Lena watched as he danced his shaky fingertips across the overturned deck. Some of the cards were lovely—mossy hills, vibrantly green; sun-darkened hands clasped together; lovers embracing. Others sent a terrifying shudder down the length of her spine.
“I brought you something,” she said, turning her attention back to Edwin. A smile peeled across his face as he leaned back into his chair.
“Me? What did you bring for me, lass?”
Lena stood and wrapped his hands around the bundle of crab meat she’d brought from the beach. Edwin breathed deep, inhaling the scent of the sea.
“Oh, you temptress,” he teased, lifting a strip of meat to his mouth. Lena flushed pink as delight hummed, deep in his throat. “Did you buy this in town?”
“I caught it,” she replied. “I used to catch crab for my family . . .” She trailed off, remembering Jace’s earlier skepticism. Edwin only nodded, eyes fluttering shut with pleasure as he chewed.
“Then your family was lucky indeed,” he said. “Who taught you your trade?”
“My . . . trade?” Lena had never considered it such.
“A girl could make herself quite a sum, catching crabs as sweet as this.”
Lena ducked her chin to her chest.
Memories rocked through her mind, clapping against one another like waves: Asger’s strong arms as he’d thrown a spear into the flank of a small nurse shark. His deep grin of satisfaction, his glowing amber eyes. How he’d laughed and nuzzled her neck when she’d tried to throw farther than him—and failed horribly. Javelin leading her away from the cavern in the blue-black hours of early morning, just before the sea had stirred to life, when the still-yawning sea fare was easiest to catch. Her father, years before his sight had begun to fade, showing her how to scale a fish, how to slide the plush meat from the belly of a crab.
She’d been gifted with so many teachers, but all of them were lost to her now. A tear dribbled over her cheek. Edwin blotted it away with his thumb.
“Such a great, deep sadness in you,” he murmured. “It seems as vast as the sea itself.”
Lena didn’t respond. How could she? She couldn’t tell him where she’d come from, what she’d lost. Death would snare her, if she ever revealed the secrets of her past. Another cruel joke of Poseidon.
“You should go to bed, lass,” Edwin said. “Get some rest. Sorrow drops anchor in the eve, but it often sails away with the dawn. Perhaps you could return to Soren Emil in the morning.”
Lena arched a brow, though she knew he couldn’t see her. Edwin smirked, sensing the question she hadn’t asked.
“Forgetful old man,” he chuckled, thumping a playful finger against his brow. “I’ve just thought of another errand for you to run.”
18
Lena woke with a start. Her heart was pounding. She could feel her pulse vibrating in her ears. Only a dream, only a dream.
She brushed the damp, matted hair away from her forehead, reaching for the swiftly vanishing fragments of whatever it was that had terrorized her sleeping mind. But it was like trying to wrap her hands around water. All that remained was a cold quiver of fear, and the vivid memory of herself—gasping for air. She tucked her thighs against her chest and hugged her shins.
Only a dream. Shut your eyes. Go back to sleep. That’s what Carrick would have said.
Instead, her gaze wandered to the window. A breeze slipped in and rustled her sheets, cool on her cheek. But behind her knees . . .
Lena crinkled her brow. The shell she wore, the merrow queen’s shell, was glowing with warmth. She touched it with her fingertips and—
The dream rushed back into her mind, almost like an ocean wave. The sea had been deep, dark, and she’d been sinking. Down, down, down . . . toward something foul beneath her feet.
Her feet. She’d been human in the dream. Human and . . . unable to breathe.
Drowning like one of Asger’s sailors. She’d beat her legs against the quicksand-current. Had stretched her arms toward the glittering sun above and screamed.
Bubbles had burst from her throat. Warmth had enveloped her, and then . . .
She’d woken up.
Lena squeezed her eyes shut, trying to make sense of what she’d seen. In her hand, the shell grew warmer. What did it mean? The burning shell? The dream?
