The Little Selkie (retail)

by K. M. Shea

  I’ll go, Dylan decided. Maybe someone will explain about the bandits.

  Chapter 6

  The Wild Flower and the White Rose

  When Dylan arrived at the marina opening, she realized almost immediately that her clothes were wrong. She wore the white shirt with the sleeveless red gown from her little travel satchel over it, but most of the ladies wore dresses that poofed around them like frosted cakes, made with brocade and lined with ribbon, lace, and trim. Their skirts were wide, their hair piled on their heads with gems and pearls threaded through their locks.

  The men were more polished, as well. Most wore black or dark blue silk waistcoats with crisp white shirts, black trousers, and shiny riding boots. Some had a more military look with swallowtail jackets cut to complement their figures. Those men often had fancy trim and hats plumed with feathers.

  A few nearby ladies glanced her way, disapproval souring their expressions.

  It took Dylan all of two seconds to decide she didn’t care before handing her invitation to a servant and bustling in. Bump and Lump stuck to the perimeter, letting Dylan forge her way into the heart of the festivities alone.

  The marina was bigger than Dylan expected. It had a huge deck functioning as a courtyard. Most of the party goers gathered there, but people also lined the long piers that jutted out into the water.

  Candlelit paper lamps were strung up and down every pier, a little like stars set against the black backdrop of the ocean.

  The style of music and dancing was very different from what Dylan witnessed the day before. She was able to pick out a flute and several violins—but drums were completely absent, the music much more sedate. Instead of hopping and kicking, dancers glided in pairs. They had to be careful not to run into other couples due to the ladies’ wide skirts.

  No one clapped, nor were there any children playing in the crowds.

  What odd customs. Dylan prowled the marina deck, hunting for food and drinks.

  She found one small table with wedges of cheese cut for sampling. Dylan took a few but was unsatisfied. There’s more food here…I can smell it! Do the landers keep themselves trim by hiding it in odd locations?

  She tilted her head back to sniff the air when purple flower petals began falling next to her like raindrops.

  Dylan turned to get a better look at the flowers, and only her selkie grace kept her from tripping over a bundle of purple cloth that appeared in front of her feet.

  As she stared, the cloth unfolded, revealing a man clothed in a purple robe as he twisted up, almost as if he was growing out of the cloth. He had big, soulful brown eyes and a mop of curly brown hair—a roguish curl falling in his face. He was perhaps an inch taller than Dylan, the tallest human she’d encountered so far. His purple robe dripped with gold embroidery, and he wore a large, gaudy gold belt that had purple sapphires the length of Dylan’s thumb encrusted in the center.

  Dylan tilted her head at the new curiosity standing before her, and the man smiled. “The rare flower opens up for a rare beauty,” he said in a deep, booming voice. He swept forward in an elaborate bow, and purple flower petals continued to fall.

  Dylan paused for a moment before clapping and smiling, impressed with the stranger’s entrance.

  He looked up, a large smile budding. “Finally,” he said. “Someone who appreciates my style and subtle beauty—ouch!” he said when a straw basket filled with petals whacked him in the head.

  “Stay. And for land’s sake, don’t touch the young lady,” a frosty female voice said.

  Dylan turned around to see a young lady standing at the edge of the marina deck directly behind and above her. The lady’s neat light brown hair was pulled back with a gold clasp. She wore a dress similar to the other ladies’—sleeved and made of patterned silk—but her dress did not poof and was a dark blue instead of the bold colors the other ladies favored.

  She thrust her finger at Dylan and the stranger before hurrying away, following the deck railing to the stairs. She rejoined Dylan and the petal-coated man in moments.

  “If you will pardon our intrusion, miss,” the lady said, curtseying to Dylan.

  “They call me Dooley of the wild flower, and this is my bosom friend, white rose Cagney,” the man said, brushing flower petals from his clothes.

  The woman ground her teeth. “Please allow me to introduce us, miss. I regret to introduce you to Lord Dooley, the only son of Lord Bartley and Lady Grania of Silver Trees, owners of the White Sands Trading Company. I am Cagney, daughter of Gael and Cara from Glenglassera, and I serve as Lord Dooley’s assistant.”

