“Lin can take the message. I’ll make sure he—” Finley made a shushing gesture as across the room a door swung wide.
Lina was on her feet, heart thundering. It was Yara, and new faces alongside her, but most importantly, a hesitant figure lit by the amber lanterns in the passage beyond. The boy she’d dragged into this, the boy she was here to save. Thomas.
14
Lina
Four days passed in quick succession. In the end, Finley dug his heels in and remained at the Water Palace. Thomas returned to the island alone, tasked with taking the news to the Kirk family. Lina crossed her fingers that they wouldn’t be too angry with him. And she crossed them again, praying that they would listen to the plan he proposed.
They would help her, wouldn’t they? They would sail a broom boat close enough to the Witch Queen’s ship so that in the dark chaos of the regatta, she and Finley could climb down and escape.
Thinking about it, though, she realized her family had always gone along with the sacrifice, no matter who was chosen, just like everyone else. Her family kept their heads down, didn’t make trouble. It’s nothing to do with us, Uncle would say.
But surely it was different now that it was her?
Lina could tell Finley was fretting, too, but as always, he hid his anxiety beneath a thick layer of anger and jokes. It leaked out, though, a muscle twitching in his jaw as the days ticked by, new shadows beneath his eyes that were especially obvious now on the evening of the regatta.
The islanders had decorated the city for death.
Bouquets of white mourning ribbons fluttered from every chimney, every window, every wrist. From the red-and-white-striped mooring posts lining the winding water roads, from the crumbling cupolas and rusted weather vanes jutting from the waves in the crescent-curved harbor. Hundreds of festooned broom boats propelled by magic glided in and out of the barnacle-crusted ruins, sailing over the sunken skeleton of the old city, carrying children grasping sticky toffee apples and paper cones of flickering candles. Uncles snacked on pickled gherkins wrapped in strips of salt herring, on sea snails and cold slivers of sugared melon, while aunties reached down, setting wreaths of bone-white lilies afloat upon the black water like freshly fallen snow.
Sunset gilded the petals of each flower. The sky blazed crimson and gold. The cold deepened as the last smoldering light leeched out of the day. But no one was leaving; the islanders would continue to bicker over who should have won the final race and who would surely win it next year. They would laugh and pinch one other to stay awake as they stood vigil in their broom boats, on their balconies, until dawn.
The spring regatta was a funeral watch with all the feel of a night carnival.
There was dancing, of course. Music. Loud and drunken singing. It wasn’t a party in Caldella without it. Eva’s ship had dropped anchor in the very center of the action, in the middle of the harbor by the remains of the old bell tower. Night-black sails billowed from its masts, snapping in a salt breeze sugared by the scent of candle wax, toffee, and flowers.
Drums were pounding, pipes wailing. Strings played a song Lina was really, really starting to hate.
The Witch Queen comes on wings of night.
The Witch Queen has your heart’s delight.
She’ll take your lover for her own.
She’ll turn his heart and eyes to stone.
It was like hearing a song from one of her old dance numbers, a jolting rush of panicked adrenaline, mind and body flashing back to endless, hellish hours of practice and nerves.
There were some songs Lina never, ever wanted to hear again.
She was trying to avoid looking at where the instructors from the Conservatoire had set up the school’s performance pontoon, a mini stage floating upon the water. Dancers were already twirling in circles across the wooden boards with hoops and brightly colored streamers and flashing swords.
Some students were even dancing directly on the water in the glittery shoes the witches had charmed for them, which let them walk upon the sea as if it were solid. Their steps skimmed feather-light across the surface like skipped stones. Everyone was bewitched by the same wild beat that had Lina twirling across the deck with Eva—because of course the queen’s sacrifice had to partner with the queen. Witches spun around them both in dark swirls of wicked laughter.
The scene took Lina back to the first time they’d danced, on St. Walpurga’s Eve by the light of the thirteen bonfires, Eva in disguise. The dark thrill of being pulled flush against another body. Lips brushing the curve of her ear as words were whispered tauntingly. Lina’s cheeks heated at the memory.
