The Little Selkie (retail) (16 page)

“My baby,” Queen Etain sobbed, holding out her arms.

Dylan set Nessa on the ground, and the little girl threw herself at her mother, mashing her face into the fabric of the queen’s dress.

Dylan watched the reunion for a few moments before she marched back down the beach and sloshed into the ocean, knee deep. Callan was there with her, ruining his shiny black boots. “Dylan, get out of the water. You can return here when we can confirm it is safe,” he said.

She held up her hand and listened.

Although the feeling of wrong had lessened a little, it was still there, creeping in with the waves, coating the soft sand—a vile smear on a place that was meant to be clear. Tilting her head, Dylan walked down the shore, following the feeling. Callan, two of Viggo’s friends, and Bump and Lump trailed in her wake. One of Viggo’s friends tried to speak, but Callan put a hand in front of him, cutting off the remark.

They followed the sandy beach to a small bay, and the feeling and stench of
wrongness
grew more pungent and powerful. Dylan almost wretched when the beach met an outcropping of rocks. She scrambled up the slick, black slabs, and was picking her way across their surface when she spotted what was wrong.

A baby sea otter had been caught between the rocks. Dylan slid down the slab, skinning her legs and palms, and plunged into the ocean. She was chest-deep in water, but she managed to pick up the otter, her heart breaking as she trudged back to shore, clasping the small, dead pup to her chest.

It was slashed and drained of blood—a casualty of the sea witch. It couldn’t have been more than eight weeks old. Smaller than a house cat, and unbearably light in her arms, it still had its soft, fluffy baby fur.

Dylan collapsed on the warm sand, her legs unable to hold her up as she held the innocent pup. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she stared at the babe she had failed to protect.

The sea witch did this. I have done nothing to stop her, and she has killed and slaughtered the innocent.

Her chest heaved as she stroked the baby otter’s matted fur.

I am no closer to stopping her than I was before. She is out there, free and breathing, and I sit here in a big house of rocks and sip cider as the ocean suffers!
Dylan was disgusted with herself, heartbroken for the defenseless sea otter that had paid for her inaction with its life.

“It’s just a sea otter,” one of Viggo’s friend said.

The vehement look Dylan gave him made him swallow and look uncomfortable.

Callan crouched at her side, his wet boots making a sloshing noise. “Do you want to bury it?” he asked, placing a hand on her shoulder.

She nodded, and placed the otter on the beach, brushing a few grains of sand from its whiskers.

Her anger boiling, Dylan turned to face the ocean. The water was white with cresting waves, and the wind whipped Dylan’s soaked gown and damp hair. She walked so she was knee deep in the water again, hoping that somehow, she would be heard. That—in spite of her locked voice—her magic would make her message clear.

I will find you, sea witch
, she vowed.
I will find you, and I will rip you from limb to limb.
Too long, she’d wasted time, distracted by meaningless things.
No more,
she seethed
. I will hunt you until my heart stops beating, and I will forever dog your steps. I will crush your human partner, and I will end this innocent bloodshed. You will
pay
!

As if the ocean understood, or as if her voice was heard and her magic felt, the ocean roared and hit the rocks with violent waves that sprayed salt water in the air like white, foamy fireworks.

The sea as her witness—she would
end
this.

“You have the eternal gratitude of the Ringsted Royal Family, Miss Dylan,” King Rory said. He stood behind an armchair in his study, gripping it with emotion. “If you hadn’t reached Nessa…” He shook his head.

I am glad she is safe
, Dylan wrote.

“Thanks to you,” Prince Viggo said, placing a comforting arm around Princess Fianna.

“My wife would join me in expressing our gratitude, but she is somewhat unwilling to leave Nessa at this moment,” King Rory said. “We cannot repay you for your act of bravery.”

Dylan flattened her lips, thinking of the baby otter.
I haven’t been that brave
, she thought.

“We mean it, Dylan,” Callan said, coming to stand next to her. “No one else was close enough to Nessa to pull her to safety. We’re in your debt for Nessa’s life.”

“Ask us for anything, and it will be yours,” King Rory promised.

I want my hands around the sea witch’s neck. I want to toss Jarlath in the deepest dungeon,
Dylan thought. Instead, she wrote,
I am already indebted to the royal family for your kind treatment and generosity. I am glad I could help
.

As the royal family read her words, Dylan thought,
This is a battle I must settle alone. Landers would only complicate it.

The king and his children barely finished reading Dylan’s slate when the door banged open.

Jarlath entered the room with an elaborate bow. “Your Majesty, I heard the news and was told how brave my ward was. I’m sure glad she was there to pull Princess Nessa to safety,” Jarlath said, rubbing his hands as a greedy light shone from his face.