  It is my pleasure to meet you. I’m Dylan, Dylan wrote on her slate.

  “Well met, Dylan,” Cagney said, curtseying a little. Though several inches shorter than Dylan, the young woman certainly seemed confident.

  “When you give our names like that, it’s not any fun, Cagney. Try to make it poetic—say you are a woman of wandering and excitement,” the purple-robed man—Lord Dooley—said.

  Cagney turned to stare at him, her blue eyes blistering.

  “Or don’t,” Lord Dooley said as he fished a flower petal out of his hair. “Whatever you prefer.”

  “I helped you with your idiotic entrance because it was the only way to get you to show your face here. I will not share in your shameless embellishments,” Cagney hissed before offering Dylan a pleasant smile. “You are the ward of Lord Jarlath of Kingsgrace Castle, yes?”

  Please don’t hold it against me, Dylan wrote.

  Lord Dooley chuckled at Dylan’s statement; Cagney blinked—astonished by Dylan’s frankness.

  “It is our delight to meet you, Miss Dylan,” Lord Dooley said, making another sweeping bow. “If it would not bother you greatly, could Cagney and I escort such a beautiful, tender flower such as yourself through this harmonious gathering?”

  Dylan gave Cagney a bemused smile. She found it funny that the young lord should describe her as a tender flower.

  “He’s harmless, I assure you, though he often masquerades as a dunderhead,” Cagney said, getting a wide grin from Dylan.

  “Pearl of my soul! Your words pierce my heart,” he said, clasping a giant hand to his chest.

  You two are very well matched, Dylan observed via her slate.

  “Thank you!” he preened.

  Cagney’s expression seemed pained. “Would you like to see the rest of the refreshments?”

  Dylan brightened. Yes, please, she wrote—mentally thanking Princess Nessa for her brilliant idea. It was so nice to be able to communicate again.

  “This way, Miss Dylan,” Cagney said. Dylan followed the smaller girl, and Lord Dooley swerved after them.

  Tables of food were spread out on the upper deck, just past the musicians. There were salmon cakes, stuffed mushrooms, poached and pickled duck and chicken eggs, hazelnuts, trays of wild berries, prawns, soft breads, honey spreads, and roasted pig.

  Dylan started with a sampling of everything—drawing grins from Lord Dooley.

  “I love a woman with a good appetite,” he crooned.

  Cagney rolled her eyes and was about to say something when trumpets blew and drums beat in a thrumming pattern. Dylan leaned to see. The drummers were lined up by the marina entrance.

  “The royal family—or most of it,” Cagney said over the pounding drums. “King Rory, Queen Etain, Prince Callan, Princess Fianna, and Prince Viggo. Princess Nessa is too young to stay up this late.”

  Now, being able to see Prince Callan with his mother and eldest sister, Dylan could see that he and Princess Fianna had their mother’s sand-colored hair—although Princess Fianna’s was more blonde than Prince Callan’s. Both Queen Etain and Princess Fianna wore dresses in the same poofy style as the rest of the women.

  “Thank you, everyone, for attending the opening of the Royal Marina in the Summer Palace,” King Rory’s voice boomed. “Though we are aware the typhoons have cut off all trading with the northern countries of the continent, we believe it is important to foster tr
ade among our people. We look forward to receiving many ships in this marina as our family spends the summer here,” the king said. “With this party, we declare the Royal Marina open!”

  Down on the beach, someone lit off fireworks, sending bursts of Ringsted saffron and emerald green into the air. Eventually blue, red, and purple fireworks boomed and colored the sky as well, drawing a big smile from Dylan.

  She always loved human fireworks. Whenever possible, she watched—in her sea lion body—from the ocean. She remembered when the queen gave birth to Princess Nessa, and the capital shot off enough fireworks to light up the sky as if it were mid-afternoon.

  “They’ll set off another round in a few minutes, once the king and queen complete a dance. Would you like to go down to a pier for a better viewpoint?” Cagney asked.

  Which pier will have the best view? Dylan wrote.

  “I’ll show you,” Cagney said, leading the way through the crowds and the servants bearing trays of food.

