Annemette doesn’t look at Iker. Doesn’t look at me. Or even Nik. She just spins for the door. The boys freeze in shock—the both of them unused to not receiving a reply to their questions—but I whir into motion, running after her, snatching her hand just before she opens the French doors.
“Evie, it’s almost midnight! Let me go. There’s nothing you can do. Nothing Nik can do!”
But I won’t let her die like this, and I hang on to her arm tightly. In her struggle, Annemette gets turned around enough that I can look her in the eye. “If you won’t let me help, then tell him what you did. He’ll understand. Maybe he does love you and just needs a push. Isn’t it worth a shot? Tell him—”
“Tell me what?” Nik asks behind me.
Annemette clamps her lips shut and shakes her head as she tries to buck away from my grip.
He places a hand on my shoulder. “Evie, what is it?”
Annemette catches my eye, pleading.
“I won’t have you leave us, Annemette. I won’t,” I cry. Her breath hitches, but I am strong, and I know this is right. I raise my voice just enough that the boys can hear it but nobody beyond the balcony.
“She’s a mermaid.” I turn to Nik. “She saved you on your birthday—dragged you from the sea.”
Shock registers on his face as his eyes meet Annemette’s.
Iker huffs out a great laugh. “Sure she is. And I’m the ghost of Leif Erikson.”
I hold his smiling eyes. “No, I saw her. Before you scrambled over the rock wall. She was on land with him. She was—”
“Singing.” A smile touches Nik’s lips as he says it. A smile just for Annemette, whose expression only shows a brewing anger. “You were singing. I thought it was Evie, but she doesn’t sing. It was you.”
“I can’t believe you did this,” Annemette growls at me. “We had a deal.”
My stomach sinks, my betrayal tearing at my insides.
“Annemette, don’t!” I shout, but fury flashes in her eyes as she turns to the boys. “I am a mermaid, it’s true. But, Evie . . . Evie is a witch! Her aunt is a witch! Her mother was a witch! She does magic every day right under your proud Øldenburg noses!”
She wrenches out of my hands with a shove that sends me to the floor.
Nik is staring at me, his face in a complete state of shock. “A witch, Evie?”
But before I can respond, Iker moves in front of me. My Iker. Strong, protective, stubborn, loyal Iker. The look on his face is one I’ve never known. Then, without so much as a pause, he bares his teeth and shouts, “Guards!”
FOUR DAYS BEFORE
The ship belonging to the royal fisherman of the sovereign kingdom of Havnestad was easy enough to find. Just up from Østerby Havn—far enough from the Øresund Strait to sight the best whales, but close enough to home that the ship’s captain would make it back to Havnestad by the final night of Lithasblot.
The sun was failing, twilight setting in late, as was usual for a summer night this far north. Despite the hour, there was a flurry of activity aboard the Little Greta, the crew cleaning up after a long day. Evie’s father was moving about too, not leaving the work to his crew—on a ship so small, everyone had to carry his own weight, most of all the captain.
In the shadows, the little mermaid considered the best course of action.
She could call a large wave, as she had to claim the chest of clothes now trailing her through the water, kept in tow with a simple spell of binding magic. Or perhaps a storm more powerful than the one she’d used to pull Nik under—wreck the ship and claim the whole crew. But no, she wanted Evie to feel the agony of her father dying when others easily survived. A sharper pain, that.
She knew firsthand.
And then, the little mermaid’s attention snagged on a way to drive in the knife even further. A way to hurt Evie the most.
Without a moment’s hesitation, she reached out through the distance, sending her magic snaking through the Nordic depths.
“Hvalr. Hvalr. Koma hvalr.”
In short order, the edges of her power hit upon success, and her plan began to unfurl, a fat pilot whale steaming toward her like a locomotive on new track.
When the whale arrived, it was glassy-eyed under her command. But the sailors wouldn’t see that. They couldn’t smell magic—they would only smell a chance at another catch for His Majesty.
She looked the great animal in the eye. Her lure. And promised it it’d be safe. Then, she gathered her magic anew.
“Rísa, hvalr. Rísa.”
The whale did as it was commanded, rising to the surface like a gift from the sea king himself.
The little mermaid skipped the whale across the water, dancing it across the surface.
Tantalize. Trick. Catch the big fish.
The commotion above was enough that she could pick up the sounds of men sprinting and shouting from her spot below. Smiling, she surfaced in the shadow of the portside bow, and saw that, yes, the fish had taken the bait.
