Elodie of the Sea Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Moss Forest Orchid

  Newsletter

  About the Author

  Elodie of the Sea

  The Eldentimber Series, Book 5

  Copyright © 2018 by Shari L. Tapscott

  All rights reserved.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Editing by Z.A. Sunday

  Cover Design by Shari L. Tapscott

  For everyone who requested Bran’s story:

  This is for you.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Elodie

  You will never meet a man more narcissistic than a merman.

  I’ve traveled all over the world, exploring land and sea, arctic regions and tropics, and not once have I met a human who rivals the male of my race in terms of self-absorption.

  The man in front of me just might be the worst of them all. The king’s right-hand knight, His Majesty’s elite, is handsome, as our kind is prone to be. He’s tall and tanned, with strong, toned shoulders—though I very much doubt he gained that muscle from daily swims.

  No, he seems to be more the content feline type—fed daily, well-groomed, and too lazy to do more than stretch in the sun.

  “Elowyn,” Lyden says, feigning patience. “It’s an honor to be chosen.”

  I walk past him, making my way through the village, toward the sea. Though I know little about this man, I am quite confident he won’t follow me into the water. The men usually don’t. Often can’t.

  But, alas, we’re still on land, so the knight trails after me, which I’m sure he feels is beneath him.

  “Elodie,” I correct, glancing back.

  His dark eyebrows draw together as if he’s confused—and irritated about it. “I’m sorry?”

  “My name.” I try to keep the condescending tone from my voice, but it’s no easy task. “Not Elowyn—Elodie.”

  Lyden presses his lips into a tight line, holding back whatever comment is dancing on his tongue.

  “His Royal Majesty wants to marry me, doesn’t he?” I ask. A small—but very wicked—part of me enjoys the annoyance on the man’s face. “It would be ideal if you could at least try to remember my name.”

  “Elodie,” he says, his tone flat.

  Satisfied, I give him a mocking congratulatory nod and continue toward the shore.

  Palm fronds sway in the gentle, balmy breeze, and bright pink flowers stretch their faces toward the sun. Their perfume scents the air, and the sweet fragrance mingles with the smell of the sea.

  It’s winter in most parts of the world, but it’s always summer here on tiny, enchanted Isle Milayle—always warm, always pleasant. And all of us cheerful merfolk live our lives in complete peace and harmony.

  Unless you’re the lucky mermaid the king has chosen for his bride. And then you don’t live in peace or harmony because your days are numbered.

  And wouldn’t you know it—I’ve been chosen as the next queen.

  The village’s cobblestone road ends at a decorative half wall that overlooks the sea. Beyond, merpeople lie, stretched out on the golden sand, soaking up the sun. On land, we wear our human forms—our natural forms. It’s not until we’re in the water our magic will allow us to don our tails and pull precious oxygen from the sea. We’re shapeshifters, cousins of magical gimlies, but humans have never grasped that concept. They believe we’re fishfolk, always in water, mythical and rare. Fulfillers of wishes, bringers of wealth and happiness.

  What they don’t realize is we walk amongst them often enough.

  We’re not a large community—less than a hundred of us permanently live on the island right now. At any given time, several hundred merpeople are in the world, exploring, mingling with humans. Many leave and never come back. Some make a name for themselves on land. Often, our men fall in love and start a family, and their previous life becomes nothing but a memory.

  Perhaps that’s why there’s so few of us left in the world.

  With the harried knight trailing behind me, I step into the water, smiling as it embraces me with its warm, silken waves. As I expect, Lyden holds back, standing on the dry beach.

  I flash him a smile over my shoulder. “Tell Croissin I’ll think about his offer.”

  The knight crosses his arms. “It wasn’t an offer—it was a decree.”

  Hoping to appear unconcerned though I am anything but, I shrug. “Tell him I’ll think about his decree then.”

  And with that, I dive into the aquamarine waters. Immediately, I drop the illusion of garments and let my magic twine about my legs until my tail forms. The color of my scales changes with my whims, but this time, they’re black—the color of my future.

  Each of our kind is born with the ability to shift, but where the female of our race’s power grows stronger with each passing year, the men’s wanes until they are no different from humans. By their twentieth year, their magic is usually all but gone. If they wish to return to the sea, they must link themselves to a mermaid and slowly siphon her magic. And while a merman can live without his magic, a mermaid cannot. After five to ten years—depending on how strong she is—she’ll finally wither and die, and the man will be forced to find another woman to link to.

  For obvious reasons, this horrifying act is forbidden. Most of our young men choose to leave Isle Milayle for a time, explore until they find the place they wish to call home. The majority simply return here. But no matter where they end up, they’ll live out most of their lives apart from the water.