  Sure enough, the young lady was right. Within a few minutes, another round of fireworks shot into the sky. Some were big and sweeping—like the branches of weeping willows. Others were small and curly, shrieking as they zoomed across the sky.

  Dylan clapped in delight, although it seemed like most of the guests didn’t give the flashing lights a second glance. Landers, she thought with a tsk. As dry as dust and half as interesting.

  “You’re such fun, Miss Dylan. I haven’t met anyone so eager to be pleased since I was a child.” Lord Dooley gave her a fond smile as Cagney led them on a tour of the marina.

  It’s no surprise—no one here seems to eat enough to feed the fires of delight, Dylan wrote, getting a laugh out of the young lord.

  “This is the long pier, used for deep sea vessels. Any of the smaller piers take them in too close to land. The ships would risk bottoming out on the rocks,” Cagney said.

  Dylan peeked over the side of the pier, disheartened to see the water was out of her reach—she had been hoping to dip a hand in the ocean.

  “Are you ready to return to the marina?” Dooley asked.

  Dylan clutched her slate to her chest—dismayed with the thought of leaving so quickly. How could you live in a palace by the sea and not want to frolic in it every moment? Her shoulders drooped as she looked past Lord Dooley to the brightly lit marina and the glittering guests.

  “You want to stay a moment longer?” he guessed.

  Dylan brightened and wrote, If you don’t mind.

  “Not at all,” he said with a big smile. “Take all the time you need.”

  She gave the young lord a grateful look before she angled her body to face the ocean. I wonder what the other selkies are doing, she thought as Lord Dooley and Cagney strolled up the pier. Are they searching for me, or are they chasing the sea witch? If Ringsted is in dire straits—as King Rory implied this morning—it seems that the sooner the witch is caught, the better. I really must find my pelt as soon as possible.

  “I see Cal is escorting Lady Aisling again tonight,” Dooley said to Cagney, his hands clasped behind his back.

  Cagney—her back to Dylan—made a soft reply that Dylan couldn’t hear.

  “That’s court speculation,” Lord Dooley said.

  “If it is mere speculation, he should not pay such marked attention to her,” Cagney said.

  “The man is your friend, Cagney. You are supposed to support him,” he said.

  “Prince Callan is your close comrade. I would not presume to call myself his friend,” Cagney said.

  Dylan wondered if she should give some sort of indication that she could hear them. She cleared her throat, scowling when she realized she made no noise.

  “I will do it for you, then. It is true, Cal and I have known each other since we were small, but you must know he considers you a companion. Why, we were the only friends allowed to see him when he was on bed rest after he almost drowned. It’s been two years since then.”

  “That is so,” Cagney acknowledged. “He has been…” the rest of Cagney’s words were lost to the shush of waves.

  “Yes,” he agreed.

  Dylan was starting to feel quite awkward being unwillingly privy to this very personal conversation, so she made a show of shuffling her feet.

  The pair didn’t notice.

  “Cal wasn’t grievously injured from the shipwreck,” Lord Dooley said.

  “No,” Cagney agreed. “But he has…changed.

  The shipwreck, again? Why does everyone place such importance on an event I barely remember—and I was the only one awake for it!

  “He’s driven.”

  “Is that what you call it?” she asked.

  “You would label it as something else?”

  “I don’t believe driven accurately describes the determination he has displayed in riding off to all parts of the country since his wreck. It’s almost as if he is searching for something.”

  “Or someone,” he said. “He’s giving up, I think. Or he wouldn’t let his mother fawn over Lady Aisling like she does.”

  Dylan decided to put herself out of her misery and loudly approached the pair. I’m willing to sacrifice time with the ocean if it means ending this. There’s something dirty about listening in when the other party is unaware of you.

  “All finished, Miss Dylan?” Lord Dooley asked, his purple robe snapping in the breeze.

  Dylan nodded, feeling defeated even though no battle had taken place.

  The trio turned to go back up the deserted pier and almost ran into Prince Callan.

  “I thought I might catch you out here,” Prince Callan said, a smile accenting his words. “Though it is a party on the marina, almost no one walks the piers.”

