The Little Selkie (retail) (6 page)

After they went through all the movements, she had the dance down and was able to start enjoying herself in spite of her troubles. It wasn’t anything like a traditional selkie dance, but selkies—naturally graceful— enjoyed
all
kinds of dance. Unable to stop herself, Dylan added twirls and flourishes whenever she could, silently laughing with joy when her fellow dancers picked up the speed of their tapping and hopping.

The song ended before Dylan wanted it to. Her forehead was damp with sweat, but she grinned widely, filled with mirth. She bowed to her partner, hoping to convey her thanks before she hopped from the platform.

The dancer followed her, and the two of them almost walked straight into Jarlath, sending her good spirits plummeting.

“Your Highness, I see you have met my newest acquisition,” Jarlath said, his chest inflated like a puffer fish.

“Acquisition, Lord Jarlath? Even you have better manners than that. I assume you meant to say you are her escort?” the dancer asked.

Dylan smirked.
Too bad he’s not a selkie friend. He’s fun.

“Escort is a bit…she’s not a lady, Your Highness. Just my…ward,” Jarlath said.

“Even so, could I bother you for an introduction?”

“Ah, of course,” Jarlath said, looking uncomfortable for a minute. “Your Highness, please allow me to introduce you to my ward…Miss…um, I call her…”

“Dylan,” Dylan’s big guard—the lump—grunted.

This drew Dylan’s wonder. Only the sea witch had indicated any knowledge of Dylan since she was taken captive. How had the lump known? Did he actually pay attention—unlike his employer?

“Yes, Miss Dylan,” Jarlath said, recovering with a smile. “Dylan, this is His Royal Highness, Prince Callan, the eldest prince of Ringsted.”

The oldest prince? Maybe I have seen his face in a painting or something. No matter—he will be bossy Maureen’s concern when she takes Da’s place and becomes Queen of the Selkies
.

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Dylan,” the prince said.

Jarlath and the prince stared at Dylan, expecting her to do something. Behind the prince’s back, Jarlath mimicked a bow.

Dylan bent deeply.

“I apologize for her silence, Your Highness, but she is, uh, a mute,” Jarlath said.

“Is she, now?” the dancing prince said, studying Dylan with intense scrutiny, making the gold in his eyes glitter. He broke his gaze from Dylan and turned to face Jarlath. “Were you intending to head home to Kingsgrace Castle?”

“I hoped to spend the evening at the Owl’s Hoot and return on the morrow, Your Highness.”

“I ask you to reconsider. We would love to have you at the palace for the opening season,” Prince Callan said.

Reconsider?
Dylan shifted, hope bubbling in her like a spring.
The palace is just by the ocean—and Jarlath cannot possibly keep me cooped up there!

Jarlath’s eyes almost popped out of his head. “Truly, Your Highness?”

“Absolutely, both of you,” Prince Callan said. “I’ll send a servant up to the palace. They will prepare rooms for you. When you finish with the festivities here, please make your way up. The chamberlain will show you to your quarters.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Jarlath said, bowing deeply. “I’m sure we will enjoy it!”

Dylan nodded, for the first—and only—time, agreeing with her captor.

“I am gladdened to hear that,” Prince Callan said with a smile.

“Callan!” a young lady said, breathing heavily as she slipped into place next to the prince, laying a hand on his arm. “There you are. I was wondering where you went.”

The lady had bright blonde hair the color of the sun and brown eyes. She was dainty and delicate with pale skin—standing next to bronze-skinned Dylan highlighted all of this.

She must be pretty
, Dylan decided, glancing at Jarlath, who almost drooled.

“Lady Aisling, how good it is to see you,” Jarlath said with a deep bow.

“Lord Jarlath,” the lady said before returning her attention to the prince. “Come, Mother wants to greet you properly, and you’ve avoided us too long!”

“As you say. I look forward to your stay, Lord Jarlath, Miss Dylan,” the prince said, giving both of them a smile before he turned. He seemed to be holding the arm that Lady Aisling clung to away from his body. Within a moment, he was swallowed into the crowd.

“Now
that
is a woman,” Jarlath whistled at their departure. “Prettiest girl in all of Ringsted, right there. Only the best for the prince, I suppose. No matter. Well done, little fish. Your exotic looks are a spot more useful than I thought! Now where did Teige run off to?”

It wasn’t until almost the midnight bell that Jarlath decided they should retire from the festival. Dylan was reluctant to leave—more trays of food kept appearing—but she followed a staggering Jarlath and a bald servant through the palace.

