor. The display was nauseating, really. The members of court were like well-trained porpoises, feeding off a nod or acknowledgement from their king.

  Jerking at the reins, Neleus tugged the head of the snarling beast around. Only when the chariot began to lurch back toward the exit, did Triton’s head poke up from where he hunkered. Face
ghostly pale and glossy with sweat, he darted from the chariot and swam straight for me with the driven purpose of a land bound hurricane. Pressing my fist to my lips, I tried with little success to stifle the snort of laughter that threatened.

  “The future King of Atlantica,” the Arctic mer scoffed with a disgusted shake of her head. Clucking her tongue against the roof of her mouth, she swam off to avoid Triton, her silvery locks trailing out behind her.

  Not that I could blame her. He was a hot mess.

  Someone—Father—had forced him into the imperial armor of the Royal Guard. The armor, which had been designed for grown mermen who spent their days training through rigorous physical activity, hung off his scrawny physique. If I never received another gift in my life, I would have remained blissfully satisfied by the image of him in that ill-fitting garb. The walrus skull helmet sat slightly askew on his head. The mighty tusks, which protruded from the front to shield the soldier’s face during battle, would find little use from Triton. Except, perhaps, if he used them to try and catch calamari rings as the night progressed. The breast plate, twice the width of Triton’s narrow chest, was comprised of the shoulder blade from a Humpback Whale. Rows of walrus ribs were strung beneath that, each covered with teeth from Bull, Mako, and Great White sharks that threaded together in a lethal brand of chainmail. Odds were good that at some point he would impale, slash, or mutilate himself with his own armor.

  “He hooked the chariot to a bloody shark!” Triton exclaimed. His bulging stare snapped over his shoulder, as if anticipating the shark sneaking up on him. “Why? Why? Why, would he do that?”

  “Other than tradition?” A lilt of laughter fluttered through my tone, mingling with a healthy dose of mocking. “The only other motivation I can think of would be to get this reaction out of you. It’s really quite inspiring for a potential future leader. Really, Triton, how can you be even remotely shocked by this? We discussed this entire spectacle in school four moons ago!”

  “You know I don’t listen!” he countered, his hands raising in exasperation and then falling to his sides to slap against his tail. “I doodle on my scrolls! Speaking of … did you see the starfish I sketched in the Arctic Sea headdress? He was jaunty.”

  Tilting my head, I considered him through narrowed eyes. “How are we not yet discussing your ensemble? I feel it demands a conversation … amongst other things.”

  Triton’s shoulders sagged under the weight of his getup. “Ugh, I feel like I have a lion seal strapped to me. How do the soldiers wear this and not sink straight to the ocean floor?”

  “Well, most of them have these things called muscles. Shall I tell you how to acquire them? Word of warning? You can’t get them by floating with manatees. Actually, maybe you should take notes.”

  Rolling his eyes skyward, Triton gave me a playful shove to the shoulder with the heel of his hand. “Ha-ha. Seriously, though, truth time. On a scale of high tide to still waters, how stupid do I look in this?”

  Folding one arm over my mid-section, I rested my opposite elbow just above my wrist. Raising one eyebrow, I pinched my chin between my thumb and forefinger and focused on formulating my answer with the optimum level of snark. “If a tidal wave were to—”

  “Tidal wave?” Alastor interrupted. He appeared as if from nowhere, seemingly conjured by the need for further sarcasm. Balancing a serving tray on the palm of his hand, his arm brushed mine with a whisper of a touch. “I think what we have here is more of a fashion disaster perfect storm.”

  “During a raging tsunami,” I giggled, taking great pleasure in the rosy hue that filled my brother’s cheeks.

  His gaze self-consciously flicked side to side in hopes no one else was looking his way.

  He was a prince with a walrus skull on his head. Of course people were looking.

  “You guys are a couple of blow-holes,” he grumbled under his breath.

  Letting my raised hand fall limp, I feigned a mask of aghast realization. “You know … I think we might be.”

  “Someone might question our upbringing,” Alastor chuckled. Catching a lock of my hair with his free hand, he gave a gentle tug. His gaze appreciatively traveled the length of me. “Vanessa, on the other hand, is killing it tonight. You look every bit the fetching mer princess.”

  “Gross,” Triton’s face crumbled with disgust, “She’s not fetching. She’s my sister.”

  Our banter came to an abrupt halt the moment Poseidon swept over and clapped a hand on Triton’s shoulder. “Alastor, need I remind you once again that servants are to keep a respectful distance from royals?” He sneered down his nose at our blushing friend.

  Alastor yanked his hand away, his sheepish gaze cast downward. “A thousand apologies, your highness.”