Dylan watched the ruddy-faced lord for a moment to see if he was mad at her. Judging by the sheer delight etched on his face, he was trying to use the situation for his own gains.

I suppose that’s better than being angry and ruining my pelt
, Dylan thought, although her mouth puckered in distaste as she watched her “guardian.”

“I’m happy she was able to do the royal family such a service,” Jarlath rambled on. “There is no need to thank her. She does only what I taught her.”

Dylan rolled her eyes at the outrageous lie, but the royal family was too kind to notice. Rather, most of them were. Callan watched Dylan with a surprising intensity.

“Miss Dylan certainly proved her bravery,” King Rory said. “And her handiness with rocks and a dagger.”

Jarlath blinked, looking much like a frog. “Uh…dagger?”

Dylan’s eyes widened, and she scribbled on her slate,
It was lucky that the kelpie gave up. Usually they are not so bold to attack a member of a large party, and they do not give up on their prey so easily.

Princess Fianna shivered. “Such a graceless topic,” she said.

“Did my ward ask for a reward or boon of some sort?” Jarlath asked.

“We offered. She turned us down,” Prince Viggo said.

“Oh,” Jarlath said, turning to scowl at Dylan.

Dylan shrugged, and her stomach growled loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.

Princess Fianna looked away, but Prince Viggo grinned at Dylan. King Rory, seemingly, had decided to ignore the noise.

Prince Callan’s shoulders shook as he faced a wall. He cleared his throat and turned around, mirth just fading from his eyes. “It has grown rather late in the morning. I suppose it is time for lunch.”

Dylan rewarded Callan with a large smile.
I believe it is. Thank you for receiving me, Your Majesties
.

“Of course. Thank you again, Miss Dylan,” King Rory said as she opened the study door and edged into the hallway.

“If you are ever in need of aid, I hope you seek out Kingsgrace Castle,” Jarlath said, unwilling to leave the royal family.

King Rory gave Jarlath a pained smile. “We thank you for the bravery of your ward,” he said as his children filed out into the hallway. “Now if you would excuse us.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Jarlath said with another elaborate bow. King Rory shut his study door in the lord’s face.

Dylan watched Jarlath with narrowed eyes.
I have to do something about him.

Chapter 10

Regarding Borders

Nothing!
Dylan scowled as she went through Jarlath’s armoire for the second time.
No pelt; no secret plots.
Where was he hiding his things? She had already searched his bed—she had even ripped a hand-sized hole in his mattress to be certain he hadn’t stuffed it there and had it sewn up—and all the drawers of his furniture.

This was the fourth time in almost two weeks Dylan had been able to wriggle away from Bump-and-Lump to search Jarlath’s room. She had it down to an art, but it didn’t do any good. She still knew nothing about why Jarlath and all those men in the camp worked with the sea witch, and she was no closer to finding her pelt than she was before.

Maybe his cronies are watching it.
Dylan poked at one of the lord’s waistcoats. She stood on a chair to check the top of the armoire again before plopping down at his desk and shuffling through his papers—nothing at all revealing or conspiracy-worthy amongst the lord’s papers. Several maps had trading routes marked out, and a few sheets had men listed and numbered. Dylan paged through the papers again.
In the camp…Jarlath had a small army. How could he afford them and what were they doing? He wasn’t in the trading business.

So, why did he have so many maps?

Could he be the one organizing all the bandits and sending them out to ambush the traders?

Dylan drummed her fingers on the desk and considered the idea. It fit. Jarlath had to be profiting somehow, or he wouldn’t be working with the sea witch. And Dylan had witnessed his exuberance for “acquiring” items, and his forest camp of men. A man who would stoop to blackmailing a selkie wouldn’t hesitate to rob his fellow countrymen.

But surely he wasn’t clever enough to be the ringleader. And besides, I don’t have any proof. I can’t expect Prince Callan to arrest Jarlath on my suspicions alone. I need something more—more than trading maps and a list of employees.
I’ll have to keep looking—for my pelt, and for evidence.

Dylan should have been ecstatic that she had finally realized Jarlath’s angle, but instead she felt sad that the stocky lord had turned on his own country.

She tidied up the room before slipping out, locking the door, and pocketing the spare key. She struggled with her dress for a moment—aquamarine satin with gold embroidery and trim—then hefted her skirts and ran.

Dylan plotted as she ran, making the trek from the beachside wing to the main palace. It had been two weeks since Princess Nessa was attacked, and while Dylan had made marvelous progress, it wasn’t enough. The hot summer sun beat down on her—attesting to how long she had been stranded on land—and she wasn’t much closer to breaking free from the sea witch or Jarlath than she had been early in the season. But soon, she would be. The sea witch’s rampage had to be stopped, and Jarlath needed to be taken care of.

