The Lost Daughter of Seablood
*Book 1 of The Forgotten Heritage
Prologue
The girl laughed, a bright, soundless thing, and spun as a wave chased her calves. Water arced around her legs in shapes that felt almost deliberate, droplets spiraling like silver threads before falling back into the sea.
Margaret Warren noticed her because children weren’t supposed to be alone on this stretch of beach. Not after Colette. Not ever. She slowed, one hand tightening around her daughter Charlotte’s smaller one, and scanned for an adult.
Nothing.
The girl bent, fingers brushing the tide, and lifted something from the surf: a ring, pale as moonlight. She slipped it onto her finger. It was too big…until it wasn’t. Margaret blinked as the band shimmered and tightened, fitting perfectly and matching the necklace glinting at her throat.
“Mom,” Charlotte whispered, tugging on her sleeve. “She didn’t hear you.”
“Stay here,” Margaret told Charlotte as she walked up behind the girl, water splashing her legs.
The girl turned this time, silver eyes catching the light. Her smile faltered not in fear, but confusion, as if Margaret had spoken in the wrong language. Slowly, she touched two fingers to her ear and shook her head.
Margaret crouched, grabbing her attention, began speaking to the girl. “…—are you? W—…—are y—r..—…—ts? ..re y-… -rt?” She gestured to her knees, arms, and head.
The girl simply tapped her fingers against her ear again before turning and pointing at the water.
Charlotte leaned forward, “Is she saying her parents are out there? There are monsters out there, Mom!”
“There’s no mermaids in the water, Charlotte. Now hush, I need to call the police.” Her stomach clenched. Pulling out her phone, she dialed with numb fingers. Her voice sounded too loud in her own ears as she explained: deaf child, no adults, alone.
When she hung up, she tried again, this time with slow, exaggerated words. The girl watched her mouth, brows knitting tighter with every word. Eventually, Margaret threw up her hands in frustration and turned away from the girl.
Charlotte shifted from foot to foot. “Why are you sad?”
“She doesn’t understand me, Charlotte.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why?”
“Charlotte, I don’t know why you are asking why!” Margaret’s frustration mounted. Seeing both Charlotte and the girl back away, she took a deep breath. “She can’t hear or speak, Charlotte.” Hearing sirens and cars, she sighed in relief.
A policeman and woman approached, both with their hands visible, movements deliberate.
“Hi Margaret,” the woman said before calling out, “Hi Charlie.”
“It’s Charlotte, Kate.” Margaret huffed.
“Well, then, hi Charlotte.” Kate winked at the girl. Charlotte giggled and waved back. “And is this the girl?” She nodded towards the black-haired girl. Margaret nodded “Chip, I’m going to approach her. Is there anything you need me to do first?” He shook his head.
“I’m just here as your backup. We’ll write up a missing person’s report, but we need social services to interview her and for us to have some basic answers—how old, name, parents, number—if she knows all that information.” Kate nodded that she had heard and began walking towards the girl. She stopped as the girl twirled around, her movement fluid. Kate didn’t speak right away. She waved.
The girl’s shoulders loosened.
Kate signed hesitantly, still speaking out loud. “Hello. My name is K-A-T-E.” The signs were careful.
The girl’s hands flew in response, graceful and fast. Kate held up her hands, laughing a little before placing her right hand over her left arm and moving it towards her shoulder, slowly. And then please.
The girl nodded, pointed to herself, adding a sign that Kate didn’t know and added name.
Kate nodded, “That’s your sign name.” She stated, signing and speaking so Chip and Margaret could understand. “Can you spell your name?”
The girl hesitantly made several letters: R, U, A. At Kate’s confused look, she tried again. R, U, A.
“Okay. Is that your first or last name?” Kate simcommed. The girl sighed, her face downturned. She didn’t understand. “It’s okay.” Kate said softly, forgetting to sign. “You’re safe,” she signed. “Hurt?”
The girl lifted her hair revealing a swelling bruise near her temple. She pinched her fingers together. A little.
Kate sat down, jaw tightening. “Mom, dad, where?” she asked, hoping that her signs were correct. “B-O-A-T?” she asked, combining the mixture of finger-spelling and signs.
The girl pointed to the water again. Kate looked at her, seeing her certain face. She wasn’t frantic.
Behind them, Charlotte whispered, “Mom… the water’s doing something weird.” Margaret followed her gaze.
For just a second, the tide stilled. No foam, no pull. As if the sea itself were holding its breath.
Kate stood. “Doctor,” she signed. “Then we’ll find them.” She offered the girl her hand. The girl hesitated, one last look at the horizon, before slipping her fingers into Kate’s. “Thanks for finding her, Margaret.”
