Sea Witch

by Sarah Henning

  The little mermaid loved Oma Ragn with a special fierceness—she felt at home when she was with her. At home, folded into the long white waves of her hair, against the warmth of her skin, the song she hummed under her breath just louder than their collective heartbeat.

  But Oma Ragn was more than a comfortable lap and soothing voice. She was their guide to life in the palace. Their tutor. Their example. Their goal. Days began with lessons in policy, lessons on how to rule, followed by the sciences and the arts. Nights were filled with music and magic, the lessons shifting with the shadows in the water, becoming less definitive, more dreamlike.

  To the little mermaid, this was how it had always been. How it always would be. Until something happened that she hadn’t predicted.

  One morning, there was a great fuss, her third-oldest sister, Aida, at the center of it all. Her room had been done up in garlands of twisted seaweed with sparkling shells twined throughout. The little mermaid swam through, admiring every last detail, but she didn’t know what it was for.

  The little mermaid found the ear of her sister closest in age, twelve-year-old Galia. She settled in so that they were shoulder-to-shoulder and whispered as the others circled around Aida, adjusting ribbons in her hair. “What is this?”

  Galia opened her mouth as if to speak and then snapped it shut, finding the correct words a few moments later.

  “It is the fifteenth year since Aida’s birth.”

  The little mermaid thought this might mean a celebration. Galia read the confusion on her face. Again, Galia seemed to choose her words carefully, tugging the little mermaid farther into the shadows.

  “On the fifteenth anniversary of a mermaid’s birth, she can go to the surface.”

  The little mermaid’s eyes grew large. “The surface?” It had never occurred to her that this was even an option—she’d been told many stories of the dangers above, humans with their harpoons and nets a terrifying reality. It wasn’t something she wanted to get close to. Ever. But Galia was smiling.

  Smiling.

  As were all her sisters and Aida herself. Beaming might have been a more appropriate word.

  The littlest mermaid got the distinct feeling this was something she should’ve remembered—two of her other sisters would’ve already celebrated in this way. Instead, her mind held endless black upon black, no remembrance shining through.

  Still, she waved away her own question as if she’d known all along. “Oh, yes, of course.”

  It did not do to make waves.

  26

  NIK AND IKER DEPART DOWN THE HALL TO THEIR WING in a soggy mess, tired, calling for the kitchens and a hot bath. We will see them in three hours—standing at the palace ballroom’s doors, welcoming guests into the Lithasblot Ball.

  It’s a grand end to the festival, but it’s not just for the nobles. Everyone is invited to partake in the music, dance, and great feast—all of Havnestad equals for one night.

  Normally, Nik only has to choose from local noble ladies and common girls to dance with, ever the egalitarian prince, giving each girl a chance. But things will be different this year. Aside from Annemette, there will be dozens of the queen’s girls waiting, fighting, and grasping at their chance to dance with him.

  Those girls must still be aboard the three-sail, probably down below, protected from the hail and rain.

  Protected, unlike us.

  Annemette and I shuffle down the guest hall in enough of a state that I really don’t want to know what I look like. I thank Urda that the queen is not here to pass judgment. But what I see of Annemette does not give me hope. Her waves are tangled; deep-red welts cover her arms, every shard of hail having left its mark; and the pre-storm sun made its presence known as well, flushing her forehead and nose as pink as the natural blush at her cheeks.

  I can only hope a bath and the three hours we have to dress will improve such matters for both of us. It’s difficult to have the most romantic evening of your life while resembling ghosts of the bubonic plague.

  We reach our room, and Annemette immediately falls into bed, sodden clothes and all. She bounces as much as the down mattress will allow before settling in a heap of hair and rags.

  “Are you all right?” I ask, sitting on my bed across from her.

  She answers with a smile. “I am more than all right—Nik has asked me to open the ball with him.”

