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

by Stacey Rourke

  “You played each and every one of them,” he accused in place of a greeting. Harsh judgement cast dark shadows over his usually breezy features. “Manipulating them by reflecting some element of their culture back at them. I just want to know why. You have so much more to offer. Why would you lower yourself to cheap stunts like that? Was it just so they could see something of themselves in you? It was sneaky and underhanded, Vanessa. Are those the methods Amphrite has taught you?”

  Glancing around to see if anyone was lingering or listening, I moved in close enough to bump his chest with mine. “It’s politics, Triton,” I hissed, his accusation smearing my momentary victory. “I did what I had to do for the good of the kingdom.”

  Towering over me, Triton glared down his nose in disappointment. “There are other ways. This one was beneath you.”

  Cocking one hip, I jabbed my fist to the rise of its curve, a wry huff of laughter seeping from my chest. “We don’t all have your endless supply of charm, brother.” I spat the last word as if it soured on my tongue. “The rest of us make do with what we have, and in this case my flair for theatrics worked very much in my favor.”

  Without another word, I kicked off and left him to chew on that.

  Chapter Eight

  M y tail worked side to side without tiring, belly skimming the ground to avoid the resistance of the currents and flying rubble. Through the throne room, where a gaping cavity had been blown through the soaring ceiling, I wheeled around the corner into the hall that led to the sleeping quarters. The aerial strikes had ceased, which I took as a sign that Father and his soldiers had ventured topside for the summit. Bursting through my bedroom privacy curtains with the force of a tropical storm, the flaps of kelp fanned out behind me. Pulling up short, a startled bark of laughter escaped me.

  Alastor sat on my bed, back straight, hands in his lap. Floteson draped around his neck, shielding his chin and mouth like a scaly scarf. Jetteson laid across his lap, the cutest little belt I had ever seen. Careful not to disturb my zebra babes, Alastor pivoted his upper body to welcome me.

  “Whhh hmmmnd?” he attempted, his voice undistinguishably muffled.

  “I’m gonna need you to try that one more time,” I giggled.

  Floteson and Jetteson’s endearing faces popped up the second they heard me. Shoving away from Alastor, they darted across the room and spiraled up my arms. Tenderly, I dotted a kiss to each of their foreheads. Both nuzzled in to my touch.

  Shaking off a shudder, Alastor flipped his tail and lifted from the bed. “I said, what happened?”

  “They listened to me, Alastor!” Twirling merrily around, I backstroked to the shelf next to my vanity where I kept the alchemy tonics Amphrite taught me to make. Pulling down the halved oyster shell I used as a mixing bowl, I splashed a bit of sun coast surf along the sides then cupped both my hands over it. “The entire Council, they listened! I suggested Father approach the humans to seek a peace treaty and he’s doing it! Right now! Where’s your mother? Is she well?”

  Clamping my eyes shut, I attempted to concentrate and slowly drew my hands back. An iridescent bubble swelled from the shell, its surface ebbing and flowing into various shapes and spaces as the spell I infused on it hunted for my father’s location.

  “The moment the attack ceased she rushed to assess the damage to the castle with the other servants. I was supposed to follow, but … The C-council” Alastor stammered, shoving a stray lock of hair behind his ear, as he struggled to catch up, “took advice from a nineteen-year-old princess?”

  “They did! And not just the Council, my father, too!” Leaving the bubble to continue its search, I spun on Alastor and seized his upper arms. Thankfully, I was able to suppress the urge to shake him in my excitement—but barely. “He saw me, Alastor! Really saw me! And he was proud! It was as plainly written on his face as if it had been scrolled there!”

  Alastor’s hand rose to his mouth, the tips of his fingers tapping his lips softly. I could see his mind ticking to fill in the blanks of the questions I left unanswered. “All this time, all that’s been lost, and you suddenly talked the entire Council into giving up their greed inspired quest and seeking peace?”

  Spinning back to my project, I ducked my head to hide the guilty flush filling my cheeks. “In a matter of speaking.” Dragging one hand and then the other over the bubble’s surface, I tried to steer it to find Poseidon. Still, no luck. “Blast! I’m too excited to focus! I can’t get this thing to work!”

