The Dark Tide

by Alicia Jasinska

  A group of islanders elbowed past, jostling and joking loudly. “And if the queen kisses you and takes you off to the palace, you remember to take a knife to bed with you. They say she has teeth down there!”

  Lina bit her cheek and changed direction. There was the slightest chance Finley might have stopped, and even if he hadn’t—

  She rounded the bend, took a path she’d rushed by minutes before. Though she knew what was coming, she still caught her breath. Caldella’s labyrinthine streets wound around hundreds of boxed-in squares, some hiding gardens and orchards ripe with juicy fruit. Others were stone plazas paved for assemblies and open-air markets. St. Casimir’s was the largest. Lover’s Square was much smaller but easily more beautiful, with a marble fountain made for catching moonlight, lush trees and blooming rosebushes, and a wide and twisting staircase leading up to streets and houses built on higher ground.

  At the bottom of those stairs, a boy could be found singing for spare coins.

  Fireworks burst overhead, explosions ringing in Lina’s ears in time with the pounding of her heart. She was already blushing, cheeks red as the fire streaking across the sky. There he was. Sea-tanned skin and sun-kissed hair, brown eyes that held a hundred untold secrets. Only one boy had ever been chosen as sacrifice and lived to tell the tale.

  No one dared ask Thomas Lin how he’d done it, how he’d made the wicked queen care for someone more than herself. How he’d made her sacrifice herself instead of him two years ago. Certainly not Lina, who could barely look him in the eye without turning red as a lobster. Even when she’d turned her ankle and he’d piggybacked her home, she hadn’t managed to string together more than a stuttered thank-you.

  He’d come back to them all as someone not quite real. A character escaped from a story. The boy who had seduced a queen. The boy who had won his freedom from a witch.

  Another firework sparked, this one trailing pixie-green stars. Lina stood at the edge of Lover’s Square, palms going clammy. There were also people, like Finley, who said Thomas Lin was dangerous, who claimed he had broken the magic that kept Caldella safe, that no matter how many sacrifices their new queen made now, the island was doomed to sink.

  He had traded his life for all of theirs.

  Lina shook the thought away. She wasn’t here for the rumors or her hopeless crush. Tonight wasn’t about her. She crossed the square; Thomas Lin lowered his guitar.

  Lina took a deep breath. “I need you to tell me how you made a witch fall in love.”

  The words stretched in the silence between fireworks, like a plucked string ringing with the first note of a song. Lina sank onto the stone step beside Thomas, repressing a shiver as the cold seeped through her dress. The night was crisp enough to make her wish she’d worn a coat.

  Glowing baubles and beads hung from the garden trees’ branches, but Thomas’s face was masked in shadow. His knuckles shone white where he gripped his guitar.

  “Please. It’s for Finley.” Thomas knew her brother, even if they didn’t like each other. There were no strangers in Caldella—save for the witches, who kept mostly to the Water Palace save for nights like this one. Lina knew every islander’s face even if she didn’t always remember every name. The island was closed to outsiders. And Finley and Thomas had both studied music at the Conservatoire, the same school where she studied dance. “You could talk to him, tell him. He’s fixed on joining the revel tonight, and I—”

  “You think the queen will choose him.”

  Lina tugged her necklace, pulling the red beads so tight they bit into her neck. “We all know she takes the handsome ones. There’s no one left to compete with Finley. No one who’s going,” she amended.

  Thomas’s mouth twitched. “Is that why you shaved one of his eyebrows off?”

  “That was an accident. I meant to shave them both off, but he woke up.”

  Thomas’s laugh filled the garden. People passing by stopped and stared. Warmth rushed through Lina despite the chill night air. It wasn’t as if other boys didn’t try to make themselves look unappealing. Finley should have thanked her.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so mad,” said Thomas. “And that’s saying something. We all thought you did it because he wore your pink gown to Josef’s party.”

  “He what?”

  “Oh. Shit. You didn’t know?”

  Her brand-new pink dress that shimmered like the inside of seashell. With its zipper that had mysteriously, inexplicably, broken. Lina’s teeth came together with a click.