  I gasp. Each year the king and queen take the ball’s opening dance. And now that Nik is of age, it makes sense that he would dance alongside them—something even I didn’t know. Something maybe Nik didn’t know until his mother’s guests arrived.

  “That’s amazing.” If that invitation doesn’t show blooming love, I don’t know what does. And after a night of staring into her eyes, there’s no way Nik won’t fulfill the magical contract.

  “It is,” she agrees. “Though I am thoroughly exhausted. We have time for a nap, don’t we?”

  I catch my reflection in the length of the window—red spots on a pink sea and a bird’s nest of curls. Iker hasn’t asked me to open the dance, though surely he will dance too. Maybe he doesn’t think he needs to ask me. Maybe he thinks it’s implied.

  “I don’t know—it might take all three hours to mask this and—”

  “Ljómi,” Annemette says, and a frigid breeze flows over my head and down my arms. It’s cold enough that my eyes snap shut for a moment until it blows over.

  When I open them, and see myself in the mirror, I’m completely different. My hair is clean and bouncy; my skin is glowing, all redness gone. I am radiant. My clothes are still a mess, but the rest of me is better than before. And again, I’m reminded that Annemette is more at home with her magic than I ever will be. She is magic.

  “Thank you. . . . How long will it last?”

  “Not forever, but long enough for Iker to have trouble remembering.” She yawns. “I’ll spell you a new gown later. Now, I need to sleep.”

  “Mette, you can’t—we have less than eight hours until midnight and I need to teach you to dance.”

  Annemette shuts her eyes. “I’ll figure it out. Mermaids dance more than we swim.”

  No. No. No. What is wrong with her? “Dancing with your legs is a lot different, Mette. I mean, I know you’re graceful, but do you know the Havnestad waltz? Every girl in that room will know it backward and forward. If you don’t do it right, everyone will know your story is false. The king, the queen . . . Nik. It could all fall apart before your time is up.”

  Annemette sits up and smiles. “All right. You win. Sleep can wait until after I have his heart.” She lifts her arms for me to grab her hands, and I tug her into the center of our gilded room. Somehow, she’s spelled herself without me seeing, her skin glowing, her hair cascading perfectly over the shoulders of her dress, now dry. Mine remains wet, but I won’t ask her to change it. Not yet. I can’t distract her from this. We’re almost to the finish line. And the ball is more important than any moment we’ve had yet.

  I place her hand on my shoulder and take the other out to the side. My hand goes to her hip. I’m intensely glad Queen Charlotte never succeeded in making les lanciers the dance of choice at the ball—I’d never be able to teach a quadrangle to a mermaid by myself.

  And we begin. “One, two, three . . . one, two, three.”

  She adjusts her hand on my shoulder, clearly bothered by its damp state. “Purr klœdi.”

  My dress dries instantly as we spin around the room. Annemette steps on my toes and corrects but doesn’t apologize.

  “Just you wait for the dress I’ll make you for tonight. If I’d known the last one was going to get covered in Malvina’s pie, I wouldn’t have spelled one so fine, but I’ll have to go all out on this one. Really show the town up—and the queen’s girls, too. Iker won’t be able to keep his eyes off you.”

  I smile at her as we spin in circles. “Thank you,” I say. And I’m grateful. This afternoon with Iker was difficult, and I’d love nothing more than to get back to where we were this
morning.

  “You’ll look just like a princess.”

  “But you’ve already done that once,” I laugh.

  “Oh, now we’re getting picky, are we? Fine, I’ll make you look like a queen!”

  I laugh so hard, it’s practically a royal snort. Then I lead us into another turn, holding her hand tight.

  SEVEN DAYS BEFORE

  Aida’s birthday had unlocked something within the darkness of the littlest mermaid’s mind. She couldn’t see what was there, couldn’t access it, but she’d felt the click of the key settling in. She knew something lay in the endless black, hiding. Waiting to consume her whole, like a shark in a reef.

  And with this shift, she noticed something else. A fatalistic obsession.

  Humans.

