The Little Selkie (retail) (18 page)

Dylan wrinkled her nose at him.
That is because usually I do foolish things in privacy, or as spur of the moment, terrible decisions.

Prince Callan laughed. “You are brash,” he said before nodding at the ocean. “Do you miss your family?”

The way he said it, Dylan thought for a moment that he knew what she was. But the moment passed, and Dylan nodded.

“But you don’t want to leave Jarlath?”

Dylan shook her head.

Prince Callan nodded and smiled at her.

Why do you do that?

“Do what?”

Hide behind a mask of pleasantry
, Dylan wrote.

Prince Callan stared at her words for a few extra heartbeats. “What do you mean?” he asked.

It’s camouflage—not an honest expression. You put it on. Like boots.

A shadow of a real smile passed over Prince Callan’s lips, but he shifted his lantern so he could better look out over the ocean. “I’m not a good prince. Not really.”

Dylan waited for him to further elaborate. It took a minute of silence before he continued.

“I care for my subjects but in a broad perspective. I care about bandits attacking our land-trade routes and the typhoons halting overseas trade. Or in a good year, I care about crops and fishing, and our imports and exports. I want the citizens of Ringsted to be happy and prosperous.”

But?
Dylan wrote, hearing it in his voice.

“But I don’t care to make personal connections,” Callan said, straightening up as if admitting so had taken a load of his back. “I don’t particularly want to be involved in my subjects’ lives, whether they are noble or commoner. It’s not that I see myself as being above them, or that I don’t think them worthy of notice, it’s just…not something I enjoy.

“I don’t even have the excuse of being scholarly. Oh, I like looking over new contracts and reviewing figures enough, but I don’t love books the way my father does. I have a few people that I care for and love particularly. Rather than learning the intimate details of a noble’s life, I would rather spend my time looking over the welfare of many. So I walk around smiling, hoping it will cover up the fact that I’m as unfriendly as a person can be,” Callan said.

Dylan mulled over Callan’s words, weighing them, interpreting them.

“I’m afraid for Ringsted. To have a king that doesn’t
like
people? I am not a good person,” Callan said, a wry smile twisting his lips.

Dylan tapped her slate, wondering what she could say to the prince.
As long as you don’t resent your role as future King, and you do right by your country, I think you could be the most crotchety ruler Ringsted has ever seen, and you could still be a good king.

Callan looked away to stifle a chuckle, and Dylan had to smack his shoulder with her slate to get his attention.

Hear me. Cagney is not easily able to make female friendships. Does that make her a bad person?

“Of course not.”

And Lord Dooley. He is inept at wooing Cagney. Does that mean he doesn’t really love her?

“No.”

We all have strengths and weaknesses. That’s what makes us interesting. If each person was the same, there would be no innovation. So you don’t like people. What are the strengths you can play up instead?

Callan stared at Dylan.

Dylan was about to list a few of Callan’s strengths for him—his loyalty, intelligence, and his incredible internal strength—when Callan placed a hand on her slate.

“What makes you so sure?”

Puzzled, she scratched her head.

“Why do you know it would be bad if we were all alike? It has become an epidemic for females your age to
try
to look and act exactly alike.”

Dylan pursed her lips as she considered his question. She knew, of course, because she was a sea lion shifter in a family of seal selkies. She was so different from her family because she was an entirely different
animal
. But her family loved her anyway, even though she would have been considered lesser, and they rejoiced with her in some of her differences—like her great speed and superior flexibility.

I have always been different from my sisters, from my entire family
, Dylan wrote.
But my parents taught me it is fun to be different. They never made me feel lesser because of what I could or could not do. They loved me because I am me—differences and similarities.

When Dylan looked up, Callan was staring at her. He slowly raised his hand and combed it through her hair, his facial expression soft and gentle. “You are incredibly beautiful.”

The comment threw her off a little, not because of the words—words were cheap, after all—but because of the way Callan looked when he said it. He wasn’t smiling, and there was a brilliant, unreadable intensity in his hazel eyes, making the flecks of green and gold glow in the flickering lantern night.

No one had ever looked at Dylan like that before. No one.

Callan’s expression took on pain. “Promise me I can trust you, Dylan,” he said, grazing her cheekbone with the tip of his thumb.

She tilted her head.
I don’t understand?

“Promise me that I can trust you not to betray my trust and my affection for you,” Callan asked.

Dylan still didn’t understand what he meant. Why would he not trust her? She had never done anything to wrong him. In fact, she had saved him from drowning—and his sister from becoming a kelpie’s lunch! But something was upsetting the prince, so Dylan wrote,
You can always trust me, Your Highness.

