“Oh, Lida,” their father boomed, disappointment in his voice. All the girls turned. “We cannot—”
“We can save this one. Please, Father.” He didn’t approach. “Just look at her face.”
Her tone, her face, his gut—all of it forced him swim forward, a king ruled more often than not by the whims of his daughters. So like their mother in spirit, like his Mette, may she rest in the tide.
The king peered at the girl’s face. Creamy skin. Blonde hair. Her eyes were closed but her lashes were full and dark, and he knew that open they would be enchanting, no matter the color.
He looked upon his daughters, each of them pleading, each of them touching the girl in some way. Their spirits lifting her up, keeping her from becoming bones in their sweet blue sand. He didn’t want to disappoint them but he knew the limits of his magic. He’d reached them when he’d made their mother, Mette, and he hadn’t been able to save anyone since. But maybe, with the girls’ help, they’d have enough energy for success. Maybe.
He hoped they would.
With a sigh, he nodded.
The girls, all but the youngest, cheered. Those closest to him used a hand to pat his arm or shoulder with approval, but never fully let the girl go. The youngest was confused. She kept her attention on the girl, nearly the same age as she, watching the stillness.
“But how?”
Her father smiled. “Magic.”
The littlest didn’t blink—long accustomed to the tricks of the older girls. She knew what her magic could do and it was not this. “Magic?”
The oldest answered for her father, already moving to space the sisters at equal intervals along the girl’s body. They had to be just right. They had to do this perfectly, or the girl would turn to bones despite their effort. Despite the fact that all but the youngest knew the story of their mother and the gift she was from a great storm many years ago. She was worse off than this, but not by much. “Yes, come here.”
The oldest moved to the girl’s head, pointing her father to the girl’s feet. This made him laugh again—the sea king, taking commands. His daughters did not appreciate it, their serious faces unwavering from the difficulty at hand. They didn’t see how much they were like their mother.
When they were set, the oldest finally yielded and he gave the order, gave them the command to say: ver∂a. Then he turned his triton upon the girl, touching the tip to her toes. Immediately, light sprang forth, crawling up her legs to her torso, climbing until it reached the crown of her head.
And stopped.
The light blitzed out like it was never there at all.
The sea king sighed. The girl’s pale skin had begun to turn gray. There wasn’t much time. If this was to work, they had only one more chance.
“Let us try again.” He looked to each of them. Tried to put confidence into his features. Though he knew how the magic worked. Barter meant a life for a life unless there was just the right amount of magical energy. If he could complete the transaction by himself so long ago, he could do it with his girls. Surely. Maybe. “Concentrate.”
Again, he touched his triton to the tip of the girl’s toes. Stared until all he could see was the girl’s graying face. “Ver∂a.” The girls repeated it, all of them touching the girl, their eyes squeezed shut. Power in their voices.
And again, a light sprang forth, crawling up her legs to her torso, climbing until it reached the crown of her head. Then, as it climbed her cheeks, something dark and old seemed to seep into the water around them, like frigid air hitting the surface and forming ice. The sea king’s triton wavered.
But then it came—a flash of light so crisp and bright that it would’ve been mistaken for lightning up top. And, for the first time since Mette, it was done.
The girl’s chest rose. Her eyes blinked open—blue and beautiful as the sea king suspected. She lifted her head just enough to see their faces, her new body, before confusion and exhaustion took her and she fell into a deep sleep.
The littlest knew she was no longer the youngest. That this girl would be a sister. She ran her fingers along the girl’s tail, marveling at the fresh turquoise scales, shimmering in the deep water.
“What shall we call her, Father?”
“Mette,” he said without missing a beat.
The girls knew what this meant. It made the oldest’s spine tingle and fingers shake. She had to say something.
“On the surface, they call her Anna. The men are yelling her name over and over.”
The sea king read the faces of his daughters. Glanced down at the sea’s newest mermaid. The littlest of his girls. He smiled.
“Annemette. Let us call her Annemette.”