As they did now, Eva leaned in close to whisper: “I’m a better dancer than him, aren’t I?”
Lina glared up at her as they whipped past a group of witches stomping their feet, smiling encouragingly from the sidelines, looking disturbingly like Lina’s aunties when they were trying to match one of her cousins with some nice boy they’d found.
Eva was a better dancer than Thomas, but Lina wasn’t about to admit it out loud. The way they moved together, like their bodies knew each other, like they’d already danced these steps in another life, made Lina hate herself just a little. Her traitorous dancer’s heart recognized Eva’s skill, and her even more traitorous body enjoyed the sensation far too much.
Sweaty palm pressed to sweaty palm, eyes seeing only each other. Lina turned fast, faster, just to see if Eva could keep up. Her blood sang with a strange exhilaration, each step matched like it was a challenge, both of them breathing hard.
They were a study in contrasts, whirling across deck. Eva, dangerous and elegant, in a tailored suit with her crimson lips and knife-sharp smile. Lina in a flaring dress of palest blue, her hair a short blond halo. She had on a little scarf, too, a silvery thing choking her neck.
“Doesn’t it bother you,” said Eva, “that Thomas didn’t even protest? That he just up and left you here to die? You would think, really, that if he truly cared for you, he’d insist on being the sacrifice. But no. He was so relieved, just like he was with my sister.”
Lina could feel the other girl’s eyes on her as she turned under her arm, impossibly dark and intense. Waiting for a reaction. Hoping for one. Her necklace of blood-coral beads clicked against her breast. Her stomach gave a guilty swoop as Eva spun her out, then twirled her back into a tight embrace.
The witch was a head taller, and she leaned in again to continue whispering: “He did beg me to take someone else. I did enjoy that part. Although it would’ve gone down better if he’d done it on his knees. He told me he knew of other boys I could take, gave me their names, but he never offered himself. Not even once.”
Something in Lina’s chest gave the tiniest twinge.
“At least your brother insisted on staying with you,” finished Eva with what sounded like grudging respect, her gaze skipping across the deck to where Finley was supposed to be on the lookout for Uncle’s broom boat but was instead flirting with Yara.
“He’s not the perfect brother you think he is,” Lina snapped, causing Eva to raise an eyebrow. Guilt pricked immediately at Lina’s conscience. But honestly, why couldn’t her brother have returned to the island with Thomas?
Eva’s arms tightened on Lina’s waist. She was still watching her closely.
Lina’s heart jumped in an uneven beat. “I need a rest. I shouldn’t even be dancing. My ankle… I broke my ankle recently and I can’t put too much weight on it.” She tore away abruptly, dodging the other twirling bodies, the spell of the dance broken, her embarrassment immediate and intense. It wasn’t a complete lie, anyway. Her ankle was protesting. It was so frustrating. She had this constant dread lurking in the back of her mind now, never knowing how long or how well her body was going to hold up.
Lina found a spot at the railing, shifted her weight to her strong leg, and tried to calm the panicked fluttering in her chest.
She followed the swing of the other girl’s hips as she, too, moved away from the other dancers. The lines of her suit were so sharp she could have been a character cut from a shadow play.
Orange sparks flared as Yara joined Eva. A graceful flick of her wrist and a snap of brown fingers conjured a flame pinched between forefinger and thumb. Eva put a cigarette to her lips and leaned in, looking up through her long black lashes as Yara lit the end.
There was something strangely intimate about the scene that made a fresh flush start to creep up Lina’s neck.
Eva glanced back over one shoulder, catching her watching.
The heat hit Lina’s cheeks, and she felt suddenly ashamed, exposed and guilty, and not exactly sure why. She turned away quickly, twisting a hand in the rigging and leaning out over the rail.