  Reaching around me, Alastor’s hand encircled my wrist and turned me to face him. “Peace is not a ‘matter of speaking’ concept,” he stated softly. With his thumb under my chin he gently eased my gaze up to his. “What exactly did you say to them?”

  Biting my lower lip, my confidence wavered. They were words, only words; what did they matter if I achieved my goal? But they did matter. The intensity of Alastor’s tone reminded me of that with the potency of a dagger rammed deep.

  My mouth opened, the explanation tumbling out in one long-winded ramble of guilt. “I may have said that the humans would be at their most vulnerable if we declared peace and then attacked. However, Father is a reasonable man! I’m sure once he sees how wonderful it is to have peace restored, it will be easy to convince him that there is no need for further attacks!”

  Alastor cast his stare to the ground, dragging his tongue over his lips as if choosing his words carefully. When his gaze met mine once more, I found sorrow shading his topaz eyes to a deep russet. “Nessa, in all your life how many things have you been able to convince your father of?”

  “Counting today?” I swallowed hard, my voice rising a few octaves to a high-pitched whimper, “One.”

  “And what makes you think this is going to be any different?” he asked, not in accusation, but to tenderly guide me to the outcome I had been too blinded by my own goals and ambitions to see.

  Desperation stealing into my heart and oozing through my veins, I caught Alastor’s hand and squeezed it tight in both of mine. “It has to be! I … I couldn’t think of any other way!”

  Our conversation was cut off by a flurry of purple smoke swirling into the room. Amphrite materialized just inside the doorframe, her gills opening and shutting in rapid pants. Nostrils flaring, venom beamed from her glare with me as her target.

  “What … have … you … done?” The cut of each word was delivered through grinding teeth.

  Dropping Alastor’s hand as if his touch scorched me, my jaw swung open in search of some explanation. “My Queen, I’m sorry! The moment Father returns I will tell him of my true intentions. I will admit that peace in Atlantica was my only motivation! There’s still time! We may be able to thwart any further attacks!”

  Closing the distance between us, she rolled her fingers in the direction of my wayward locating spell. “You silly, stupid girl. Meddling in matters you had no place in. You have no idea what you’ve set into motion!” Pinching my chin between her thumb and forefinger, she wrenched my head around. Jabbing her index finger toward the bubble, violet sparks of magic flew from her extended digit. “You will watch what you hath wrought. Behold, the destruction of our world, courtesy of your little intervention.”

  My pulse pounded in my temples, a knot of dread tightening in my gut.

  Within the bubble, father’s silhouette crested the water line, heavy droplets of salt-water dripping from the end of his beard. Raising one hand, he signaled for a cease fire. Beneath the waves, such a command from the king could not to be contested. Out of the sea, it meant nothing.

  Someone shouted in the distance.

  A harpoon winged through the air.

  My shoulders wretched in a dry-heave as I watched the weapon sink into my father’s gut. His limp body curled around the harpoon’s momentum. Royal Guardsmen sprang to action. Seizing their king, they whisked him back toward Atlantica as fast as their fins would carry them. Blood gurgled from Poseidon’s paling lips, the water in their wake turned black with gushing gore.


  Folding me into the security of his embrace, Alastor shushed me softly, his fingers trailing through my hair. Breathing in his scent, my hands curled into tight fists against his chest. With my cheek to his shoulder, I stared into the horrors of the telltale bubble, praying to Mother Ocean that my eyes were deceiving me. Every breath scorched my gills. Every blink irritated lids raw from sobbing. Even then … I couldn’t look away.

  The soldiers carried Father to his quarters, depositing him gingerly on to his bed. The harpoon shifted with the motion, causing Poseidon’s eyes to roll back, an anguished groan tearing from his chest.

  Amphrite spun on me, pure hatred radiating from her scowl. “If anything happens to him, this,” she jabbed two fingers from her own chest, to me, and back again, “is over. Our partnership will cease. I’ve tolerated your temperamental nonsense and obvious insolence for too long. No more. Pray to Mother Ocean that Poseidon lives, little mermaid, or you will be dead to me as well.”