Jarlath could barely place one foot in front of the other and required one of his men to help him walk.

The royal servant showed Jarlath to his room first, his face pinched with distaste as Jarlath’s men dragged him inside.

Dylan’s room was across the hallway and four doors down from Jarlath’s. The servant opened her door, handed her a key, and bowed to her before trotting off. Dylan poked her head inside and was wowed by the size of the room and the furnishings. Although Dylan was a selkie princess, her family was not much more elevated in terms of wealth or possessions than normal selkies. There were small things that showed her family’s power—Mairead’s books, Murphy’s boat, the fact that she had her own room, things like that. But even though she was the daughter of the selkie king, Dylan had never been in a room as nice as this.

A plush bed with goose-feather pillows and satin sheets stood against the far wall, and an armoire, a sea chest, a short table, and a padded chair graced the room as well. A fur rug lay on the floor near the fireplace, and heavy velvet drapes hung over a glass window. It was the window Dylan prized the most in the exquisite room, for it gave her a view of the moonlit ocean.

She lurched across the room and struggled to open the window, clawing at it until the salty brine smell of the ocean swept inside.

I miss them. Father, Mother, my sisters—even Maureen. It’s horrifying to be alone.
Dylan hugged herself and listened to the waves crash on the shore—a familiar lullaby.

She leaned on the windowsill, taking comfort in the ocean noises. When she grew so exhausted she could barely keep her eyes open, she shuffled through her room and found the other dress the seamstress made for her—this one the red of a ripe strawberry—hanging in the armoire.

Dylan plopped onto her large bed, squirming into a tight ball.
I wonder how long we are to stay, how long I have to steal my pelt
. She twisted, feeling chilled—not from the chill in the air, but the emptiness of the room. Even though she had her own bedroom, usually Dylan slept with Murphy and Muriel, piled with her sisters like tired seal pups.

Tomorrow, I will enter the ocean.
Dylan squeezed her eyes shut.
And I will begin my battle.

Chapter 5

Breakfast with the Royals

Dylan woke just before dawn, bright-eyed and brimming with determination.
The ocean!
She bounded across her room to lean out her open window. Once she reached the water, she would be able to tell if her family was nearby. Although determined to reclaim her pelt on her own, Dylan knew her parents would be worried about her—and Angelique was right. They needed to be informed about Jarlath.

She dressed in her saffron dress again and sniffed hopefully around her room for food. Finding none, she crossed the hallway to Jarlath’s room.

Poking her head inside revealed the man was still in bed, moaning about sunlight and loud noises, so Dylan took extra care to slam the door shut as loudly as possible before trotting down the halls.

Her guards—Bump and Lump—followed behind her, surprisingly swift and quiet given their considerable girth.

The twisting corridors of the castle all looked alike to Dylan, but she followed her ears and managed to find a path outside. The path circled inside the large sea wall built around the palace. Even though Dylan walked it twice, she found no exit. No path led down to the beach.

Dylan re-entered the palace, took a spiral staircase down a floor and tried again with no luck. She searched every floor but couldn’t find a way past the sea wall. Frustrated, she took the walkway up to the main section of the palace. The walkway was wide enough for two carriages to roll down side by side, and part of it was sheltered. But as the weather was warm and the summer sun was bright, Dylan walked in the open air section, occasionally stopping to hang over the walkway and look down at the craggy rocks below.

Whoever built this castle should be smacked. How do I get down there?
She wanted so badly to feel grains of sand on her skin and splash salty ocean water in to the air, she considered climbing her way down the rocks.
Wait—the marina!

Dylan made her way with a dogged determination to the third palace wing—the one perched on rocks with piers jutted up against it like the train of a dress. In high spirits, Dylan skirted the palace and jumped a set of four stairs, launching herself into the marina, only to discover it was closed.

Blast
! Servants swarmed the place like schools of fish, arranging tables and chairs and occasionally giving her—and her rough-looking escorts—curious glances. A rope hung across the marina entrance—but when Dylan spotted a pathway of rock cut into the cliff-side that went from the marina down to the beach, she tucked her chin and pushed her way in, starting down the treacherous path.

She heard Bump—the short, stocky guard—grunt once or twice as both men stepped on slick stone to follow her. Dylan jumped the last three steps and landed in the sand with a thump. “Oi!” Lump shouted with alarm.

She abandoned her itchy shoes on a rock, tied her skirts up, and waded into the water up to her knees.