Wind whipped her cheeks, her scarf, and she squinted into the fading light, searching the broom boats for familiar faces. She caught glances of shock but also relief and admiration, both a thousand times better than the infuriating pity she’d grown used to since she’d injured her ankle.
What did they think, the girls from her class? Her friends and neighbors? Everyone she knew? Had they gasped when the Witch Queen announced her name? Did they think her a fool for taking Thomas’s place? Did they think it brave?
She hadn’t talked to any of the girls from her class for ages, had actively avoided them even before the revel, because she couldn’t bear to sit around and listen to everything she was missing out on whilst injured.
Splashes drew her eyes to a child leaning precariously out of a boat bobbing nearby, sticky toffee ringing their mouth. A man quickly pulled the child back. The little thing couldn’t be more than five or six. She hadn’t been more than five or six the first time she’d attended the regatta. The mainlanders said it was grotesque, what the islanders did here every year, that they were savages for celebrating the sacrifice of their children. But the mainlanders boiled their witches down to the bone, so it wasn’t as if they had a right to say anything…
Gooseflesh riddled Lina’s skin.
It was a little grotesque, though, really. All of this. Tonight. The island wasn’t just celebrating someone’s courage and sacrifice. It was celebrating murder. Glorifying death.
Why did they all go along with it? Was one life truly worth trading to keep thousands safe?
She didn’t want to think about it.
She stared at the faint shape of her shadow on the water, tapping the wood three times to banish the thoughts. Then she leaned out even farther, searching anxiously for Uncle’s broom boat, for Thomas. Four days now since he’d been let go.
But even now, he might be sailing closer like they’d planned, scaling up the side of the ship. A second shadow joined hers on the water, and Lina’s heart stuttered as she half imagined…
Her hopeful glance melted into a scowl when she raised her head and saw black hair instead of blond.
“He won’t come,” said Eva, slinking up beside her, standing so close she could feel the heat radiating off the other girl’s arm. “If that’s why you keep looking out. He’s much too cowardly to change his mind and stage a last-minute rescue.”
Uneasiness twisted Lina’s insides. She and Finley were relying on him. Thomas would come. Wouldn’t he? And her family, too. Where were they? Why hadn’t she seen their boats? Very soon it would be true dark, and the witches would pluck the stars as they appeared, one by one, dropping them glittering into the water to join the wreaths, raking their hungry fingers through the sky until the night was starless.
Maybe they were just waiting for that darkness?
“I don’t understand why you even like him,” said Eva.
Irritation and exasperation seared through Lina like flame. As if always hearing it from Finley weren’t tiresome enough. “Why, are you jealous?”
The queen has to fall in love with the sacrifice.
Lina quickly banished that thought, too. “I’m going to like him even more if you all keep trying to make me hate him.”
“That’s the reason you like him?” said Eva, supremely unimpressed.
“What? No, that’s, it’s…” How did you even explain liking someone? How did you explain liking someone to a witch who didn’t have a heart?
“He piggybacked me home.” That was how it had started. “When I turned my ankle on a slippery rock.” It sounded so inadequate, really, when said out loud. But how could you capture in mere words the thrill of having the famous, mysterious Thomas Lin kneel down in front of you and offer to carry you home in front of the whole school?
All those slack jaws and sour lips. Pure envy on every student’s face.
Resting against Thomas Lin’s broad back. Breathing in the surprisingly fruity scent of his shampoo. This older boy who, even before he’d escaped the last Witch Queen’s clutches, had been admired as the most talented singer at the Conservatoire.
“Let me guess,” Eva said when Lina paused. “He played the tragic victim for you. Acted all scarred and sad and lonesome? So you felt you just had to mend his broken heart, had to save him?”
“I have saved him,” Lina retorted with no little triumph. “From you.” Now all she had to do was save herself, too, vanish under cover of darkness. Because that was how it worked. The boy and the good girl always ended up escaping together.
And the wicked witch always ended up alone.
“He makes me feel,” she added, “like I’m…like I’m someone more, someone special.”