  A flick of her wrist and Amphrite disappeared in a jumble of purple tendrils. A blink and she joined the scene within the bubble, shoving aside a soldier who was wiping blood from Poseidon’s face to gain access to her husband. Uncapping a vial she called forth from nothing, she poured a thick, black tonic over his wound which bubbled and foamed within the shredded flesh. Father sucked water through his teeth, his paling face lolling to the side. So distracted was she by the critical situation, that Amphrite’s ever present glamour began to waver. Her hair faded to a simple and subtle auburn. Bold, striking features melded into a far more innocent loveliness. A fresh lump of emotion constricted my throat at the realization that her feelings for my father trumped her own need to hide beneath her ever present masks. The tragic poetry of that prompted a fresh onslaught of tears.

  Amphrite snapped a command at the soldier across the bed. With a nod, he leaned in and pressed Poseidon to the bed with a firm hand to each of his shoulders. A jerk of his chin cued Amphrite he was ready. Her firm grasp closed around the shaft of the harpoon. Delicate lips pressed into a firm, white line. Face reddening with the strain, she extracted the harpoon with one steady tug.

  A pulsating, crimson geyser erupted the instant the spearhead emerged from the lesion. Ears ringing, the world whipped around me in a dizzying whirlwind.

  “Close your eyes, Nessa,” Alastor murmured against my hair. “You don’t need to see him like that.”

  Like that.

  Frail, weak … and dying. The all-powerful king reduced to nothing more than the bloody chum we all are in the end. And who sealed his fate? Who played the part of executioner? Me. A human fired the shot, nonetheless my actions may as well have loaded their weapon. I didn’t blame Amphrite for hating me. In that moment I did, too.

  Amphrite’s hands toiled over Father’s wound, manipulating dense vines of multi-hued magic that stitched his flesh back together from the inside out. In a matter of seconds the bleeding stopped. The lingering question being, had it been in time?

  Forcibly shoving away from the warmth of Alastor’s arms, I crouched beside my vanity and seized the edge of the shell in a white knuckled grasp.

  “Open your eyes, Papa.” My whispered encouragement into the bubble caused ripples to shimmer over its surface. “Please, just … open your eyes.”

  Every fiber of my being willed his lids to draw back and give me a glimpse of the deep emerald pools beneath.

  I was so fixated that Loriana’s outraged cries from the hallway barely registered. “Pardon me, but you are approaching the princess’s quarters! What business have you with her? I demand to know who is in charge here! Sirs!”

  The methodic claps of mer armor resonating down the hall could not divert my attention, nor could the half dozen soldiers who swam into my room in a tight formation. I wasn’t even struck by the usual wave of repulsion at Neleus’s presence as he led the charge wearing his animosity like a badge of honor.

  “You are in the presence of royalty, sir!” Loriana’s lips pinched tight, her indignation visible in the flush rising from her neck to her earlobes.

  Hands clasped behind his back, Neleus stared at the wall in front of him as if glancing in her direction was beneath him. “Silence, servant, or we will silence you.”

  I’m sure that raised Alastor’s hackles. Unfortunately, I was too absorbed to notice.

  “Princess Vanessa of Atlantica, you are under arrest for the crime of treason against the crown,” Neleus trumpeted, his chest puffed with pride and purpose. “Your plotting put our king in danger and you shall be judged accordingly. Comply or we will use force.”

  A flip of his tail positioned Alastor between the soldiers and myself, his arms pulled away from his sides defensively. “This is absurd! She’s just a girl! Blame your Council for listening to a child!”

  In place of civilized dialogue, Neleus drew his sword. Whirling around, he forcibly introduced the butt of his weapon to Alastor’s temple. Loriana shrieked, rushing to her son’s side as he crumpled to the ground in a heap. With nothing else treading in their way, the soldiers closed in. Rough hands closed around my upper arms, yanking me upright. My fingers clawed at the vanity top, seizing the edges and holding tight if only for a moment longer. All the while I willed my father to open his eyes. If it was the last thing I saw, I wanted that glimmer of hope to assure me I wasn’t the scoundrel I condemned myself to be.