She untangled herself from her twisted sheets. She was soaked in sweat, and her skin was pale—the ashen white of moonlight. Lena pushed out of the bed and crossed to her window. She gazed out over the swaying meadow and strained her eyes for the sea. Perhaps it all meant nothing. Her skin was hot. The shell might just be flushed with body heat.
The nightmare was only a nightmare. A reminder of what she’d lost, what had been taken from her—her tail. Her home. Her family.
As if she needed reminding.
Perhaps she should follow Lord Jarl and Jace to some distant country, inland, leagues from the tumbling waves, from any whiff of ocean breeze, from her memories.
Guilt surged through her blood—blisteringly cold. She wouldn’t forget her father, her brother. She didn’t want to forget them. But she missed them. Missed them so much, sometimes it felt like . . .
Like she couldn’t breathe.
Wind whispered through her hair. Something was beckoning her . . . calling her . . . as her eyes reached for the sea. She spun on her heel and snatched up her coverlet, wrapping it tightly around her shoulders—protection from the chilly midnight air. She eased open her door and peeked into the hall. It was empty, all the candles snuffed out for the night.
She winced at each creaking floorboard as she snuck out of her room and tread lightly, carefully down the stairs. Something was pulling her, nudging her through the foyer and out onto the stone pavilion. Then onward, back toward the beach.
Each step sent a chill up Lena’s spine. Her feet were bare. The meadow was cold, and the sand was colder. Her teeth chattered. The violent rush of blustery waves filled her ears.
Lena sat down in the firmly packed sand. She closed her eyes and dragged her hands over her thighs, recalling the pain and elation she’d felt when she’d transformed. When she’d first gazed down at herself and seen feet.
“Lena?”
Her eyes shot open. Her heart lurched into her throat as she cinched the quilt around her shoulders and scanned the shadowy beach.
“Søstjerne.”
The voice rippled through Lena like a sigh of relief. Her gaze moved slowly toward the sound of it, toward the water. A figure loomed waist-deep in the shallows, his dark hair gleaming beneath the starry heavens.
Asger. He waded toward her, walking on human legs, his bare body wholly exposed.
“How?” But she knew already.
“It’s the last night of the full moon.” Asger gestured to the crystal around his neck. The stone of the gods. Surely, this wasn’t what Poseidon had intended when he’d gifted the Fosse-Søfolk with the ability to walk ashore. What would the sea god do if he caught Asger here? Caught him with her, a hated, banished girl?
“W-why are you here?”
“I had to come find you, søstjerne. I had to make sure you were alright.”
Lena wished he would wrap his large, muscled arms around her. Wished he would hold her tightly against his chest.
Her eyes drifted over his body. It was peculiar . . . different than hers. She hadn’t seen an unclothed male on the surface before. Something about his strange, bristling form made her nervous, even as a trill of excitement danced over her skin. She took a step forward and extended the blanket to him.
Asger’s eyes glittered with amusement as he wrapped it around his waist. His knuckles and wrists were stained with new markings.
Lena shivered. “How is my father?”
“He’s well, søstjerne. I promised you I would take care of him.” The truth of it was etched in his features. Asger took her small hands in his and squeezed.
“Have you told him what happened?” she whispered. “Have you told him . . . what I’ve done
?”
Asger frowned. He shook his head slowly, and pressed a heavy sigh from his lips. “I told him it was an accident, what happened to Javelin. I told him . . . it was a mistake. That Javelin misunderstood the rules of the stone. That he hadn’t meant to anger the sea god when he brought you to the surface. I told him you were safe.”
“Does he know that I’m here?”
Asger gave a short nod.
“He won’t be punished then?”
“The king defers to Poseidon in matters like these. It’s not Carrick they want to punish, Lena.” His voice trailed off into silence, but his meaning was clear. He glanced over his shoulder. Lena followed his eyes, and together, they gazed at the sea.
“You should go back,” she murmured. Her voice was barely a breath. She could feel her heart crumbling in her chest; the hope she hadn’t realized she’d clung onto dissolving. Poseidon would never forgive her. The sea was lost, Carrick was lost, everything she loved was lost. Forever.