  “He looked quite fetching,” said Thomas.

  Lina punched him in the arm, then jerked her fist back as if she’d been scalded. She’d just touched Thomas Lin. She’d just punched Thomas Lin.

  And he was smiling.

  He put his guitar aside and shuffled closer. Lina couldn’t resist doing the same, angling her legs so their knees might accidentally brush. “You have to help. You can tell him how you survived, how you tricked the queen, how you…”

  A faint crease formed between Thomas’s brows. He pressed a thumb to his bottom lip, then smoothed his hands over his slacks. “He came through here a bit ago, with Istvan and Josef. I told Josef they shouldn’t go, but he wasn’t having it. They’re already gone.”

  “Gone,” Lina repeated. Wind whipped through the garden, ruffling her hair. There was something so gut-wrenchingly final about the word.

  “Lina,” Thomas said gently. “I did try to stop them.”

  “Did you? You didn’t do a very good job. Did you tell them what to do if they were picked? Did you tell them what you did to save yourself?” Lina stood. He’d never told anyone, and from the look on his face now, she knew he hadn’t told Finley. He’d kept the secret for himself.

  “You can’t keep him locked up,” said Thomas. “He’s a grown man. I don’t think the queen will take him.”

  “Oh, and you can swear to that, can you? No one thought she’d take Niko.”

  Niko with his raven-black hair and dusting of freckles. Niko with his wild grin. Niko dead at the bottom of the sea.

  Thomas reached for her. “Lina.”

  Why had she even bothered? Why had she even come here? She’d just wasted more time. She shrugged him off and lost her balance as she climbed the first step. Her heart slammed against her rib cage as she teetered backward.

  She caught herself, walked more slowly, taking the steps one at a time, cheeks burning. She should have shaved Finley’s whole head, should have knocked him out or tied him up somehow. Tears stung her eyes. She only ever cried when she was frustrated or furious. So furious she wanted to break something. Someone.

  She pressed through the crowded streets, elbowing past people partying, people too smart or too scared to set foot inside the revel. The scent of whiskey blended with the scents of smoke and sweat. Column-lined arcades of shops enclosed St. Casimir’s Square on all sides but one. The last opened straight onto the sea.

  Lina paused in an archway beside a column in front of the closed ice-creamery. Its windows were shivering with the wail of pipes and strings. Fireworks crowned the scene before her, but she could barely see anything past the haze of heat from the bonfires. Shapes and shadows dancing. The great stone pillar in the center shot up to pierce the night.

  Drums beat thunder into the ground, and the sound of it pulled, calling to that sinuous little voice inside of her, the one that urged her to jump when she stood at the top of a flight of stairs, the one that told her to leap from the deck of her mothers’ ship even though she couldn’t swim. Want filled her. She wanted badly to step into the square in spite of the danger. She wanted to dance, to leap and spin and snap her fingers.

  She wanted to catch a glimpse of the wicked Witch Queen as she wove in and out of the revelers in disguise, changing faces, appearing one second as the person you loved, transforming next into the person the boy beside you loved, tricki
ng you into taking her hand, tricking you into kissing her.

  The dull ache in her ankle enabled her to shake free of the magic’s pull. Her whole body trembled, and she wasn’t sure if it was from fear or desire. A bead of sweat dripped from her temple. Truth be told, she wasn’t supposed to be here tonight either. She was supposed to be resting, supposed to be celebrating St. Walpurga’s Eve with the rest of the family at Ma’s brother’s house, where she and Finley should be now. Would anyone come looking for them? She’d caught snatches of the usual clamor as she sailed past the house: the familiar hiss of hot oil, the clatter of pots and pans drowning beneath the voices of five of her six aunts. Gossip and laughter so loud you could hear it halfway down the street.

  Lina’s nails dug crescents into her palms. She even would have stayed there with Finley like she’d told him. For a little while, at least. She would’ve snuck out on her own later on, just for a bit. While everyone was stuffing themselves silly with butter crab, while Nina and Ivy played piano or Finley played violin or cousin number fifteen played cello. All the aunties busy throwing smug looks back and forth like knives, each confident she had the most talented child, everyone too distracted to notice she was missing.