  She knew they were dangerous. That they plagued the sea, stealing lives with abandon. Upsetting the balance of things by killing too many or too few. The natural give-and-take forever ruined by their greed, their ships, their nets, their harpoons.

  If the “legend” of merpeople were ever proven, they would be mercilessly hunted by humans. Made a sideshow. Sold to the highest bidder.

  Confirmation of their existence would be the death of them.

  Yet, as she approached her fifteenth year, she began to daydream more and more about observing humans above water. She often left the confines of her father’s castle at night, looking for ships to float next to, listening and watching for any signs of what people were like, these trips becoming more frequent the closer her birthday came.

  A few days before the special day, she came upon just her type of boat. One without anywhere to go—a monolith simply floating in the tide. Even better, this one had funny little windows in the hull. She’d seen those a few times before, leading to little below-water spaces where humans played cards or stored their treasures, depending on the type of ship.

  But these windows were dark. All the people were above, playing music loud enough that the sound drifted below. The little mermaid had always loved music, and she swam along to the lingering notes, swirling and rolling through the water just below the surface.

  But then, after a few hours, a light appeared behind the windows. Brighter than the mermaid had ever seen. Light made by more than an ordinary candle. Maybe several candles. Or something larger—a torch.

  The little mermaid stopped drifting to the music and rushed to the nearest window. She pressed her face as close to the glass as possible.

  And saw into her past.

  The girl beyond the window struck her like a bolt of lightning.

  Suddenly, all her mind’s darkness was illuminated, and she could see everything. The memories in her mind surged forth through the blackness, one right after another in rapid succession, physically knocking her back with their force.

  But not before she’d made eye contact.

  The girl had seen her.

  The girl had recognized her.

  Evie. The girl’s name was Evie.

  And her name—it wasn’t Annemette. It was simply Anna. Anna Kamp. Friherrinde Anna Kamp.

  And the king’s son.

  Nik.

  Nik, with his sweet face and dark eyes. Stately despite being slim, elegant, and graceful. A lover of music and the arts. So kind. The first memories of him came to her in a golden cloud, as if he’d filtered sunlight itself and bathed in it.

  She had to see him.

  The mermaid gathered all her strength and pushed forward, back to the little window. Evie and Nik were always together. If Evie was on this ship, Nik was too. She knew it deep in her bones.

  But he wasn’t there. And Evie was ascending the stairs. Leaving her alone.

  If Nik was there, he was above.

  Where they were laughing and dancing and singing.

  Without her.

  And that’s when the dark memories crawled forward. Burning so painful she had to squeeze her eyes shut.

  That day. Evie and the heavy waves. The dare. The undertow. She would still be alive if Evie hadn’t suggested the race.

  The little mermaid began to sob—this time very aware that she could shed no tears as a mermaid like she had been able to in a past life. And, oh, how she craved that release.

  She’d drowned that day.

  Or nearly drowned—she was clearly alive, though her life had been stolen away. Her father—the sea king—must have saved her, or he wouldn’t have kept her for his own.

  He’d lied to her. They’d all lied to her. Told her she was one of them. Kept her in the dark.

  The little mermaid sobbed again, her eyes stinging as she watched the ship float along, the life she could’ve been living happening above.

  And then the last chunk of blackness evaporated. The last images she’d seen as a human surged forth.

  Evie drifting down toward her.

  Nik’s lithe form racing toward her friend’s limp body, drawing Evie up to the surface and away. Evie first. Always first.

  Then, several minutes later, his shadow returning, his eyes landing on her own body, prone near the seafloor. Him bobbing back to the surface.

  Him swimming back down but then stalling out. Caught in the waves by another boy. The one Evie liked—Iker. Another prince.

  Nik could’ve fought, but he’d let Iker pull him up. He’d given up.

  Their friendship, the way she felt about him, her life—none of that mattered.