  A great many become sailors—that love for the sea never entirely dies.

  The king, however, is the only exception. “For the good of our people,” he may steal the magic from his queen. We wouldn’t want a weak monarch, after all. Who would carry the enchantments that keep Isle Milayle hidden?

  Our current ruler has been married twice in nine years.

  And it looks like I’m to be lucky number three.

  I knew I shouldn’t have returned to the island. The unmarried mermaids who leave before they’re of marrying age usually don’t—apparently, most are wiser than I am. But our monarchs onl
y celebrated their fourth anniversary a few months ago. Who would have thought the current queen would fade so quickly?

  And I wanted to come home for a time, visit my family, meet my sister’s new son. We have a festival this time of year as well. A labyrinth is built right into the sea, and our men brave the obstacles, searching for a prize. There’s also a scavenger hunt for the children. I haven’t been home for it in years, and I have found myself growing nostalgic lately.

  The last few years have been lonely ones.

  My mother and father both come from a long line of merpeople who chose to marry young and stay on the island. My sister and brother both followed their lead. I was the only one struck by the wanderlust that is so common in our kind. I needed to see what was out there, venture past the reef’s protective border, past the king’s enchantments—past the king’s reach altogether.

  Of course, I too was expected to marry when I turned sixteen. My parents had a nice merman all picked out, someone who shared their contentment with Isle Milayle.

  Nole—that’s his name.

  He married my cousin after I left the island, and from what I can tell, the couple’s quite content. Dull as a pair of sea cows, but content nevertheless.

  A silvery school of fish darts in front of me, weaving through the water like a flock of Murian starlings. I gaze at them, content to float and watch the underwater world pass by around me. The sun shines from above, casting white, changing reflections on the sand, pebbles, and sea flora below.

  The water’s not deep here, and I let myself sink into a soft, sandy patch and stretch on the ocean floor. The sand, soft underwater, gives way, cradling me. My pale blond hair floats up around my face, dancing in the gentle movement of the sea, looking green in the ocean light.

  Not far away, only a fifteen-minute swim, the circular reef that surrounds Isle Milayle lies ahead. It’s a plethora of bright colors, a painting under the sea, and it practically glows in the jewel waters. The open ocean beyond the reef’s solitary entrance beckons me.

  I could swim away, never look back. I could do it now.

  But no. I can’t just leave without saying goodbye to my family. I can’t leave at all. As much as it makes my chest ache just thinking about it, I don’t have a choice. How could I run away knowing my absence would leave my family vulnerable? They live in peace because of the king’s enchantments. I know that; I understand it. In fact, part of me accepts it.

  But there must be some other way.

  And really, do we truly need to hide anymore? Humans used to hunt us, bind us, and steal our magic just as mermen can, but that was hundreds of years ago. People have changed, become more civilized. Yet, it only takes one with dark intentions, just one. I think of my sister, of my young nieces with their bright smiles and contagious laughter.

  No, we need the protection.

  If only our women could band together, hold the concealment charms ourselves…but our magic isn’t defensive in our hands. It’s just there, ready should we need to shift or heal or create something lovely. It’s rather useless, in all honesty.

  But there’s raw power at the core of it. I can feel it inside my chest, waiting for more. I just don’t know how to access it.

  I lie here at the bottom of the ocean for hours, watching the watery world go about its business. A family of dolphins passes, along with countless fish. They’re all bright and showy, beautiful to behold, just like Isle Milayle.

  There’s nothing less than lovely, less than perfect, in our small section of the world.

  There are a few young mermaids near the shore. They play in the water with the young men who have not yet lost their magic, but they leave me be. There’s no way to communicate underwater. I think that’s one of the things I like about it the most.

  Eventually, when the last of the sun’s rays turn the water golden, I swim back to the shore. Without a thought, my tail shifts back to legs, and I drape myself in a gossamer gown. The fabric’s dry as I step out of the water, as it always is.

  The beach torches have been lit, but there’s no one lingering on the sand. No one, that is, except a surly knight.

  “It’s your duty,” Lyden says, picking up the conversation as if I hadn’t left him here waiting for hours.

  “I know.” Resigned to my fate though both my head and heart rail against it, I ring out my still-wet hair and motion him toward the palace. “Take me to the king.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Elodie

  The palace that sits dead in the center of Isle Milayle is very much like any other. It’s an imposing structure, one with turrets, spires, and an abundance of balconies. But with its delicate architecture that mimics waves and coral, it’s more graceful than the palaces and castles of the mainland.

