The Selkie Sorceress (Seal Island Trilogy, Book 3) (11 page)

“Kelsey!” Ashling shouted, but Owen knocked it away and it flew over the edge of the cliff.

“Oh, no,” Kelsey groaned. They hurried over to the stone wall and spotted the ball in the water, the waves already pulling it out to sea. “Come on,” she said, slipping through a gap in the wall and starting down the path. “My dad will kill me if we lose another ball.”

Ashling trotted after her and Owen hung his head.

“Nice one, Fishboy,” Ronan muttered, pushing past him and following the girls down the trail. “Maybe you could kick the ball in the right direction if your toes weren’t webbed.”

“Shut up, Ronan,” Kelsey shouted over her shoulder. “I heard that.”

Ronan glared at her. “It’s not my fault I’m stuck with a teammate who’d rather read fairy tale books for girls than learn to play football.”

“Hey,” Kelsey snapped, turning. “Knock it off.”

Ashling screamed, pointing at the beach. “What is
that
?”

Owen’s gaze fell to the shoreline and his eyes went wide. Dozens of fish—tails twitching, silver scales glinting in the sunlight—flopped in the sand, gasping for air. Owen rushed down the path, pushing past the others. His feet slipped in the sand and he kicked off his shoes, racing toward the fish.

“Don’t touch them!” Ashling yelled.

Owen scooped as many as he could into his arms and raced to the water. “We have to save them!”

“Ewww,” Ashling whined, backing away and scampering back up the path. “I’m getting my mum.”

Kelsey ran to help Owen while Ronan waded into the water and grabbed the ball. Hooking it under his arm, he sneered at Owen as he sauntered back to the cliff path. “Have fun, Fishboy.”

Owen ignored him, sprinting back to the fish. Kelsey grabbed two and three at a time, tossing them into the water as fast as she could. When they’d cleared the beach, Owen sank to the wet sand at the edge of the surf. He held his breath as the last few fish darted away.

Kelsey sat down beside him. They both reeked of fish and her palms were nicked from the fins. She dipped them in the water, frowning as she washed off the slime. “The ocean’s hot.”

“Do you think it’s too hot for the fish?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember it ever being this hot before, even in the summer.”

Owen picked up a black rock with little holes in it. Through the eerie yellow haze, he could see the passenger ferry motoring slowly toward the harbor. He wondered if Sam was on it again, bringing back another clue. “Did you know they found our grandmother’s pelt?”

Kelsey nodded. “I heard my mum and dad talking about it last night, after they thought I’d gone to bed.”

“Me too.” Owen lowered the rock, scratching grooves into the wet sand.

Kelsey sat back, drying her hands on her shirt. “Do you think she’s still alive?”

“I don’t know.” The ocean lapped up, leaving a spray of foam at their feet. Sandpipers chased the receding wave, pecking at air bubbles for insects. “Kelsey?”

Kelsey scooped up a handful of sea foam, holding it up to her mouth and blowing it back out into the waves. “Yes?”

Owen looked down at his bare feet, at the thin translucent webbing between his toes. “Do you think fairy tales are only for girls?”

“Of course, not,” Kelsey snapped. “Ronan’s a jerk.” She stood, glaring up at the village where Ronan was kicking the ball against the wall. “And a coward!”

SLICES OF SUNLIGHT
pierced the surface of the ocean, illuminating the kingdom of green. Nuala swam south, leaving the glittering spires and gates far behind. Her fins propelled her deeper, into the darkness. Sharp jagged rocks rose up from the sea floor. Fish—the few who dared venture into this part of the sea—floated belly-up, their beady lifeless eyes warning her to turn back.

She knew the risks of entering the sea witch’s lair without permission. But she could not let Moira win. Not when she—Nuala—was responsible for putting the selkies in this awful position. The rush of heat seared her seal-skin, but she pushed through the stunted black polyps.

She’d been young and foolish when she’d turned her back on her fate. She’d been born a white selkie—destined to be queen. But instead of honoring tradition, and bringing a land-man into the sea to rule beside her, she’d chosen a selkie lover.

When her lover had died only a few years later, she’d gone to the sea witch for help and she’d made a foolish trade that had cost her everything. She’d thought the sea witch would understand her, would
sympathize
with her. For there was a time, long ago, when Moira had also been willing to turn her back on her kingdom for love.

Nuala skirted the splintered ruins of a ship. Algae dripped from the fractured wood and clung to the bones scattered over the black rocks. Eels slithered through the dark waters, snapping at her with sharp angry teeth. Nuala spun away from them, but the ocean grew thick, making it harder to swim. The heat was oppressive, almost too much to bear. But she kept going, swimming toward the black mountain rising up in the distance.

