He pointed his black speedboat in the direction of land, the first rays of the rising sun glinting off its menacing prow as it sliced through the waves like a weapon, innocuous now that that its deadly cargo had been tucked away to leak its perilous Human poisons into the lifeblood of the sea.
Kesh’s striking face reflected brooding thoughts, twisting his attractive features into something more revealing of his own inner landscape, as jagged as the rocks below. The much-gloried eldest son of the King of the Selkies, Kesh had always enjoyed a life of privilege and self-indulgence.
The Selkies, although not immortal, enjoyed long lives. Kesh’s father had been king when they’d made the long ocean journey from the coves and inlets of Ireland to these new and welcoming shores. It was only now that Gwrtheyrn was feeling his advancing years and contemplating passing on his crown to one of his offspring.
But not to Kesh. Stormy gray eyes narrowed, remembereing another time and seeing in his mind’s eye an ornate and elegant chamber under the sea, instead of the current vista of dawn-lit sky and choppy waves. More garden than throne room, fronds of kelp rose toward the towering ceilings amid sea anemones blooming in hues of crimson, orange, and brilliant iridescent pink. Mother of pearl chairs were scattered around the open space, where courtiers swam or sat or floated in place, their cheerful voices echoing off carved stone walls.
Kesh had stood proudly with his younger brother, Tyrus, and their six sisters, each lovelier than the last. Their black hair and smoky eyes clearly showed their bond to one another and to the King, graying now, and less agile than in his earlier years, but still as powerful as an old bull seal. He sat at ease atop a throne encrusted with the glittering jewels and gold from a hundred sunken ships; symbolic not just of his position, but also of the Selkies’ mastery under the sea.
Kesh’s sensuous mouth curved upward in a small, mostly hidden smile as his father had—finally, finally, finally—made official his announcement of an heir, set to take over the throne in a year’s time. But his amusement had turned to confusion, and then blood-boiling fury, as he heard the name that slid like a tiny, biting fish from between his father’s lips. Tyrus. Not Kesh. Tyrus.
There must be some mistake. “Father,” he’d said quite reasonably. “I am the eldest son. Surely you mean for me to inherit the kingship. I have been waiting so long. So patiently. I might have killed you years ago as you slept or hunted or dived to the unexplored depths. But I waited instead for this day. Where is my reward for my patience?”
King Gwrtheyrn had gazed at him, a stony expression on his hawk-nosed face, a hint of something that might have been sadness in his deep-set eyes. “I said what I meant to say, as I always do. Your brother shall ascend to the throne, where I know I can depend on him to do his best for our people.
“This title bears with it more than glory, Kesh. It holds in its essence an obligation to the weighty needs of all our people. And nothing about your behavior over the last many, many years has led me to believe that you would put the interests of others before your own.”
His father sighed, a gust of sorrow and disappointment that swirled in the water like the ink from a wounded squid. “I am sorry. I know how much you wished for this. But it is not to be.”
In a less watery realm, Kesh’s ire might have ignited the air. Here, he simply spoke through gritted teeth, trying to ignore the excited muttering of the crowds around him. “But father, I have trained all my life for this role. You yourself taught me all the arts of kingship, that I might someday assume your mantle. I do not understand.”
Another sigh, gustier than the last. Gwrtheyrn sat up straight, dropping his acid words into the calm, clear waters that surrounded them. “My son, you know I love you, as I love all my children. But your playboy behavior and callous disregard for your subjects have been the topic of many a discussion between the two of us. Yes, I have endeavored to teach you the ways of leadership, but you only learned the parts you enjoyed—the ways of war, the outward pomp and ceremony.
“Never the true skills needed by a king; wisdom in decision making, planning for the future, care for others, mastery of self. These, too, are part of a ruler’s skills, and you chose not to bother with them. You made this choice for yourself long before I came to this painful decision. I have waited many years, hoping you would prove me wrong, that you would mature into a wiser, kinder Selkie. But I grow old in this unforgiving chair, waiting for changes that will clearly never happen.” The King stood and the entire court fell silent. Not a breath stirred the crystalline waters.