“Søstjerne . . .” Asger’s amber eyes shone with regret.
Lena shook her head, unable to bear his sympathy, his remorse, his kindness. Would she ever see him again after tonight?
“Thank you for coming to tell me of my father. For watching over him.”
“I came to tell you the truth.”
Curiosity spiked in Lena’s chest. She peered up at him, a crease between her brow. Asger raked a hand through his heavy tendrils of hair.
“There’s so much you don’t know, Lena. So much you should know.”
“What are you talking about?”
“That day, with the merrow woman, do you remember?”
Lena could still see her clearly—frail skin, yellow teeth. Wide wild eyes. She nodded, and strapped her arms across her chest, hugging herself. Nerves prickled the base of her spine.
“What of it?”
“What she said,” Asger began. Hesitation slowed his words. “That your blood sings to the shore . . . I repeated her words to Carrick, and he told me everything, Lena. Everything about your mother.”
“My mother?” Goosebumps crawled over Lena’s body, from the back of her neck to the tips of her toes. Asger tugged the blanket from his waist and tucked her into it, drawing her body against his. Everything about him felt familiar, like home.
“Your mother was one of them, Lena,” he whispered. “A human. She wanted to be merrow. She struck some sort of agreement with the queen, to be one with the sea. When the queen died, the spells she’d cast died with her. The magic holding your mother to the merrows ceased to be. Her body reverted to its original form, its true form, and . . . she drowned.”
Lena’s pulse sailed over a beat. She pressed her hands against Asger’s chest, desperate for space, for air. Suffocating.
He kept his arms tightly latched around her waist. She yanked out of his embrace, eyes wide. Now her breath was coming in heaves.
“She never told me.”
“She never told anyone. Even Carrick didn’t know until it happened. You were too young to understand.”
Lena backed away a step, then another, stumbling over her heels. Asger strode toward her, reaching for her, but she shuddered away from his touch.
“He wanted to protect you and Javelin from the truth, from what might happen if people knew. The merrows were mourning their murdered queen. The sea was red with their hatred of humans.”
“That’s why we left the capital. Why we ran.” Lena remembered it, swimming to Sogen Hav in the dead of the night. Asger clutched her wrists.
“You’re merrow, Lena. Javelin never would have been welcomed to the Fosse-Søfolk if he was anything else.”
Lena stared at their joined hands. Her fingers felt numb. Her whole body was suddenly heavy, burdened with yet another secret she could never share.
“You’re not one of them,” Asger insisted, his voice tight.
“But I am.” Lena forced herself to say the words, though they quivered over her lips. “Whatever I was before . . . I’m human now, Asger. I am what you are told to hate . . . forced to kill . . .”
“I would never let anything happen to you.”
“No?” she whispered, shaking her head. “I doubt your clansmen feel the same.” She tugged away, but Asger clapped a firm hand on her arm, holding her in place. He peered down at her, his gold-flecked gaze infinitely dark.
“You will always be my søstjerne,” he murmured.
“Until I become another mark. Another meaningless, barbaric human.”
He parted his lips to disagree, but Lena could see the truth lingering deep in his eyes.
“We’re of two different worlds now, Asger. I can never return to the sea. To you. To Carrick. And you will never belong here.” She slipped out of his grasp. This time, he let her go. His amber eyes strayed over her body, over her legs.
“I belong to the land now.”
“You don’t.” He turned his back on her. His gait was smooth as he strode back into the shallows. “You belong to the water, Lena,” he said quietly. “You belong to me.”
With that, he ducked beneath the black, rippling surface and disappeared into the sea.
19
“Your mother was one of them . . .”
Asger’s voice echoed in Lena’s mind the next morning. She was seated beside Edwin in the kitchen, staring blankly at her breakfast, unable to eat.
“You’re quiet, lass.”
She peered up, eyes heavy from lack of sleep. Edwin kept his unseeing gaze on his plate, preoccupied with slicing his sausages into dimes.