Callan nodded and, with great reluctance, removed his hand from Dylan’s cheek. She could practically feel the prince putting away his gentleness and tucking it behind a display of good humor.

“In four days, many of the nobles will be going to the wedding of Lord Padriac of Chronos’ Shadow. His holding is roughly an hour or two ride from the Summer Palace. He has a minor holding, but it’s a key backup position to the Summer Palace and at the base of the Chronos Mountains, so he is important to acknowledge. I was wondering if you would do me the honor of being my companion for the day. By companion, I mean, I would be your escort. You would spend the day with me.”

Will I be fed?

Callan grinned, his eyes twinkling with good humor. “Yes, there will be more food than even you can eat.”

Who else is going?
If Jarlath was attending, she should stay behind to see if she could find where his guards were stationed and search their rooms.

“Viggo, Fianna, Dooley, Cagney, and about two dozen others. Many are staying behind—my mother and father included, as is your guardian. Lord Jarlath did not receive an invitation, I believe.”

For a moment Dylan warred with herself. She needed to make headway with finding her pelt. The baby otter was one of
many
casualties. The longer she frittered her time away, the more lives she wasted. But she liked the prince and enjoyed his company, and this would in all likelihood be the only time Dylan would be free in Ringsted without Jarlath leering over her shoulder—for he would never refuse the prince. Could she slip away and learn more about the trade routes and the bandits?

Chronos’ Shadow…I recall that holding on Jarlath’s map. If he thought it was important enough to mark, he might have some men nearby.

Her mind made up, Dylan nodded and wrote,
I would love to go.

“Excellent. I look forward to it,” Callan said with a warm smile.

She nodded and sneezed.

“I believe that is our cue to return indoors. It isn’t common to get sick in the summer, I’m aware, but sea bathing in the middle of the night isn’t a wise plan to test the theory,” Callan said. He stood up and grabbed his lantern before offering his hand.

She took it and let the prince lead her back to the palace.

Chapter 11

Bandits

“Jarlath doesn’t trade. His money is made off his land,” Cagney said, as she and Dylan bounced along in the comfy royal carriage. “Kingsgrace is a smaller territory than it used to be—he has sold off parts to neighboring holdings, I think. He is ill mannered and not very popular in courts, so he is passed over for exclusive events. Are you sure you want me to go on?”

She nodded. Both Cagney and Dylan wore one of their new fine, beautiful dresses. Dylan was in a dress of bright green that made her unusual eyes a more forest color, and Cagney’s gown was light blue with lace trim. (Cagney, Dylan noticed, was also wearing the pearl earrings Lord Dooley had bought her.)

“To be blunt, the royal family finds him almost offensive. He is known to be a quarrelsome neighbor, but at least he does not terribly mistreat his servants,” Cagney said.

He certainly mistreats his “acquisitions,”
Dylan thought.

“He is a great drinker and pursues women far above him. Don’t you know all of this already? You
are
his ward.”

Dylan ignored her comment.
I already know he must be making money off the banditry, but how in the blazes is he profiting from these storms? He can’t be selling the stolen goods in Ringsted—he would have been caught by now.  His lands cannot be funding him, or he wouldn’t sell them off. So where is his income coming from? Is the witch paying him?

“I am glad you decided to come today,” Cagney said after a few moments of silence.

Me, too
, she wrote with a smile.

“Dylan…did it ever occur to you that Prince Callan might be
interested
in you?” Cagney asked.

Dylan shrugged.
No—although I consider him a good friend.

“Why do you believe he doesn’t harbor romantic feelings for you?”

He is engaged to Lady Aisling.

“But he isn’t. Quite. Yet,” Cagney said.

Dylan considered Cagney’s words. She liked Prince Callan—and Cagney and Lord Dooley as well. But she couldn’t give up the ocean for them. Besides, she had to find her pelt, and the sea witch had to be stopped.

For the first time, though, Dylan realized that if—no, when—she succeeded, she’d leave her new friends behind forever. She would never get a chance to witness another one of Dooley’s flashy entrances, or Cagney’s swift but fierce corrections. And Callan’s rare but
true
smiles would be lost to her.
I’m going to miss them…

A lady’s shriek jarred her from her thoughts.

The carriage rolled to a stop, but outside, people shouted and screamed. Dylan peeled back a curtain, and an arrow struck the carriage door. Cagney flatted herself on the floor of the carriage, but Dylan would not simply hide. She popped the door open with a scowl and pushed herself out.