“Charlotte was the one who saw her first. She said something about mermaids.”
“A monster!” Charlotte stamped her foot. Margaret sighed.
Seeing her about to talk again, Kate interrupted. “Well, who knows what could’ve happened. Thanks, Charlie.” Turning back to the girl, she tapped her shoulder, pulling her away from staring at the water.
As they walked away, the water surged forward again, crashing hard enough to spray all of them. Kate turned to look, shivering. Somewhere far out past the breakers, something watched them go.
Chapter 1
The sea glittered.
Marit sat on the rocks near the WatchTower, staring as the sun shimmered across the water. When rain suddenly fell, she tilted her face up, smiling as it peppered her skin. Storms always found her.
Her arms sparkled, turning faintly iridescent as the rain soaked her. She didn’t think about that. She never did.
Standing, she picked her way toward the ledge, the rocks slipping under her feet before she steadied and dove into ocean. Cold swallowed her whole. She swam better underwater. Sound disappeared down there.
A swim in the rain always helps, she thought, floating on her back, her face lifted to the sky. And I don’t look so different in the water. She lifted her hand, flicking droplets into the air. They bent and shifted—dragons, fairies, mermaids—before she shook them away. Frowning, she dove deeper.
Margaret would’ve called it one of her peculiarities.
Turning over, she kicked off hard, swimming around until she felt calmer letting the sea carry her back. When she surfaced, all she could see was the lighthouse—white, weathered, watching. The WatchTower had been there longer than anyone remembered.
She hauled herself onto the rocks, breath burning, and shook water from her hair.
The light caught her eye first.
The tide left gifts sometimes—shells, glass, once even a rusted compass, but today something dark bobbed near the base of the tower. An old glass bottle corked tight. The water slid cleanly off it, as if it refused to touch the glass at all.
Marit frowned and waded back in.
The bottle was heavier than it looked. When she pulled it free, water curled around her wrist, tugging just enough to make her pause. The sensation slid up her arm like a question.
“FSH,” she signed, the movement sharp. The pressure immediately eased.
After a breath, she hurried into the WatchTower, clutching her towel against the wind and rain. The old lighthouse was her favorite place on the island; an area that she could sit and stare at the water for hours. It felt like a job she was meant to do—watching, waiting—though she wasn’t sure exactly what “it” was.
Reaching the last stair before the beacon’s ladder, she opened the bedroom that was on the right. The lighthouse had two bedrooms – one on the first landing, and one on the top. She kept her things in the top bedroom, since people didn’t climb the stairs of the WatchTower. The county had tried to condemn the lighthouse, but since it was on private property, and blocked off, it somehow had never been fully condemned. The lighthouse itself was in excellent condition; the county really didn’t have a reason to condemn, just that it didn’t have an owner present. The WatchTower did have a lock and fence to try to keep people out, but if one was determined—as she often was—they could get in.
She changed quickly in the top bedroom, stuffed her wet things into her pack, and climbed to the beacon room. The great light was long gone, leaving only space and echoes.
The bottle felt warm in her hands.
Sand and water seemed trapped inside the glass itself, flowing but never spilling. Turning it over, she searched for a seam. There was only the cork.
She pulled.
The bottle dissolved.
Glass became sand. Water vanished into mist. Marit stared at her hands, then brushed the grit from her jeans like this happened everyday.
A key and a folded scrap of paper hovered for a heartbeat before settling in her lap.
The key wasn’t rusted or old. It looked… intentional. Like it belonged somewhere secret. As she touched it, it glowed the same pearly light as the ring on her finger.
She pulled the ring off, studying the pearls and moonstones. She’d had the ring as long as she could remember, but never resized it. It had always fit. Almost as if, it grew with her. Her breath hitched, coming in faster and faster to where she wasn’t sure she would be able to take a full breath. Where did this come from? Her breath gasping, she shoved the ring back on, relief washing through her as her breathing steadied. “Weird,” she signed. She looked at the paper.
Her name was written in careful ink.
Marit Bay Warren.
Her chest tightened. She checked the bottle again, heart racing, then the note. Same letters.
No one used her full name.
She unfolded the paper.
It begins with quick glances, small talk, time spent together. It ends with death. The middle is the journey and that, is the important part. That is charaid – the journey of friendship, of partner, of family. It is worth… everything. Slave, alone, princess, together, castle. You can endure it all with charaid.
Marit looked up, confused. Reading it twice more, it made even less sense. Feeling her phone vibrate, she pulled it out to see a text message from …