24
THOUGH SOFT AND SUBTLE, THE BLUE LIGHT OF THE morning stuns me awake, and the sound of the sea echoes in my ears. The sea.
My eyes fly open. Candle still flickering. Book splayed pages down in my lap. My back propped against the rock wall.
I fell asleep in my workshop. My lair, I think with a smile. But quickly I snap back to reality. That was not part of the plan.
I grab the grimoire and carefully flip it toward the right page, the parchment delicate and thin. I’m looking for the one with the triton. I thumb through all the pages, but on my first try, I don’t find it. It’s too dark in here. With a frustrated huff, I grab the book and the candle and pad across the dirt floor to the cave’s entrance.
Dawn is just minutes away, the indigo night reaching past Havnestad to the west while a shade a tick lighter licks at the horizon. Between the coming light and the glow of the candle, I calm myself and read with eyes bleary from a lack of sleep.
Luckily, I found what I was looking for before my body gave in to rest last night. I can almost recite it—but I don’t want to take any chances, recalling the panic I felt earlier when I thought the masking spell had gone wrong.
In the brighter light, I focus my eyes on the flipping pages, attention on the upper right-hand corner.
Where is it?
After a few minutes, there it is—the triton. Etched into the page, the symbol of the sea king. I huddle over the page and read.
The sea is forever defined by its tide, give and take the measure of its barter. In magic, as in life, the sea does not give its subjects lightly—payment is required, the value equivalent, no matter the ask. A shell, a fish, a pearl of the greatest brilliance—none can be taken without a debt to be paid.
I know magical barter. I’ve known it my whole life. I saw it in my mother’s eyes the moment before she died, giving her life for mine. If there’s a way out of the spell Annemette used to come to land, I’ll find it.
I look up at the sun rising.
In eighteen hours it will be midnight.
In eighteen hours, Annemette’s time is up.
I can’t lose her again.
Blowing out the candle, I hide my book in a crevice in the wall and slide the crate of oysters in front of it.
My fingers dab at the pearl at my throat—Annemette’s pearl—the light that showed me the way to my own magic. I’m grateful to Annemette, and now, hopefully, I can return the favor.
I make my way to the docks, the winds from deep within the Øresund Strait airing out the crowd of ships with fresh breeze and salt brine. Every spot is full, and half the boats will be leaving in the morning. Half the boats, including Iker’s—with me on board. A warmth grows in my heart when his little schooner, towed in and repaired from the storm, comes into view, tied in place to the royal dock.
I press the little amethyst to the hull of Iker’s boat for double the time I do any other ship. But I do touch them all, moving swiftly, repeating my words. This magic needs to be done before I test the kind that will keep Annemette home.
In an hour, I’ve finished. Dawn has risen completely, scarlet and salmon painted in wide swaths about the horizon. It’s just bright enough that I squint into the light as I stand on the edge of the royal dock, the one that leads deepest into the harbor.
My heart begins to pound, a nervous twinge climbing my spine. Seventeen hours. I know how to exchange words for what I want, but not items, so now is the time to work it out. I place one hand on the pearl and hold my amethyst in the other. My two most prized material possessions. Items I’d fight for—though it’s a toss-up as to which one I should use. I squeeze my eyes shut and make my choice.
Then, I summon Annemette’s confidence. Mother’s magic. My own stubbornness.
There’s no reason why this won’t work.
I can do this.
I can do this.
“Skipta.”
From the tips of my toes to the crown of my head, the oldest of magic crackles through me like Nordic ice ripping through a ship’s hull. The sea pours into my veins.
I toss the amethyst into the waters, and I watch it sink.
Then I wait. My heart thuds in my ears, fear mingling with the magic’s chill. At my throat, the pearl throbs, frozen. I tell myself to be patient. Remember last night. This is how it works, but after five breaths, the panic is so great in my heart that I drop to my knees.
Fickle sea with nothing to give.
I haul myself over the side of the dock, fingers straining against the weather-beaten boards as I get my face as close to the surface of the water as possible, vision straining for any sign of my precious gemstone.