“Is something troubling you?” he asked, his voice quiet.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
Lena nodded, though he couldn’t see her. She shifted her eyes to the window, wondering if Asger would return to the little beach beyond the meadow. If he’d come back every month and wait for her, body shining brightly beneath the full, silver moon.
She hoped he wouldn’t. Hoped he would. Wasn’t sure what to hope for anymore.
Ahead, the morning sun consumed the window pane, painting her fair skin yellow and gold. How she longed to be beneath the sea, gazing up at that sparkling, crystalline light. Dreaming of the shore. In all of her fantasies, it had never been like this. Tainted by Poseidon’s curse. Infinitely lonely in the wake of Javelin’s death.
“You can always tell me your truths, lass,” Edwin murmured. “No matter what they might be.
Lena stared at him for a moment, taking in his deeply wrinkled features, his soft skin and clouded eyes. There was something good in him. Something she trusted. She slipped her hand over his bulbous knuckles and guided his cutlery.
“I didn’t sleep well,” she admitted softly. Bravery flared at the base of her stomach. Perhaps . . . perhaps she could tell him about Javelin, about Asger and Carrick. About all of it. Panic quickly doused the idea.
“I was thinking about . . . that errand you asked me to run.”
“Ah, yes.” A slow smile spread across Edwin’s face. He pushed his plate away, though it was still piled high with food—golden-brown toast lathered with fresh butter, and several baked potatoes covered in sweet meats and gravy. “I’d like Soren to order me another special book.”
Lena winced. “But Jace—”
“It’s my own coin,” Edwin interjected, shaking his head. “And I believe my grandson is away with his excellency, anyway. Lord Jarl.” He grumbled the name. “No one will notice you’ve gone. We’re bothersome creatures, Lena. We’re kept and fed and mostly left alone.” He smiled sadly, then plucked a handful of slim silver pieces out of his pocket.
Lena sighed as she accepted them, recalling Jace’s grisly behavior the previous night. She pushed out of her chair.
“Soren Emil might be a good friend for you, lass,” Edwin remarked. “He has a special fondness for the sea.”
Lena paused. Edwin’s smile grew in her silence.
“Better go before you lose your chance to disappear,” he chuckled
&
nbsp; Lena knew he was right, but she remained where she was, frozen in place. She stared at him, heart pounding painfully against her chest. Did he know . . . who she really was? Who she’d been? Perhaps his magical cards had revealed her . . .
She shook her head. Jace had called those cards nonsense. But then—what of Edwin’s readings? The eerie accuracy of his whispered words?
Death has sealed your fate.
She pushed her suspicions away and moved quickly, cautiously, to the door.
“Soren’s father was a good man,” Edwin said, as if he didn’t realize she’d left the table. “It’s a shame what happened to him. To his wife. To Soren. Has he told you? No, of course he hasn’t. He’s a pleasant fellow, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” Lena managed to say. She glanced over her shoulder, stiff. Nervous. Eager to hear more. Edwin only shrugged, and tugged his plate back to the edge of the table. He padded about for his fork, speared a sliver of sausage, and popped it into his mouth.
Curiosity lingered on Lena’s lips, begging her to resume her seat, to ask Edwin what he knew of Soren, of the merrow, of her.
Instead, she opened the door and scurried away.
A chilly breeze ruffled Lena’s skirt as she hastened toward the village. The hills were beginning to turn yellow, a sign that the seasons would be changing soon. Lena recalled Asger’s whispered stories of the seasons, passed down through generations of Fosse-Søfolk. How, in the span of a year, the surface could experience the death and rebirth of the warmth and cold. The chilly days were becoming more and more cold against her soft human skin.
Lena was careful to keep her eyes ahead as she passed through the village. She did her best to ignore the vendors who called out to passersby, beckoning men and women to their stands. She followed a straight, swift path to the oak door of the Bror Boghandel.
Relief surged through her as she pushed inside and was instantly embraced by the warmth of the shop. The scent of books lingered on the air, twined with a faint, pleasant aroma, sweet and strangely clean.
“Hello?” She called out, shutting the heavy door behind her. The shop was quiet; empty of visitors. “Soren Emil?”
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