  Her brother always had to make everything about him, even when he was supposedly doing something for her.

  Lina started forward. A rough hand caught her wrist. Thomas kept a wide space between himself and the edge of the square, the border of the revel. His eyes danced with reflected flames, and she saw fear and hesitation lurking in their depths. Annoyance spiked.

  “It’s not like they’ll pick you twice.” Even witches respected dead queens’ wishes. Lina shook her arm free and stepped backward through the arch. “And it’s not like she’ll pick me.”

  3

  Lina

  The world didn’t change so much as it sharpened.

  Edges cut like knives, colors flashed like the glimmer off a blade. Lina could see the revelers clearly now, spinning in wild circles. Linked hands. Linked elbows. Driven by the relentless pounding of drums. The shriek and wail of pipe and violin. Round and round the dancers went, clockwise and counterclockwise, forward and back. People she knew and people she didn’t. Blurred silhouettes. Black-clad sirens with sharks’ smiles and jingling bangles of amber and shells. Bare-chested figures with eyes as cold as sea glass.

  Some said the witches were dreams and nightmares escaped from mortal minds. Children born after sundown. They still looked human, though, or chose to, and their black attire blended with the shadows, making it seem as if they blinked in and out of the night itself.

  Lina’s heart thrummed, pulse quickening at the thought of being surrounded by so much magic. The music struck a chord deep within her bones. She moved forward, humming unconsciously beneath her breath, searching the crowd for a familiar black cowlick and eyes as gray as the winter sea. Those not dancing were gathered around the bonfires, trying to charm the witches with their talents. Just because magic was given out for free tonight didn’t mean it was given out for nothing; you had to impress a witch. Others still were trying to catch orange sparks crackling off the smoldering wood. A burn from one of the thirteen bonfires brought luck to the wearer for the rest of the year.

  One of the witches, a brown-skinned girl with silver hoops swinging from her ears, caught a spark and, waving it once like a sparkler, tucked it behind Lina’s ear.

  Blushing, Lina reached up to touch it, marvelling at the soft warmth that met her fingers. The witch winked, and a flustered Lina backed up, shoulders knocking into the firm chest behind her. She spun, apologizing.

  Thomas stared down at her, expression so intent that guilt immediately pricked her conscience. She didn’t know what dark memories she was asking him to relive by being here. Although technically she hadn’t asked him to be here—he’d come after her. Followed her.

  A strange tightness squeezed Lina’s chest. Her anger from earlier vanished. When his arms swept around her, she didn’t protest, just let him draw her close. So close their chests brushed. He led her into the ebb and flow of dancers, hands leaving little spots of heat at the small of her back, on her arm, her hip.

  Lina’s throat ran dry. “I thought…”

  I thought you didn’t care.

  “I can’t lose him.” It came out as a whisper. It sounded like an apology.

  Thomas’s eyes were so dark they looked almost black. He pulled her even closer, and when they moved together it was as if they’d danced these steps a hundred thousand times before. His body responded to her slightest movement. His gaze never once left hers. She could feel his hip bones as they turned together through the tide of bodies. Heated words tickled the tip of her ear. Lina couldn’t breathe.

  “You’ll have to hold on to him tightly, then.” His smile was knife-sharp as he pulled back. Sudden cold rushed between them as he let go.

  Lina’s mouth opened, but he was already spinning away, taking another boy’s arm.

  Someone grabbed her wrist. Lina jumped. It was Thomas. “Don’t! Thomas?” She twisted, glancing one way and then the other, from the sea of dancers Thomas had melted into to the Thomas clasping her wrist. Her heart stuttered. Who…

  But she knew who. There was only one witch who wore other people’s faces on St. Walpurga’s Eve. One witch who appeared to you as the person you loved.

  A tiny, involuntary thrill shot through Lina. “Did you see—”

  “Finley?” Thomas, the real Thomas, stood with all the tension of someone about to bolt, dread coiled in every muscle. “No, not yet.”

  Lina swallowed hard and didn’t correct him. There was so much fear in his face already. She let out a breath. But the blood in her veins was still singing, humming.