Bandits surrounded the festive procession. There were at least twenty-five of them—not quite outnumbering the royal party of thirty, although at least a dozen of the procession members were women who uselessly screamed or swooned. And all of the bandits were big and burly. Some had crossbows—aimed at the more youthful men of the party, like Callan, Viggo, and Dooley, who were all riding.

Bump and Lump, who rode surefooted mules, nudged their mounts forward closer to Dylan—they probably feared she would fling herself at the bandits as she had the kelpie.

“Well, lookie here—we done bagged us a royal,” a bandit laughed, riding his ill-fed mount up to Prince Callan. Princess Fianna huddled behind him on a beautifully tacked up mare, glittering like a seashell in the sunlight—an unfortunate beacon.

“Everyone out of the carriages. Remove your jewels and valuables, and hand them to our nearest man,” another bandit said as some of his dirty men walked forward with loaded crossbows and knocked on the other carriages.

Cagney crawled out of the carriage, joining Dylan behind Lump’s mule.

“How did they know to find us here?” Cagney murmured as she removed her pearl earrings. “This isn’t a trading route, and it’s not used often enough to warrant bandits camping it.”

Good question.
Dylan tried peering over the round buttocks of Lump’s mule, but the guard backed the animal up, blocking her sight.
It has to be Jarlath’s maps. Was someone outside Ringsted directing him?

Cagney gave her jewelry to their carriage driver to walk over to a bandit.
Someone should do something
, Dylan wrote.

“Like what? It’s too risky. People die during bandit attacks like this. It is a miracle they haven’t killed anyone yet,” Cagney hissed.

Dylan realized the bandits were also shaking down the few servants who had come with the procession. Her shoulders heaved with anger. The carriage drivers, footmen, and maids were being forced to empty their pockets.

They’re robbing the poor, too
, Dylan wrote.

“Of course. They’re
bandits
. That’s what they do,” Cagney whispered.

“You three, line up,” said the lead bandit, indicating to Prince Callan, Prince Viggo, and Princess Fianna.

“We’re to kill the princes and take the princess hostage, right?” one bandit asked another. Dylan swiveled and homed in on him.

“Yeh. There’s s’posed to be a rich heir here, too—Lord Dooley. We’re to take ’im hostage, too.”

How could they know this? Unless…Jarlath was more than just a middle man? That sea-dog! He dared to order an ambush on the royal family. He has no honor at all!
Dylan curled her fingers into fists, longing to punch the buffoon-lord in the neck.

“What about the rest of the party?”

The bandit grinned, showing off yellowed teeth. “Whatever we want—though there’s got to be a few survivors to notify the king ’n queen.”

If only I could
sing, Dylan screamed internally.
These wastes of humanity and stinking cesspools of—
Dylan broke off when she recognized the bandit standing with the one giving orders.

It was one of the men at Jarlath’s camp. She had thrown him into the tent using water when she woke up without her pelt.

Proof! I have proof of Jarlath’s activities staring at me right now! Someone should do something or…not.
Dylan looked at Bump and Lump. Both were squinting at their fellow bandits, their posture stiff and watchful. When Dylan swiveled—searching the area—she spotted a handful of other bandits she recognized.

No. I am finished with this silly hold up. I am finished with waiting. I am finished with being powerless. Enough!

Cagney was starting to shake, but Dylan tugged hard on her arm.
Can you sing?
she wrote.

“Y-yes,” Cagney said, her voice barely above a whisper.

When I signal like this, stand behind me and sing. Just hold
one
note,
Dylan wrote,
but make it strong.
She turned to wiggle her hand behind her back in an example of the gesture.

“What are you going to do?” Cagney asked.

Stop this. Come
, Dylan wrote before she shoved the slate at her friend. She edged out from behind Lump’s mule. Her guards seemed to realize she was planning something stupid, because both Bump and Lump dismounted and moved to block her.

Their movements brought the bandits’ attention to them. Dylan dodged the burly men and scurried away. She met the gaze of the bandit she knew and strode straight toward him, giving him the most intense, wild look she could muster. Her eyes watered, but she held his gaze.

The bandit’s shoulders started moving up and down twice and fast as his breathing increased. He turned and whispered into the lead bandit’s ear. She adjusted her path and swooped towards Callan and Fianna when Lump almost managed to grab her. Cagney tripped and almost fell, but Bump corrected her as they stampeded after Dylan, having gained the attention of everyone present with their actions.

“So? She can’t do nuthin’. She’s mute,” the leader said.