But all I see is my reflection. Pale and nervous, exhaustion and worry coating my features.
“What have I done?”
Shame bites at my heart. Heat rises in my cheeks, but a chill runs the length of my spine. I whip my head up and fall back onto the dock, curls snagging in the boards. My fingers dab at the pearl.
Tante Hansa was right—I was a lucky thief, but with cheap parlor tricks. I’m not a witch yet—not like my aunt, my mother or Maren Spliid. I’m just a—
Sea spray cuts off my thoughts, shooting straight up from the water like a whale spout just below the surface. My eyes widen as they scan an object within the stream. I struggle to sit up fast enough to cup my palms into position as it begins its descent.
When it lands, I close my grip, protecting it. Protecting the hope that has risen in my heart.
I take a breath and open my hand.
A stone as blue as the noontime sky and smooth as glass sits there, the same weight and size as my amethyst.
Just as sure as the tide, it worked.
I gave. It took. It gave. I took.
Just as I’d hoped.
Clutching the blue gemstone, I hop to my feet and meet the sea’s gaze.
“Skipta.” Exchange.
I drop the gemstone back in the water and hold my breath, thinking about my amethyst. Hope piling in my heart that I can haggle with the sea to get the exact exchange I want.
“Skipta,” I repeat, and then whisper the only Old Norse word I know that’s close to what I want. “Bjarg.” Stone.
Cupping my hands, I stand there, eyes on the horizon. Two gulls play on the water’s surface, dipping, splashing, and rising in tandem.
As they soar just above my head, another spout shoots up from the deep. Bigger and stronger, it sprays the royal dock and me with it, but I hold my ground, hands outstretched.
Another item lands in my hands. Palms still together, I run one wrist over my eyes to clear the seawater there, blink the blurriness away, and then reset. Breath held, my fingers bloom open and reveal not my amethyst but something even more radiant.
A stone of deep crimson, jagged crystals a crust on its surface like rock sugar. Its heart is as bloodred as my own, seemingly lit from a fire within.
It is not what I had in mind, but it’s blinding with beauty—much more so than my amethyst. But can it do what my amethyst can do? Or will it wreck the spell?
I can’t worry about it now. It’s clear from the magic’s response that it will only trade like for like. The exchange will be the same when Annemette is in place of the stone. And I do not have a body to give the sea.
This is a problem.
But maybe the solution has already come to pass—four years before. Perhaps now I can foster the final trade.
“What is it with you and me and mornings?”
Nik.
I turn, holding the gemstone against the folds in my dress, wishing I had the right angle to drop it into my pocket without being obvious.
The twinkle in Nik’s eyes doesn’t let on to how long he’s been standing there. He’s fully dressed and clean-shaven, shoulders square and hands on his hips.
“I promise I didn’t stalk you to hassle you about kisses again.”
“Mm-hmm, that’s what they all say.”
A blush rises so quickly on Nik’s cheeks that I know he’s immediately wishing he hadn’t shaved before the sun. “I truly am sorry. It’s none of my business.”
I smile at Nik. “Of course it’s your business—you’re my best friend.”
He takes two steps and sinks to the dock, his boots kicking over the side and dangling. I find a dry patch of wood and sit next to him.
“Some best friend I am,” he says. “Always ditching you for duty. And you can’t even talk to me about boys—one word about kissing and I become a beet-red gargoyle.”
I put my hand on his elbow and use the other to squirrel the stone into the pocket hidden in the gown’s folds. “To be fair, we are talking about your best friend kissing a cousin you treat like a brother.”
He nods. “It’s true. Why couldn’t you go for someone a little less close? Say a Ruyven or Didrik or Jan?”
I can’t help it: my nose scrunches immediately. “Because Ruyven or Didrik or Jan . . .” believe I think I’m too good for them.
“Aren’t Iker?” Nik cocks a brow.
Now it’s my cheeks that flame up and I point to them, laughing. “This is how you look when we talk about kissing.”