  “I’ll help you find him. I heard you injured your ankle again.”

  A hot flare of indignation helped Lina regain her composure. “I’m not helpless.”

  “But you’re slow. And small. Someone could knock you over. You could get trampled. Hurt. Look, it doesn’t matter if she’s not going to pick you. You can’t trust anyone here. The quicker you find him, the better.” Thomas flinched as a messenger spell—a small spiral of wind, a teacup-sized waterspout—whistled past his temple with a wind-chime tinkle.

  Lina’s heart ached. How could he fear magic when it was this beautiful? “We’ll be quick then, I promise.” And maybe it was a response to the taunt from a minute before, but she reached out and took his hand. “I’ll hold on to you.” She was blushing again, cheeks glowing brighter even than the bonfires, brighter even than the crimson fireworks blooming above their heads. “I mean—I mean,” she stammered. “Like—like the song.” She couldn’t meet his eyes. She suddenly wanted to find whoever was currently playing and strangle them. The faint lilting strains of a single violin.

  Hide him, hide him, out of sight.

  Hold him, hold him, hold on tight.

  Understanding dawned on Thomas’s face. Lina was ready to dig a hole and bury herself in it. She may as well have screamed, “I love you!” in front of the whole damn square. Because it was a song all the islanders knew and a song the queen obviously knew. A song about a girl who had refused to hand her lover over as sacrifice, who hadn’t let him go even when the queen used magic to try and steal him away. The witch had turned the boy into a sea serpent, a bear, and finally, a raging wall of fire, but the girl hadn’t let go, and in the end, the queen had been forced to let the lovers be.

  A passing dancer picked up the tune, singing the words loud and clear. Then another. And another. Voices raised in unison, in defiance. The whole island sang, waves of sound sweeping through the square.

  The Witch Queen comes on wings of night.

  The Witch Queen has your heart’s delight.

  Hold him, hold him, hold on tight.

  Hide him, hide him, out of sight.

  There wasn’t a person here who
didn’t know the tune, who hadn’t heard the words sung above their cradle, who hadn’t been lulled to sleep by the tale of the girl who’d stolen love from the Witch Queen.

  Lina sang, too, because screw it, there wasn’t any way she could embarrass herself more. There was no going back now.

  Thomas didn’t take his eyes off her as he joined in, voice soft but carrying because of its haunting quality. His was a siren’s song, luring in all who listened.

  The circle of dancers swept them up. The current tossed them round the square, and Lina fiercely ignored the worsening ache in her ankle, the sharp bursts of shooting pain. She would pay for it later, but for now Thomas was with her, steadying her. He spun her stiffly, self-consciously, holding her at an awkward distance. It was Lina who had to steer their steps now, and she quickly shoved down the tiniest pang of disappointment. So he wasn’t a very good dancer; what of it? She linked arms with him, guiding him through the other revelers.

  “Have you seen Finley?” she asked Gita when she spied her. Her classmate was giggling, one arm wrapped around a bearded musician. Her painted lips parted in an O when she spied Thomas.

  “Have you seen my brother?” Lina asked a witch draped in sealskin. “Black hair? Massively tall? He plays violin.”

  Gita shook her head. The witch kissed Lina’s cheeks. Lina spied Finley’s friend Istvan and grabbed his wrist. “Where the hell is Finley, knobhead?”

  Istvan cursed and waved a hand in the direction from which they’d come. The great circle of dancers broke into lines, witches on the outside, islanders on the inside, everyone weaving in and out, skirts spinning like upturned tornadoes.

  Sweat stuck Lina’s dress to her back. “I’m going to murder him.”

  “Wouldn’t that defeat the purpose?” Thomas’s boot crackled and crunched on a broken bottle.

  He moved in time with her as they headed for the far side of the square, finally finding the beat, and Lina let herself imagine, just for a tiny, tiny second, that she wasn’t here searching for her brother. That she was here for the magic, for the witches’ bold promise: she would kiss the boy she loved by the light of the thirteen bonfires, and he would be hers forever. She’d daydreamed about it, what Thomas would taste like, what his mouth would feel like moving against her own.