  Arching back, Neleus raised his sword a second time. Unforgiving bone cracked against the back of my skull. Thrown forward, black spots danced before my eyes. My chin slammed into the edge of my vanity, prickles of pain exploding through my face. Head rolling to the side, my vision blurred. Eyes suddenly heavy, the siren song of sweet oblivion proved a hypnotic one. Still, what little focus I maintained stayed trained on my father. The last thing I saw—or thought I saw—before the descending black veil fell was the faintest flutter of my father’s lids.

  Chapter Nine

  I never considered myself a pampered princess. After the death of my mother, I wasn’t bathed in extravagances and doted upon. Poseidon provided adequately for me; however, I always felt that was mostly to keep up pretenses among his people. Nonetheless, it took one night locked in the dungeon, deep within the bowels of the castle, for me to appreciate just how posh my upbringing had been. Expansive quarters and plush bedding were exchanged for rocky, hard-packed ocean floor and oppressive stone walls that seemed to close in with every hour that passed. Unable to move freely at this depth, the water had long since grown stagnate. Gills aching from its burning stench, I kept my breathing shallow to spare them further irritation. Light could not reach that tucked away hollow. The icy nip of the watery abyss cut straight to my marrow. Huddled in the corner, I curled my tail to my chest and hugged it with trembling arms. Chills vibrated my frame—my teeth chattering with a potency that made me worried they would shatter. The one and only upside? My ever present entourage of ghouls couldn’t seem to find me down here.

  I wasn’t the lone resident of that particular pit of despair. Somewhere in the blanket of darkness another prisoner suffered from a deep, rattling cough. Another incessantly begged for Poseidon’s mercy ... or death. At a neighboring cell a melodic voice rambled to itself, answering with maniacal giggles. My least favorite of all was the prisoner I dubbed The Screecher. The Screecher would lure us into a false sense of security with his or her silence. Then, without warning, they would open their maw and unleash an ear-piercing caterwaul that would last until the first time their voice cracked. After that they would fall back into a hush, waiting for the urge to strike again. Emotional and physical exhaustion were no match for their vocal stylings. I would drift off, my mind whisking me back to my quarters where I was snuggled beneath cozy layers of handwoven bedding, when that shrill cry would drag me back to the hell imprisoning me.

  After yet another symphony of sorrow, my forehead fell against my tail in hopes of claiming a few minutes of rest before the next performance. Stirring water, and the unmistakable flap of a fast-moving tail, sna
pped my head toward the sound.

  “Nessa?” a familiar voice whispered, inching in the direction of my cell.

  One flip of my tail rocketed me to the door. My outstretched hands curled around the bars, their rough stone surface scrapping my palms.

  “Alastor?” I asked the murky blackness, my voice raspy from the polluted water. “Is that you?”

  A tender hand closed over mine, providing a nurturing warmth in my prison of ice. “I’m here, I’m right here.” I couldn’t make out more than the outline of his frame, yet the rush of water from his exhale tickled over my face with each fevered breath. “I came as soon as I could. I had to wait for the changing of the guard so I could sneak in.”

  Appreciative tears burned behind my eyes. Swallowing hard, I fought to keep my tone steady and neutral. “You can’t be here. If they find you, they’ll throw you into a cell or … beach you.”

  Pulling his hand away far too soon for my liking, I could hear him fumbling with the lock. “No one is going to be in a cell, or anything else for that matter. We’re going to get you out of here and run far from the reaches of Atlantica.”

  Grip tightening around the abrasive cell bars, I squeezed my eyes shut. “And where would we go?” I asked, my melancholy audible. “Where could we possibly swim to free ourselves of Poseidon’s clutches?”

  Silence weighed heavy for a beat. A huff of indifference and the clinks and clanks of him fiddling with the lock resumed. “I don’t know where we’re going,” he rumbled through his teeth, “but we are going.”

  Veiled by darkness my expression softened, my heart swelling to fill my chest. Something had changed between Alastor and me, and I couldn’t pinpoint exactly when. More than once, he had seen me at my worst and still hung around to celebrate the moments I was at my best. For that reason, and a slew of others, I would rot in that dungeon before I would let him put himself in harm’s way for me.