  A snort of appreciation and Poseidon whirled Triton toward a cluster of eager guests without so much as glancing in my direction. “Come, my boy! It is time for our festivities to begin!”

  “You can see me, right?” I asked, tilting my chin in Alastor’s direction. “I didn’t go all Demersal fish and blend with my surroundings, did I?”

  “No surroundings could ever capture your beauty.” Stare still locked on the shell-tiled floor beneath his fins, Alastor’s blush spread to the tips of his earlobes.

  Letting my head list to the side, I glanced up at him from under my lashes. “You’ve been listening to the Royal Guards chatting up townies in the square again, haven’t you?”

  Head snapping up, a stray lock of chestnut hair tangled in his lashes. “Possibly, but that doesn’t make it any less true.”

  Staring down at my hands, my thumb fiddled with a hangnail. “I liked you standing where you were before,” I admitted. Throat parched by my brazen declaration, I giggled and tagged on, “it made it easier to get to the seaweed puffs.

  Huffing a wry laugh, he bumped my arm with his and offered me the tray.

  “My treasured guests!” Poseidon shouted to be heard over the hoopla, which promptly fell into a respectful hush. “I could not be more thrilled to have you all here to celebrate with me today! Not only does my son, Triton, turn eleven years of age this day, but I also get the great honor to announce that he has been selected for the apprenticeship with the Royal Guard!” The excitement of his exclamation grew with each word into a grandiose crescendo that burst from the chest of the beaming king.

  Merfolk, dripping in their extravagant finery, erupted in rousing cheers and heart-felt applause. Even the Arctic mer, with their emotional constipation, politely clapped. This time, I couldn’t bring myself to join in. Smile fading to more of pained grimace, I watched as my now unattainable dream was paraded before me.

  Adjusting the helmet which had slipped forward and blocked his eyes, Triton visibly tensed at the sight of a dozen strapping members of the guard circling his chair. Unlike my clueless brother, I knew exactly what was coming next, and it made the sting of rejection burn through my veins with a potency that paled to the most venomous Stonefish.

  “This is a high honor drenched in tradition,” with a flip of his tail, Poseidon dove into an elaborate back flip and kicked toward the wall, granting the guards and their new recruit center stage, “and that tradition begins … now.”

  His statement was punctuated by the ballroom being plunged into darkness, every light extinguished in a blink.

  A wave of nervous whispers tittered through the room—understandable after the shark-infested interlude.

  One light, a lowered coral candelabra braided with luminescent kelp, flickered directly overhead of where Triton had been positioned. Forced down into a chair by Doralious’s firm hand, he grasped the sides in a white knuckled grip. Seizing the base of his seat, six guards hoisted an ashen-faced Triton high over their heads.

  Building in a low, gruff chorus, the lot of the attending guardsmen joined their voices in on a time-honored tradition I had only ever read about:

  “To be the king Atlantica needs,

  The ocean ye rule must first concede.

  W
e, the guards of y’er chosen realm,

  take up task to follow the helm.

  A ruler needs courage, a ruler needs might,

  Like the Great White, they have to fight!”

  Chair bobbing up and down as he was twirled, Triton’s turquoise eyes bulged from their sockets at the mention of the ravenous fish that escorted him in. Helmet sliding off his head, it spiraled to the ground and landed with a dull lump.

  “Through a series of trials your character we’ll test,

  Be a good lad an’ give it ya’r best.

  How do we determine the strength you will wield?

  By ya muckin’ the stable, and polishin’ our … shields!”

  Party goers lost in peals of laughter, the guards lowered Triton to the ground where he was further welcomed into the brotherhood with hair rufflings and pats on the back. Hovering alongside, one hand jammed on his hip, Poseidon radiated with pride. I envied the way he gazed upon his son, with the corners of his mouth twitching in his attempt to maintain his trademark stoicism. Never had he ever looked at me with anything resembling that degree of delight.

  Biting my lower lip to squelch the wash of tears that burned behind my eyes, I averted my gaze to the elaborate buffet display.

  “There’s to be a Harvest Moon tonight.”

  I jerked at the sound of Alastor’s voice, having spiraled so far into my own pity party that I forgot he was there.

  “I’ve been floating here for quite some time, eating the appetizers I’m supposed to be distributing to the guests, and not a word has been said about it.” Lips set in a downward C of contemplation, that brilliant servant boy offered me exactly what I needed in that trying moment. “No one here is taking notice. It would be simple for me to slip out and go enjoy nature’s splendor. I wonder, though, how hard it would be for a princess to make her escape?”