Dylan felt her world click into place. All of her senses simultaneously focused and spread. She could feel the whales singing far off, their song thrumming in her bones. She could feel the wave patterns of the water, the splash of otters playing farther down the coast. And ever so distantly, she heard the crooning of selkies in their seal bodies.

I’m here!
Dylan opened her mouth to call to the ocean and her kin, but no sound came out.

Regret dropped over her like a heavy weight. She felt cut off and alone. She didn’t know what was worse: being without her family, or knowing that her mistake was what put her—and her unknowing kinsmen—in this position. Her eyes ached, and she curled her hands into shaking fists.

It was useless. Dylan had no way to contact her family. If she could use her voice, they would hear her, or—at the very least—hear the water reacting to her voice’s unique magic.

The voices are distant. They have to be miles down the coast—I could never reach them.
Dylan’s shoulders slumped with this unexpected defeat.
But…that doesn’t mean I am powerless.
She could search Jarlath’s room for her pelt and for anything that might detail his relationship with the sea witch.
I should have snatched up his valise yesterday. I won’t make that mistake again.

Buoyed by her new conviction, Dylan raised her chin and stared up at the sky. She couldn’t leave the water—it felt too right. She waded deeper in the ocean, her head cocked as she listened to whales sing, sea lions bark, and sea birds shriek. The sounds were a balm to her, soothing her unsettled heart and wrapping her like a warm blanket, promising her everything would turn out right.

The sun was significantly higher when a voice broke Dylan’s reverie.

“Miss Dylan?”

Dylan turned around, shielding her eyes to find Prince Callan standing on shore behind her. He wore a plain, cotton shirt, practical boots spattered with wet sand, and black breeches.

Behind him, Bump and Lump sat on rocks that fell in the shade of the encroaching forest. They watched Dylan—and the prince—without stirring.

Dylan gave the open ocean one last look of longing and trudged through the water. Ankle deep, she undid the knot of her skirts and curtsied.

Prince Callan smiled. “You look like a sea nymph communing with the ocean this early in the morning.”

Dylan raised her eyebrows at him and fought to push her wild, kinked hair over her shoulder.

Prince Callan cleared his throat. “Have you had breakfast yet?”

Dylan shook her head.

“Then would you care to join me? My father and two of my siblings are about to eat,” he motioned toward the palace. “They are waiting for me to return from my run so we can eat together.”

At the mention of food, Dylan perked up, her empty stomach knifing her gut. She nodded brightly, drawing a smile from the prince.

“Then may I escort you there?” he asked, dipping at the waist and offering his hand.

Dylan stared at his hand, confused. Why was he holding out his hand?
Am I supposed to do something with it?
He clearly expected some sort of action from her. Perhaps she should offer him a gift.
Dylan waded back in the water and plunged a hand beneath the surface. She picked up a long, thin, white shell shaped almost like a bird’s wing—angel wing. Large ones like this were rare since they broke so easily, but she had felt its presence earlier.

Dylan returned and set the shell in the prince’s palm.

The prince stared at the shell for a few moments and blinked twice. The corners of his lips barely turned upwards, but she could see laughter in his glittering hazel eyes when they met hers. “Thank you,” he said. “You’re very kind.”

She patted the air, trying to refute his comment.

Prince Callan shook his head before holding out his arm.

This signal, Dylan recognized. She placed her hand on his arm, although she fumbled for a while to try and find a comfortable position.

Bump and Lump rose from their rocks while she reclaimed her shoes. She thought the prince would lead her back to the treacherous seaside steps, but instead Prince Callan led the way to the sea wall.

Callan moved towards the forest, taking her to a wooden boardwalk raised above the sand and forest. The boardwalk inclined upwards, going up with the trees before it rejoined the palace, making it over the sea wall.

“There are several entrances and exits,” Prince Callan said, noting the way Dylan gawked and tried to pinpoint their location as they stepped off the boardwalk and onto a palace patio. “This one is the most grand—although a portion of it is designed to collapse in case of pirates or bandits, so it isn’t up every day,” he said, taking her indoors.

The room was bright with morning sun and covered from wall to wall with bookshelves and books.

Mairead would
love
this
, Dylan thought as Prince Callan tugged her to a spiral staircase.

They popped out in a beautiful, fan-shaped room. The circular edge of the room was constructed of glass, giving a breathtaking view of the ocean on one side and the sun rising over the thick forest on the other.