  More torches line the street leading into the palace courtyard. There are no carriages here, no coaches or wagons, so our home is built to be navigated by foot. Flowers the color of flames bloom this time of year from thigh-high bushes that line the walkways, and their feather-soft petals brush my legs as I pass. During the day, parrots call from the trees, but they are tucked in for the night and silent.

  Unlike most of the kings of Elden, Croissin only has five knights—my dear escort included. They’re indifferent and brawny, and they’d make any human woman swoon. Two flank the front entry. Without a word, they open the doors when they see me coming, not bothering to acknowledge my existence in any way.

  “This way,” Lyden says as soon as we step into the grand entry—as if I don’t already know.

  I look around, taking it in. It’s been a long, long time.

  The ceiling depicts our water life, with merpeople playing in the deep. Lights shimmer over the image—touches of magic.

  We are nothing if not artists.

  In fact, I made my way through Elden selling paintings to noble families, creating likenesses of their loved ones to hang in their great halls. They never guessed my brush carried no paint, and I forbid anyone from watching me work. I’ll miss those days. I doubt I’ll ever have the chance to leave the island again.

  The knight leads me through the entry and into the great hall. Mother-of-pearl lines pillars that stand at the perimeter of the room, and a fountain bubbles in the very center. Beyond that, a bored-looking man sits on his throne. His hair is the darkest brown, almost black, and his skin is deeply tanned. Even at nearing thirty years of age, His Majesty is devastating, has been since we were young. As if I am fifteen once more, I am helpless to do anything but stare at the man I once fawned over.

  So many years ago.

  Croissin straightens when I enter, his expression brightening with interest. Memories light his eyes. Do I look as different to him as he looks to me? He was barely a man when I left, barely old enough to accept the crown.

  How I pined after him, desperate for his attention. He was a shark—and I a very naive fish. Fortunately, I wizened before it was too late and fled the island. For all the good it did me.

  Slowly, his lips quirk up in a smile as if he’s pleased with me. The young girl who still craves his attention wants to rejoice. Prince Croissin—no, King Croissin—has finally noticed me as a man notices a woman. Not as a young man smiles indulgently at a little girl.

  But it’s ten years too late.

  I raise my chin a fraction higher, defiant.

  I will give in, let him rob me of my magic because it is my duty to my people, but I will not do it simpering at his feet.

  Two more knights flank our king, and though they are handsome men, they pale next to our monarch.

  “Elodie,” Croissin says, his voice rich and deep. He stands, moving like a jaguar, and walks my way, crossing the floor with long strides. His chest is bare except for a long strand of shells that hangs from his neck. Everything about him is sculpted male perfection, and I’m not immune to it, though I desperately wish I could be.

  After all, this man is demanding no less than a sacrifice of my life. He is to be feared, not admired. He is my own per
sonal villain, and yet he is the man keeping my family safe and hidden from those who might do them harm.

  There’s irony in there somewhere, but I cannot bear to explore it.

  My ever-so-friendly knight escort steps back, making room for the king. Croissin circles me, assessing. “You are quite grown up, Elodie. I’m having trouble connecting you with the young girl who used to hang about my brother in his youth.”

  I have no idea how to respond, so I stay silent.

  He fingers a damp strand of my hair and strokes it over his palm. Stepping too close, he brings the hair to his nose and breathes deep. “You’ve been in the water.”

  I shiver as terror finally takes its rightful place in my heart. But even standing here, knowing what he expects from me, I want to touch him. Want him to touch me.

  Perhaps I look different, but on the inside, I’m still the young girl.

  Dropping my hair, Croissin comes to stand in front of me. His eyes are cobalt, and when they look at me, I swear he can read my thoughts. As if I please him, the corner of his mouth lifts in something that is very nearly a smirk.

  “How long have you been gone, Elodie?”

  “Nine years.”

  “You left two days before your sixteenth birthday—disappeared like smoke in the night.” His eyes bore into mine, and my pulse skitters erratically.

  “I wanted to see the world.” I tilt my jaw a fraction higher. “As was my right.”

  “You knew I would choose you for the highest honor any woman can receive—but you ran.” Though spoken lightly, there’s a blade’s edge of accusation in the words.

  I meet his eyes, steeling myself for his reaction. “I did.”

  And he’ll never know what a struggle it was to leave.

  The smirk only grows, as if my honest answer pleases him.

  “But you came back.” He reaches for my hand. “And now we can continue like you never left.”

  “Why me?” I whisper, my resolve leaving as fear and attraction make me dizzy.

  Croissin takes a step closer. “Because you are destined to rule Milayle.”