Eva looked at her for a long, long moment.
The heat was back in Lina’s cheeks. “Haven’t you ever wanted that, someone to tell you you’re special?”
“Why would I need someone to tell me what I already know?”
Lina scowled and looked away, hands fisting in her skirt. Embarrassed from sharing something so private. Was it such a bad thing to want? It was useless talking to Eva. She should try shoving her overboard, use that as her distraction to slip away.
And then she saw it.
Amongst the hundreds of boats anchored in the sunken harbor, one painted a familiar blue, another red and gold. The first crewed by a squad of grim-faced aunties. The second steered by several cousins. And there were Laolao and Uncle in a third boat headed this way, struggling to sail through the crowd.
Suddenly, Lina wanted very much to crawl under something and hide.
Oh God. She was dead. She was so dead. She was going to be in so much trouble for all of this. Why hadn’t she thought of that earlier?
Even drowning at the hands of the Witch Queen seemed suddenly to pale in comparison to the punishments her family would dole out when they got hold of her. Laolao might even bring out her leather slipper. The leather slipper. Lina had never seen the legendary weapon in action, but Ma and the aunties all told stories about it.
She could already hear the scoldings: What kind of child are you? Why do you have to embarrass us?
Lina’s stomach plummeted, and then plummeted further, because the longer she stared at her family’s boats, the more it became clear that Thomas was not there. Not with any of them. He was not in any of the boats nearby, either.
Her distress must have been obvious, because Eva leaned out, too, trying to follow the line of her sight.
Lina quickly grabbed hold of her hand. “Dance? Again? Or, the stars are about to come out. Why don’t you draw some down for us?” She pulled determinedly, dragging Eva away from the rail before she could spy the boats and guess what Lina had planned.
They both staggered as the ship rocked. Eva threw a hand out to grasp the ratlines, both of them pivoting quickly as a thousand terrified cries chorused ove
r the water.
15
Lina
A great shadow snaked out from under the Witch Queen’s ship, barely visible in the dusky water, twining sinuously through the sunken ruins, diving beneath hulls and keels and rudders. The motion raised lily-crested waves, spinning broom boats, sending them crashing against each other with brutal crunches.
Cries pitched into shrieks as a massive tail cut the surface, a plume of crystal spray and a flash of gray scales erupting before the sea serpent plunged deeper, disappearing into the shallows, stirring up centuries of silt. The air reeked with the sudden stench of brine and rotted fish. Of drowned things, dead things, things that had been under the water too long.
There was a high-pitched squeal from a witchling playing on deck. A deep “Oh, hell” from Finley and a husky cackle from Yara.
Lina might almost have laughed, too, a little hysterically, if her heart hadn’t been in her throat at the look of horror on her brother’s face. Weren’t you the one who used to try and scare me with stories about it?
Finley was by the bowsprit, waving at someone in the harbor. Uncle? A cousin? His shouted words garbled under the frantic rush of blood in her ears, but Lina was pretty sure it all amounted to something like: Don’t come! Don’t come! Look, there’s a giant snake!
She didn’t realize how hard she was squeezing Eva’s hand, didn’t realize she was still holding it, until Eva said, “You don’t have to be afraid.”
Lina glanced down at their joined hands. So did two other witches standing close by. Marcin, who narrowed his eyes, and a taller figure with muscles to rival Ma’s, Omar, who gave Eva a knowing look.
Lina immediately tried to drop Eva’s hand, but now Eva was the one holding fast.
“Are you sure this is wise, Eva?” Marcin asked, voice tight. “If you can’t control it…”
Seagulls wheeled overhead, cawing, following the serpent’s progress.
“I thought Lina would like to pet it.” Eva’s smile was laced with malice. “I let it out in your honor. And also because I know how it terrifies Thomas. I can just imagine him cowering somewhere out there, all pathetic. I send him nightmares sometimes about it eating him alive, slowly.”
The Dark Tide Page 10