  “Good evening, Your Highness,” Cagney said, dipping in a curtsey. “I thought Miss Dylan might be interested in the various purposes the piers serve.”

  After several moments, Dylan also remembered to curtsey, slightly lifting the skirts of her plain dress.

  “Good evening Cagney, Dooley, Miss Dylan. Are you enjoying the party?” Prince Callan asked, settling his glittering gaze on Dylan.

  The food is mouth-watering. And the company is wonderful, she wrote.

  “It would be difficult to find more entertaining guides than Dooley and Cagney,” Prince Callan said, clasping Dooley’s hands with great familiarity.

  “Miss Dylan is a fine companion in her own right,” Dooley said to the prince before turning to Dylan. “It was Callan who suggested you may be interested in our company tonight. He mentioned you are a great dancer; I thought I might seek you out for the joy of your company and a companionable dance, if you find the idea likeable.”

  Dylan smiled and nodded, still feeling a little awkward over the personal conversation she had unwillingly listened in on. I would like to try this strange new kind of dance they are performing tonight. But first, I will need more food, she wrote.

  “Excellent,” Cagney said.

  “You’re happy to be rid of him?” Prince Callan guessed.

  “Yes. I wish to speak to Lady Cayleen of Fowl Feather Merchants & Sons & Daughter—and she won’t brave my company as long as Dooley is dressed as he is,” Cagney said.

  “I cannot help it if the lords and ladies of Ringsted fail to appreciate my superior sense of fashion and color,” Dooley declared.

  “I would make my last stand on a different hilltop if I were you, my friend,” Prince Callan said, giving the young lord a friendly slap on the back. He then offered Dylan and Cagney a smile. “If I may also appeal to both of you, Miss Dylan and Cagney, for a dance,” Prince Callan said.

  “Certainly, Your Highness, though I must voice my doubts that you will have the time,” Cagney said.

  Prince Callan’s smile went lopsided. “Perhaps,” he said. He opened his mouth to speak further, when the blonde girl from the day before swept up to them, wrapping her hands around Prince Callan’s arm.

  “Callan, they’re going to play another Loire dance. I insist you be my par
tner,” the girl said—Lady Aisling if Dylan remembered correctly. Lady Aisling’s sunshine blonde hair was piled on the top of her head with a few curls dripping over her shoulder. Pearl pins held her hair in place, and she wore a crimson dress trimmed with black lace. “Oh, pardon me, Lord Dooley, Cagney, miss,” she said. Her eyes lingered on Dylan’s dress and one of her eyebrows popped up, but she said nothing.

  “Lady Aisling, how pleasant you look,” Dooley said, giving her a sweeping bow.

  “Thank you, my lord. Will you excuse me if I pull Callan from you?” she asked.

  “Of course, my lady,” Dooley said as he and Cagney exchanged cryptic looks.

  Prince Callan smiled at the beautiful blonde, then nodded to the trio. “I’ll try to drop by later. Good evening.” He strolled up the pier, his arm extended for Lady Aisling to hold.

  It occurred to Dylan that although the prince smiled most of the time, the gesture never seemed to reach his eyes. That was not to say his eyes were dark or suspicious; it was merely that he seemed to wear his smile the way a lady styled her hair. It was part of his costume—maybe part of his armor. Why does he do all these things if they bring him no joy? Dylan wondered. I imagine it is an imbalance of humors. It’s a wonder humans aren’t all grouches. They cannot play in the ocean and experience true freedom, she thought. Instead, they fret about bandits and typhoons—without explaining what they are worried about, might I add.

  Dylan’s stomach growled. Cagney kept her eyes fastened on the retreating couple, but Dooley turned to grin at Dylan.

  “Ready for round two of refreshments, I take it?” he asked.

  Dylan nodded enthusiastically and wrote, Always!

  “Then please allow me to escort the most beautiful ladies present to the refreshments,” Dooley said, holding out both of his arms.

  Dylan sighed in longsuffering and placed a hand on his arm—adjusting her grasp several times to find the least awkward position. Cagney stared at Dooley’s arm like it was a snake.

  “Jewel of my soul, am I that disgraceful to you?” he asked, batting his eyes at her.