  The golden glow around her memories of Nik and her human life with him evaporated. Her fond memories of Evie, the girl who was like the sister she never had, gone. Her happy memories of Iker, always a handsome distraction, no more.

  All that was left was anger.

  Fury.

  Ire.

  She wanted to break it all. Shatter it all. Ruin it all.

  She wanted retribution for all that had been stolen from her.

  She wasn’t human anymore because of the choices of these three. She was magic, though. A being of intense and beautiful magic. There was no place the magic ended and she began. She didn’t have her rightful life, her soul, but she had her magic and her anger.

  And she wanted to use them.

  “Ve∂r.”

  Storm. Yes. Storm.

  “Ve∂r,” she repeated, feeling the magic surge in her veins, saturate her skin, tingle behind her eyes.

  She was magic. She was the storm.

  “Ve∂r.” Above a clap of thunder rolled, loud enough to shake her waves. It was the most beautiful music she’d ever heard. Yet she wanted to see this happen. See the destruction. Endless waves, and yet she’d suddenly felt so confined.

  But she wasn’t. A light went on in the darkness, and she knew she could go above.

  The day she’d been told was her birthday—three days from now—wasn’t her birthday. It was the day she’d lost her rightful life and been reborn, but not the day of her true birth. She’d shared that day with Nik, so if this was his birthday, it was hers as well. She was fifteen. She could go above.

  The little mermaid repeated her command as she pushed for the surface. Lightning was growing, the wind was picking up, and the waves were rocking. The boat’s hull swayed and suddenly filled with light. People running from her power. Hiding below.

  But not everyone.

  As she crested the surface she saw the three people from her memories—from that day—up top. She knew they’d be there—always acting like heroes.

  Except when it came to her. Their bravery had a limit.

  And she would make them suffer.

  The boat lurched as Evie and Iker tried to steady it. Nik took orders from his cousin—of course he did—and went to the side of the ship to cut free a little attached schooner.

  It was her chance.

  “Ve∂r.”

  Waves rocked the ship and the prince faltered, hanging on with all his strength. And just when he seemed to settle into his balance, the little mermaid sent the largest wave yet—bigger than the wall of memories that had struck her, bigger than any she�
��d seen with human eyes—right into the boy who hadn’t saved her.

  The ship tipped. And over Nik went, into the sea.

  His eyes were shut when he appeared before her—his head striking the hull of the schooner on the way down. No blood. Just Nik, floating before her, looking almost as if he was sleeping.

  Peaceful.

  The little mermaid took his face into her hands. He looked older now, the beginnings of a beard scraping against her fingertips.

  “Why didn’t you fight for me? Why?”

  Nik answered in bubbles, his lungs failing him.

  She thought to let them fail.

  She thought to let him become bones in the sand. Her revenge. Yet somehow that didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel great enough. It wouldn’t get her what she wanted back.

  And so she brought him to air. Swam him ashore. Her mind churning with possibility as his chest rose and fell in her arms.

  The sea king had made her a mermaid—not her choice, not what she wanted. The little mermaid wanted to live above the sea. And she would find the magic to change herself back.

  Then she would get her revenge.

  27

  THE RECEIVING LINE FOR THE ROYAL FAMILY SEEMS TO be a mile long—it curves through the hallways, down the staircase, and out of Øldenburg Castle. It doesn’t make it down the exterior stairs and into the tulip garden, but it would have if they’d waited another five minutes to open the ballroom doors.

  We stand at the end of the line. Several schoolmates of mine are closest to us—including Ruyven and Didrik. Malvina is ahead of us. As usual, stares come from all sides, cold and dismissive, whispers of conspiracy on warm lips. They all think I have a plan—that everything I do is to assert my place in the palace, where I don’t belong.

  This time they would be right, I suppose. I do have a plan.

  But it’s not for me.

  If a kiss doesn’t do it, I will. I’ll take Annemette to Havnestad Cove and tell the sea what I want. What the magic owes me—owes us. The sea took Anna. I deserve Annemette.