When Dylan reached the main structure, she made her way to a little inlet that jutted inside the palace. She looked around to make sure no one was watching before she scaled the stone wall, climbing about four feet so she could heft herself through an open window. She hauled herself through the space and dropped back into the empty but elaborate bathroom she’d left minutes earlier. She glanced in the mirror so she could tug her hair straight and brush her wayward curls out of her face. Cagney had done up some of her hair that morning in an effort to further gentrify her, but Dylan wasn’t sure it was worth the effort. Then, she opened the restroom door and strode out past the waiting Bump and Lump.

The pair probably thought Dylan had some sort of stomach disease due to the length of time she supposedly spent in there, but it was the one place she could ditch them knowing they would not dare follow.

Feeling sour with her newly learned knowledge, Dylan rejoined the royal activity for the day: sports. Or what passed for sports in Ringsted.

Selkies held races—on land and in water; fighting matches—also on land and in water; and contests to prove physical feats—not surprisingly, on land and in water. Ringsted nobles, it seemed, were strange in their taste for sports.

The men were allowed all the fun—entering in sword contests, wrestling contests, and archery tournaments. Certainly, a few women entered the archery tournaments as well—but it seemed “royal” sports were more “refined.” Dylan thought “refined” must mean an exercise in futility.

The point of today’s “sport” was to take a small, feather encrusted ball, and to toss it back and forth, hitting it with a paddle of meshed wires. If one was a little more cut-throat about scoring points, Dylan could get behind such a sport, but it seemed that
ladies
refrained from keeping score at all, and instead tried to keep the ball in air as long as possible, tapping the ball as if it were a delicate flower.

The intense sun made the afternoon air stifling and sticky. Nestled against the palace in the gardens as they were, the cool ocean breeze could not reach them.

“Dylan, over here.” Cagney held out Dylan’s paddle. “Are you alright? You were gone so long.”

I’m fine; I was taking a break
, she wrote before inspecting the snacks table—which had been refilled.

“I don’t blame you. It’s quite warm out here,” Cagney said, brushing the crisp skirts of her dress. Although some of the other noble ladies were wilting like fresh-cut flowers left in the sun, Cagney seemed as aglow as she had that morning.
Probably through sheer willpower
, Dylan thought, nibbling an egg tart.

“Do you want to play some more?” Cagney asked.

Dylan stared at her friend.

“Good. I can’t say I particularly love this game, either. Although Lord Dooley is quite fun to play with,” Cagney admitted as she dubiously studied her plate. When she looked up, Dylan caught her gaze and raised her eyebrows, making the young woman flush. “Because he is such a skilled player, not because I enjoy the senseless drabble he spouts.”

Naturally
, Dylan wrote.

Cagney looked like she wanted to say more, but at that moment, Lord Dooley and Prince Callan sauntered over to them.

Prince Callan looked almost as fresh as Cagney. His black vest and white undershirt were crisp and wrinkle-free, although his face had the dewy look of one who had recently exerted himself. Lord Dooley, on the other hand, was a sopping mess. His clothes—a scarlet red undershirt with a brilliant orange vest—were dripping with water, and he sported a lily pad on one shoulder.

Cagney stared at her employer in horror. “What
happened
?”

“Callan made me do it,” Dooley said, squeezing water out of his brown curls.

Callan smiled pleasantly and shook his head.

“As if I would believe that for even a moment. What did you do?” Cagney folded her arms across her chest with a look of reproof.

“He cracked the birdie over my shoulder. I had to leap for it,” Dooley said.

“Into a
pond
?” Cagney said, her nose wrinkling as a puddle formed at his feet.

“Well, I couldn’t let the birdie drop, could I?” Dooley said, giving Cagney his best puppy look.

She stared at Dooley with narrowed eyes.

Dooley laughed nervously.

“Avert your eyes, Miss Dylan. Dooley is about to receive the biggest dressing down in his adult life,” Prince Callan suggested.

“Callan? Callan! Where are you?”

Prince Callan’s lips flattened, but otherwise his expression didn’t change. “Coming, Mother,” he called. “If you’ll excuse me. I’ll return later,” he said to his friends before heading in his mother’s direction.

Today, the queen sat in a great, gilded chair. Princess Nessa was present, although she didn’t look too happy about the arrangement as her mother was making her sit in a little chair next to her. Prince Viggo and Princess Fianna stood in attendance a short distance away.

Dylan tipped her head as she watched the royal children flock around their mother.

“I see Her Highness hasn’t gotten over the fright with Princess Nessa and the water horse,” Dooley said, coming to stand next to Dylan.