Nuala and Moira had both lost the ones they loved. But while Nuala’s love had been returned, Moira’s had not. And the bitterness of that rejection had eaten away at Moira until there was nothing left but darkness inside her.

There were few who knew the truth. But Moira had confided in her in a moment of weakness, when she had been desperate for a friend. And she had confided something else—something she should never have told anyone.

Moira had kept an object that had belonged to her lover—something she’d never been able to part with. She’d hid it in her lair, and it had been safe there. Until now.

No one would dare venture into these waters, except the desperate souls willing to make a trade. Entering the sea witch’s lair for any other reason was punishable by death.

But Nuala had not come here to make a trade. And she was not afraid of death. Pockets of boiling lava bubbled up from the rocks and she swam faster, dodging the spitting fire pits. Everything and everyone in her life had been taken from her. Who would miss her when she was gone?

It was up to her to right this terrible wrong. To make sure Moira never claimed the throne. Moira may have stolen her powers and her white pelt, but she had not taken what was inside her. She had survived for ten years outside the protected waters. She had raised Owen alone, with no help from anyone. And she would not let any more harm come to him—even if she was no longer his mother.

She averted her eyes from the garden of ghostly black roses that undulated in the currents outside the gaping mouth of the sea witch’s cave. She swam inside, ignoring the scream of the eels behind her. A black cauldron bubbled and a pool of lava heated it from below. The gleaming ebony walls were covered in iron shelves filled with small glass vials. The vials held anemones, salmon scales, starfish tips, and squid ink—ingredients for her spells.

The cave stretched into the mountain, the dark hallways lit by deep sea glow fish—frozen in glass jars that hung like sconces. She chose the path to the right, her heart beating wildly as every swish of her back fins led her deeper into the caves. There was no way out if Moira returned before she claimed her prize.

A warm light radiated from the end of the hall and she followed it to a chamber of onyx and gold. Jewels from the shipwrecks—diamonds, rubies, sapphires and gold—sparkled from chests and long pearl necklaces dripped from the open drawers of Moira’s vanity. A bed carved from volcanic rock and encrusted with thick chunks of gleaming amber took up most of the room. Rich velvet tapestries of white and gold lined the walls. On the floor, a labyrinth of lava twisted around the small glass chest where a crown of blackthorn lay on a pillow of blood-red satin.

The white petals were still in bloom. Even after all this time. Nuala darted through the near-boiling water, whipping her back flippers around in a powerful
whoosh
to shatter the chest. It broke, pieces of glass nicking her skin as she lifted the precious crown carefully into her mouth and carried it from the room.

There were few who knew the secrets blackthorn held in its branches. This crown would give them the truth; the events of the past were written into its thorns. She swam, fast, through the cave, coming back out into the room with the cauldron. She was almost to the mouth of the cave, when she caught her reflection in the broken shards of a ship’s mirror.

Pale eyes stared back at her, but her pelt was black now—like the rest of the selkies. She knew Moira had stolen her white pelt, but she had not seen it with her own eyes until now. She edged closer, but a flash of movement behind her had her whirling.

Moira glided elegantly out of the other hallway. “How nice of you to drop by for a visit, my dear.”

Nuala cried out in pain, dropping the crown, when a scorching blast of heat seared her skin.

MOIRA CAUGHT THE
crown as it fell, biting down lightly on the still-blooming branches. Nuala’s limp form lay on the floor of the cave and Moira left her there, carrying the crown back to her bedroom. She laid it lovingly on its bed of red satin, and lifted the precious object to her vanity. She used her flippers to corral the broken glass into a pool of lava, where the shards melted and dipped into the rivers of fire.

She swam back out to the mouth of the cave where her eels waited, their golden eyes glimmering in the darkness. She nodded to Nuala and they slithered toward her, wrapping their long bodies around her like ropes. They bore her from the cave, lifting her onto a dark ledge high on the ridge of the volcano.

She wouldn’t kill her. Not yet. She wanted her to suffer—a long, slow, painful death. The scream of the eels in the distance signaled they had left her on the ledge. Where she would stay until the volcano erupted.

Moira turned to the mirror as the broken pieces reformed, rippling in the darkness. The mirror pooled, dripping liquid silver down the ebony walls. An image reflected—her sister entwined in the arms of the man who should have been hers. She hurled a rock at the picture, shrieking with rage.

T
ara’s face broke into a smile when she spotted Sam walking up the road from the harbor. She lifted her arm in a friendly wave. “I didn’t expect to see you back on the island so soon.”

Sam climbed the hill, closing the distance between them. “I have some news for Liam.”