The floor was covered with an ocean-blue rug that had a pattern of shells and waves cresting the edge. In the center of the room stood a rectangular table. The legs were ornately carved with swelling waves, whales, fish, and even a seal or two. Three of the chairs at the table were occupied.

A man Dylan recognized as King Rory sat at the head of the table—he had given a speech during the festival the previous night with his wife, Queen Etain. A teenage boy sat on the long side of the rectangle. A little girl who couldn’t have been older than eight sat next to him, kicking her feet. When the little girl looked up and saw them, she brightened.

“Callan!” she called, her curious eyes falling on Dylan. “Who is she?”

“Miss Dylan, may I introduce you to my family: my father, King Rory; my brother, Prince Viggo; and my youngest sister, Princess Nessa. This is Miss Dylan, Lord Jarlath’s ward.”

With the majority of the royal family lined up, Dylan could see the family resemblance. Both Prince Callan and Prince Viggo shared the strong, handsome features of their father, although Callan was built more lean and limber than his sturdy father and brother.

Still, just because he’s lean doesn’t mean he doesn’t weigh as much as an anchor. I remember that man I saved. He—that man I saved
. She narrowed her eyes and turned to stare at Prince Callan’s body.

He had the same build—broad shoulders narrowing into a lean torso. His face had been hard to see in the dark, but Dylan thought—no—she was certain now. Prince Callan was the man she saved from the shipwreck two years ago. Now that she thought about it, she remembered the short glimpses she had of his hazel eyes flecked with green and gold as she sang to him and waited for someone to find him.

Does he remember? No, he couldn’t. He never really woke up. Besides, I’m certain he was addled, being tossed about as he was. Still, to think I saved a prince.

“Oh, you’re the one who doesn’t talk,” Viggo said and then blanched. “No offense. I meant—”

Dylan flashed a white grin at the younger prince, hoping to communicate that no harm was done.

“Very good,” King Rory said, rubbing the bags under his eyes as he motioned servants forward.

Dylan sat next to Callan—who sat across from his brother, on his father’s open side—and almost jumped when a servant presented a white cloth to her. Dylan glanced at Callan—who used the towel to wipe off his hands—and copied him before handing the cloth back to the servant.

The servant curtsied, disappeared, and was replaced by another servant bearing food.

“Why don’t you talk?” Princess Nessa asked, peering over the table.

“Nessa,” the king said, his voice tired. “Are they hers?” he asked, flicking a finger at the staircase Dylan and Callan had climbed. Dylan twisted around to see Bump and Lump stationed like statues at the stairs.

“Yes,” Prince Callan confirmed as the dishes were slid into place and uncovered.

The first round of food was goose, duck, and chicken eggs that were poached, fried, and scrambled. Dylan waited until everyone had served themselves before trying a bit of each.

“I believe the festival was a success. The closing ceremony went well,” Prince Callan said. “I hope the marina opening tonight goes just as well.”

“Yes, even if it is more than a little superfluous to open it. Until those typhoons die down, our trading is dead in the water. Even our two weather mages can’t force their way through the storms now,” King Rory said, his mouth a grim slash. “It was only good luck that Viggo made it back in time from the wedding of those Erlauf royals.”

Weather mages can’t get through?
Dylan tried to open her mouth to ask and glared at her plate when no noise came out.

“Why can’t
I
attend the marina opening?” Princess Nessa asked.

“Because you’re too young,” Prince Viggo said. Princess Nessa stuck her tongue out at him, and Prince Viggo playfully sneered back at her. “You’re not missing anything. It’s dead boring,” he added.

“You’re just saying that,” Princess Nessa said.

“Am not. Would
you
like to listen to grownups talk about exports and imports and gross national product?” Prince Viggo asked. “I’d much rather be riding.”

Dylan helped herself to two biscuits from the tray of bread as she watched the brother and sister. Viggo wasn’t much over fifteen, but the way he played with his sibling reminded Dylan of her sisters. Dylan sighed wistfully and leaned back in her chair as she remembered swimming with Maili, Muriel, Murphy, Mairead, and Maureen. It was always so much fun to twirl through kelp and seaweed with her sisters.

Stop it. Pay attention!
Dylan shook her head to clear it.
There’s no sense sighing over memories when I have my pelt to seek. Besides, it wasn’t that picture perfect. Bossy Maureen would never leave me be when we swam!

“You were confident last night, Father. If you act the same tonight, I don’t think anyone else will catch on to your worry,” Prince Callan said.