In spite of his confident words, a few other bandits nervously edged towards the forest, hefting bags of loot.

“Hey, you there! Stop!” a bandit with a bow barked.

Dylan gave him a withering glare and ducked Lump’s meaty hand when he reached for her again.

“Hey!” the bandit tried again, but she ignored him and reached the royal siblings. She shifted her gaze back to the petrified bandit, who gaped at her with horror. Dylan thrust her hand toward the nearby forest, warning them to get away while they still could.

They understood.

“Dylan, what are you d-doing?” Cagney whispered, her voice cracking with fear as she clutched Dylan’s slate to her chest.

Bump placed a hand on Dylan’s shoulder to draw her backwards, behind him, but she broke free and shook her head.
No, I have to end this.

The smaller guard narrowed his eyes. He snapped his head in a nod and looked at Lump, shrugging his shoulders.

Lump sighed and said, “Sun-crazed sea lass,” before he moved with Bump to stand next to Dylan. He cracked his knuckles, resembling a small giant as his eyes swept the bandits.

Is he threatening them?

Dylan didn’t have time to ponder the matter. A shout shattered her thoughts.

A nobleman bludgeoned a bandit upside the head with a sheathed sword.

“Don’t move! We’ll kill you all,” the lead bandit roared.

Dylan gave the bandit a toothy, predator-like smile she had frequently seen on sharks.

She heard a scrape. Bump slid three daggers out of scabbards and held them elegantly between his fingers. Cagney hovered behind him, her face white with fright.

And now Bump threatens them as well? Whose side are they on—surely not mine? Unless…had giving them food made them imprint upon me like newly hatched ducklings?

Other men from the party moved towards the bandits.
That’s it! If we move together they’ll back down. Drive them away!
Dylan pointed to the forest again.

“You don’t scare us none.” The leader lifted his sword so it was a hand’s length from Dylan’s face. “You’re mute now.”

Dylan opened her mouth and wriggled her fingers. Cagney, directly behind her, sang and held a note—her voice wobbly with fright.

While it was obvious to Dylan the song wasn’t coming from her, it was enough to terrify the assistant bandit, who grabbed his leader and hauled him into the forest. “We’ve got enough loot.
Run
.”

The bandits shouted—releasing a couple of arrows as they fled. They nicked two men, but all others missed their targets.

“After them!” Prince Viggo shouted, lurching to his feet.

“No.” Prince Callan grabbed his brother by the arm. “We have to return home. If they have reinforcements nearby, we will be skewered. Fianna, into the carriage with Dylan and Cagney.  Put the injured in one carriage, ladies in the others. Cast off whatever you can. We travel light and
fast
,” Prince Callan said.

He swiveled and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Are you alright?” Dylan nodded in shock.

Callan wrapped his arms around her in a quick but intense embrace before he briskly moved away. He pointed at a hysterical woman, shrieking incessantly. “Gag her, if you must, and load her into the carriage. We move. Now!”

“Miss Dylan,” Lump said, looming over her like a mountain side. Next to him, Bump looked like a grim soldier.

Dylan offered them a smile.

Bump sourly pointed in the direction of the royal carriage.

“Come on, Dylan,” Cagney said, already leading Princess Fianna. Dylan reluctantly followed her, climbing in behind the princess.

She thought another woman or two might be stuffed inside with them, but apparently there was enough room in the other carriages, for no one joined them.

Princess Fianna was as white as milkfish, and her eyes were as big as moons.

“It’s alright, princess; you’re safe,” Cagney murmured, returning Dylan’s slate to her.

Dylan ignored the stiff girl and wrote out to Cagney,
King Rory mentioned banditry is a problem?

“Organized banditry, yes,” Cagney said, distracted with the princess. “We have always had problems with the occasional gang of highway men, but ever since trading stopped, it has grown to be a huge problem. They’re crawling over the countryside, and they seem to know all our trade routes. They’ve also attacked parties—like ours today—on less-traveled roads. No one knows how they do it.”

Dylan did. It had to be Jarlath.
But how does he communicate with them? Those maps I saw only had trade routes marked out. There were no orders. I didn’t think a few maps would be so important. If I were to find them again and give them to Prince Callan, could he arrest Jarlath? Did I make a mistake by not stealing them?

Dylan thought Cagney might have a question or two of her own—like why the bandits had recognized her and run away after Dylan pretended to
sing
. But if the questions occurred to Cagney, she held her peace, and spent the majority of the ride back in silence or attempting to sooth the upset princess.