What do you mean?

“Queen Etain does this whenever something dangerous or life-threatening happens to one of her children,” Cagney said, joining them.

“You should have seen it when Callan and his crew were shipwrecked two years ago. Callan was thought to be drowned, but they found him on the beach, a long way from the wreck,” Dooley said, turning to look at Dylan.

Dylan nodded politely and kept her expression interested but placid as guilt prodded her like fish nibbling at her toes.
I probably shouldn’t have manhandled Prince Callan so badly when dragging him ashore
.
Next time I will conduct myself better—although if there is a next time with the prince, he probably deserves to get his head cracked on some rocks
.

“The queen didn’t let him out of her sight for months. She almost banned Prince Viggo from attending the wedding ceremony of Prince Cristoph and Princess Cinderella of Erlauf last winter—and he had three weather mages with him,” Cagney added.

“She wasn’t far off, though. Viggo’s ship still had a rough time of it,” Dooley said. “Those storms. They will break us if they don’t dissipate in the next year. Even Mother and Father are worried.”

“Yes,” Cagney said, her gaze troubled.

Dylan’s placid expression crumbled.
Bandits and trading—I should have seen the way the wind was blowing ages ago. After this is over Da will have to see about getting some eyes and ears on land. We wouldn’t have been so blindsided if we knew the storms were affecting landers. That fiendish sea witch!

“But there’s no sense worrying over it. We cannot do anything to end the storms. We may as well enjoy ourselves this afternoon. Would you like to play a round with me, my dove?” Dooley asked.

“No. You are going to return to your room and change into something dry so you may be presentable,” Cagney said.

“Must I?” Dooley asked. “If I stand in the sun long enough, I will dry.”

“You have pond scum smeared on your back. You will change,” Cagney said.

Dooley sighed. “Very well. As you insist, pearl of my soul.” Dooley set aside his racquet before he started to walk off. “This is almost fortuitous. My fuchsia-colored breeches should be dry by now.”

Cagney’s face froze as her employer walked off. “Lord Dooley!” She lunged after him. “Excuse me, Miss Dylan. Lord
Dooley
!”

Dylan grinned and watched the pair duck through the gardens and disappear when they rounded the palace corner. Alone, she picked out a selection of snacks and found a stone bench to sit on while she ate. The bench gave her a beautiful view of the gardens and the nobles having varying degrees of success in hitting the feather-accented ball back and forth and, most importantly, Jarlath.

At the moment, the puffed-up toad was attempting to flirt with Lady Shauna. Dylan thought it would be unlikely his efforts would be rewarded, based on the way his two friends leered at his back like bloodthirsty sharks.

Dylan leaned back and watched the lady slip out of Jarlath’s grasp and return to her circle of friends. His companions came up on either side of him and slapped his shoulders, consoling him in another failure.

She grinned, cheered by her captor’s loss, when a feminine voice interrupted her thoughts. “Are you enjoying yourself?” Lady Aisling had joined her, looking lovely in a gown of emerald green and unaffected by the persistent sun.

Dylan reached for her slate, but Lady Aisling continued. “That was a rhetorical question. Of course you are. The royal family is paying you special notice for saving Princess Nessa. Who wouldn’t enjoy such marked attention? But I thought I would be friendly and tell you it is temporary.”

Dylan studied the young lady for a minute before picking up on the stiffness in her back, and the tiny wrinkle between the lady’s brows.
Ah
, Dylan thought.
She is upset by it.
Dylan rolled her shoulders back and ignored the young lady as she went back to watching Jarlath.
Should I stroll over and see what he and his friends are discussing? Judging by their gazes, though, I think it is Lady Shauna.

“Perhaps not this week, or even the following week, but soon your gallant rescue of Princess Nessa will fade from their minds. The attention will stop, and the attraction will fall away,” Lady Aisling continued. “Jarlath will return to Kingsgrace Castle, taking you with him. I, however, will remain at the Summer Palace with the royal family.”

Yes, they are definitely still discussing Lady Shauna. For a man whose ally does a great deal of damage, Jarlath is disgustingly distracted
, Dylan frowned.

“Do you hear me, Miss Dylan?” Lady Aisling asked.

Upon hearing her name, she looked up.

The beautiful lady bent over her, as if sharing a secret. “You are nothing. You mean nothing. Prince Callan is
mine
, no matter how you might divert him for the moment. I will be queen, and when I am, you can be certain you will never see Callan again.”

Dylan raised her eyebrows at the proclaimed “most beautiful lady in Ringsted.” She could not help but write out a response.
If that is true…why are you so angry? Are you worried your beauty can’t win against someone who is nothing?