Nik laughs, and just the word kissing makes him blush too. When our eyes meet, something about his face softens. He brushes a wayward curl away from my cheek—not in the romantic way of Iker, but in the loving way of family.
His thumb and forefinger linger in my hair, and I laugh again because I’m not sure what else to do. After the sound dies, I can’t draw in a breath. I can’t do anything but hold his eyes.
“Moving in on my territory, Cousin?”
We whip around and there is Iker, fully dressed but not clean-shaven, a ship rope spooled about an arm.
“I can’t help it if my best friend is the prettiest girl in all of Havnestad.”
Iker doesn’t laugh. His voice is as sturdy as his ship. “Wouldn’t say that too loudly—I have it on my own authority that you never want to anger a blonde.”
I force my features into an overdramatic pout. “Did someone get burned once upon a time?”
A devilish grin spreads across Iker’s lips, and that familiar joyous light winks in the icy depths of his eyes. “Yes, and it still hurts.” Then he hooks a brow. “My mother always told me a kiss can make it better.”
I get to my feet. I can still feel Nik’s fingers in my hair. “There’s plenty of time for that later.”
“There is,” Nik adds, putting himself between me and Iker. “Now, let’s get back to work. Your ship won’t prepare itself.”
“That’s rich, given you were the one to walk down the dock and not come back.”
“Where are you going?” I ask suddenly, worried that Iker might be about to leave without me.
“Father wants to take the castle workers on the steamer for the Celebration of the Sea today.”
In my sleep-deprived state and my focus on the ball, I’d forgotten about the Celebration of the Sea, the afternoon party on the harbor before the grand event. It’s fun, everyone in Havnestad with their boats anchored a little way out in the water. It manages to bring us closer to our cherished sea, and yet, looking back to the coast, we can see how beautiful our home truly is.
“Anyway,” Nik goes on, “Mother plans to have all her special guests and their minders aboard the old th
ree-sail. And Iker doesn’t want our party to go with either.”
“Stupid as a plastered horse, that would be,” Iker grumbles.
“So we made the royal decision to take the schooner.”
It’s silly, but my breath catches. “Just the four of us?”
“Indeed.” Nik nods. “As long as we can ship off before my parents get wind of what we’ve done.”
My heart rises. Just the four of us all day on a boat. Laughing, singing, eating, before dressing up and dancing the night away—a fitting end to our Lithasblot and a fabulous beginning to the new way things will be. The weight of the gem in my pocket tells me this is right.
“Perfect.”
25
ANNEMETTE IS AWAKE AND DRESSED WHEN I RETURN, standing at the window, looking out to the sea. Despite the sky and sun pouring in, there’s a weight to her silhouette, as there should be. This day—the next sixteen hours—means life or death.
If she hears the door and my footsteps, she doesn’t turn. Doesn’t ask where I’ve been. After a moment, she finally speaks. “It’s so beautiful, watching the sea from this view,” she says, now facing me. “But I’ll never be able to go back, and I can’t stay here. Oh, Evie. I shouldn’t have come!” A sob squats in her voice as she buries her head in her hands.
There’s not time for talk like that. No time for wishes and should haves.
“I know what to do,” I say.
“No.” She lifts her face, furious in the new light even as her voice cracks. “I told you. You can’t use love magic, Evie. You don’t understand how this works! What I’ve done. What I have—”
“Yes, I do.” I take a step closer, stubbornness squaring my shoulders. “And if Nik doesn’t have the answer, I do. I’ve found the right spell. Between the two of us, we can keep you here. I know it. I have it figured—”
“No. You. Don’t.” She lunges toward me and grabs my wrists. Her angelic face blooms with pockets of deep red. “Whatever little spell you’ve created doesn’t matter. The magic won’t take anything else. It won’t, it won’t, it won’t . . .” All the fight drains out of her in a flood, and her body sways and then begins to sink. I catch her on the way down and try to soften the blow as we hit the stone floor in a heap of silks and gold thread.
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