The Girl Who Belonged to the Sea by Katherine Quinn

Chapter Two

Margrete

Margrete foundBirdie by the sea. It was a lovely spring day in Prias, the typically humid air graced with a refreshing breeze, one that lifted Margrete’s skirts as she padded barefoot across the heated sands. Waves crashed against the shoreline as tiny white birds skipped out of the way before the spray could wet their wings. And the skies… They were the loveliest shade of blue—a blended hue of lapis and sapphire.

On days like this one, Margrete wished she’d learned how to swim. Her father forbade her from venturing too close to the waters, and his face would turn a deep shade of purple when she’d argue. She stopped asking years ago—his teachings would’ve only worsened.

A gull screeched overhead, swooping down to graze the tops of the Morning Burst flowers she passed. As she had little else to do when confined to her chambers, Margrete was afforded ample time to read, though she often sought books pertaining to plants, flowers, and the healing properties found within nature. She’d grown rather adept at identifying flora and fauna and wondered if she might have made a decent healer in another life.

But it was the origin of the bloom, with its bright golden center and delicate violet petals, that intrigued her. Legend held that fortunate sailors brought the flower back from the lost island of Azantian. Margrete had heard the tales of the mythical island more times than she could count, the sailors in her father’s employ eager to fill the time spent on dry land with stories of the sea.

The story of Azantian was a favorite amongst the men, an island created by the sea god, where the sands were fashioned from the purest gold and the waters gleamed aquamarine. It was a realm of ethereal beings of immense beauty, entrusted with guarding the gates imprisoning the sea’s nefarious children—monsters born from the depths. But much like the gruesome sea serpent in her childhood lore, Azantian was a myth crafted for the naïve and the youthful.

Margrete was neither.

Tilting her face to the sun, she took in a quiet moment, soaking up the day’s warmth and its fearless light. With the rushing waves in the background and the sounds of the gulls overhead, she willed away thoughts of her father and his decree, pretending that, just for one moment, she was someone else entirely.

Seconds later, that fragile peace shattered like broken glass.

Someone was watching her.

She could all but feel the eyes upon her skin. A rush of awareness caused the hairs on the back of her neck to rise in alarm. She scanned the beach, the uneasy sensation growing stronger with each new breath.

The beach was empty, and the only other person she sighted was Peter, one of her father’s most trusted guards. He stood watch beneath the fronds of a palm, his attention solely on the sands just ahead where Birdie played. Still, Margrete couldn’t shake what she’d so plainly felt.

“Margrete!” Birdie jumped up from her blanket and rushed across the beach, her blonde curls tossing in the sea wind. With a radiant smile, she crashed into Margrete, wrapping two thin arms around her waist.

All thoughts of danger fled Margrete’s mind the moment she enfolded Birdie in her embrace. The small sprite had the gift of chasing all worries away.

“Hello, little bird.” Margrete wound her fingers through those unruly blonde strands. “I missed you this morning.”

Birdie grumbled a reply, voice muffled by the thick fabric of Margrete’s gown. She caught only two words: pancakes and strawberries. Adina must’ve prepared her favorite treats for breakfast.

Withdrawing, Birdie clutched Margrete’s hand, dragging her across the dunes to a coarse blanket laid out on the sands, a wind-tossed umbrella providing the sanctuary of shade.

“Come sit with me!” Birdie’s voice played in harmony with the crashing waves, the sweet timbre as lively as the playful breeze.

Margrete’s smile felt genuine for the first time that day as she took her place on the blanket. Birdie instantly crawled into her lap.

“What did Father wish to speak to you about?” Birdie asked. “Adina told me not to pester you, but she was extra sour today.” She wrinkled her upturned nose.

Adina was often in a foul mood. Gods, Margrete couldn’t recall a time when she wasn’t.

Brushing her sister’s hair from her piercing blue eyes, she asked, “How would you feel about coming with me to Cartus?”

Birdie squinted up at her. “Cartus? Why would we go there?”

Margrete sighed, tightening her arms around Birdie’s middle. “I’m to marry Count Casbian in two months’ time. And you, my little one, are to come to his island with me. That is, if you wish.”

Birdie paused to consider, her mouth twisting in thought. “Are the beaches in Cartus as pretty as the ones here?”

Margrete nodded. Though she’d only ever seen drawings of Cartus in books, she’d heard about the island’s beauty from the lips of others.

“And I would get to be with you? Father will allow it?”

Birdie might be young, but she sensed the darkness in their father, how he could be joyous one moment and a storm of ruinous rage in the next.

Birdie was right to be guarded.

Margrete tilted Birdie’s chin. “I will always be beside you. No matter what happens, or where our journey in this life leads,” Margrete vowed. “And yes, I have father’s permission.”

A glorious grin brightened Birdie’s face, rosy lips stretching wide. “Then I can’t wait for our new adventures! And hopefully, I’ll get a new governess. Mistress Sophia has breath a dragon would reel away from.”

She chuckled as Birdie stretched across the blanket and rested her head on Margrete’s lap, her eyelids shutting against the blinding sun. It didn’t take long before her chest rose and fell in steady breaths, worn from her earlier adventures frolicking along Prias’s coast.

Taking in the wild sea, wishing she could, for once, have adventures of her own choosing, Margrete’s calm began to dissipate. That same sensation of being watched returned, although this time, her body flooded with ice, even in the rising heat of the day.

Careful not to wake Birdie, Margrete craned her neck, scanning the sloping dunes and bent palms. Nothing but swaying grasses and skittering birds.

She was being paranoid. No one would dare follow the captain’s daughter, not if they valued their life.

Margrete shook her head, feeling foolish. Soon she would be free of Prias. Free of the captain. She only had to survive long enough to marry the count and lead her sister to a new life.

A better one.