The men scurried about, readying nets, spears, and, optimistically, a huge knife—a mønustingari—for severing the spinal cord. Amid it all, Evie’s father did exactly what the little mermaid expected.
He readied the harpoon gun. The innovation Evie had fashioned for a better kill. They’d discussed it that day on the dock. She was clearly so proud. And he of her.
Pride must suffer pain, Evie.
As the whale danced on the edge of her fingertips, the little mermaid called a storm with another tendril of her power. “Ve∂r.”
The storm gathered, wind gusting over the crew as they darted about, ignoring the lightning crackling on the horizon, their sights only on the catch.
The little mermaid got in position, watching and waiting as the father worked the dart gun, stuffing the harpoon into the barrel. Hauling it around, so that it might aim at the whale.
Aim right into the storm.
And in that moment, the father shot the dart gun. The harpoon exploded into the rough air, hurtling toward the whale as it crested another leap. A rope trailed the harpoon, attached to the gun stand, so that it might be easier to haul in, whale and all.
But it would spear no whale.
With a sweep of the little mermaid’s hand, the storm unleashed a gust of wind strong enough to change the harpoon’s course. It skipped off the rocking water, swinging around, past the whale, through the air, reversing course until it shot back toward the ship’s deck. Deadly end pointing back the way it came.
It was so surprising, so unnatural, that his reflexes failed Evie’s father.
He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t even cry before the harpoon speared him through the stomach.
Another wave of the little mermaid’s hand, and the harpoon bucked wildly, pulling itself and Evie’s father into the rumbling deep.
The little mermaid moved then, surging below the surface to catch him before his crew regained its wits and tried to haul its captain up by the gun’s rope.
She pulled him off the spear, blood flooding in the water, and as she did so, he opened his eyes. Not yet fully dead, despite the gaping wound.
In them flashed the slightest hint of recognition. That he was not only nearly dead, that he was not just seeing a mermaid, but that he was seeing his daughter’s dead friend before him.
“Anna . . . ,” he said, his voice but a whisper and a gurgle.
“Yes,” she replied.
The light in his eyes flickered, and the little mermaid reached into her hair, pulled out the coral knife she’d fashioned into a decorative comb, and plunged it into his chest, right in to the soft spot between his ribs and sternum where it would pierce his heart.
More blood in the water.
The light left his eyes.
Finally, the little mermaid felt a release. Just a small amount. A crumb could not satisfy such a hunger.
Not yet.
She gathered the corpse, called to the clothing trunk that had been floating down below as she worked, and swam
as fast as she could to Havnestad.
The little mermaid arrived close to midnight, heart pounding after so many miles. She immediately ducked into the cove, placing her trunk in the shallows behind the great rock wall that divided the beach, leaving Havnestad blind to her catch. She’d search it later for the perfect gown and then toss it back into the sea.
She returned to Evie’s father, whom she’d left under the watchful eye of a giant black octopus who had made the cove its home.
“Later, beast. He’s mine to start.”
The octopus slunk away in a puff of indigo ink to a small cave in the rock. The little mermaid returned her attention to the dead man. His olive skin was tinged white and the whole of him had begun to bloat.
She hoped the spell would still work without him being freshly dead. Hoped that because it was she who had killed him, she already possessed what the magic needed. That it was bottled inside of her with her hate, ready to explode. Ready to enact her plan.
The little mermaid took him by both hands. Shut her eyes.
And asked for her life back.
“Líf. Dau∂i. Minn líf. Minn bjo∂. Sei∂r. Sei∂r. Sei∂r.”
A warmth immediately filled her, running from her fingertips to her head to her heart down the length of her tail and fin. It spread like the mouthful of summer wine she’d stolen with Evie on her eleventh birthday. It spread like the way Nik had made her feel in those days, his dark eyes lighting up her soul.
It spread like life. Líf.
In a flash and shock of pain, the little mermaid knew a change had been made. Where once she had a tail and fin, she now had legs again. But she didn’t have her soul back. Not yet.
She dropped Evie’s father and pushed her way to the surface, her arms tired no more. And when she reached for air, her lungs couldn’t get enough. The fresh night flushed through her, warm and free. Knocking loose a little bit of the hatred that made up her fabric. But not much. There was so much left.
And as she found her swimming legs treading water, she spied a girl on land. Leaving the beach for the step bridge of rocks leading into the cove.
Evie.
The brand-new girl smiled from her spot in the tide and adjusted the comb in her hair, the knife’s edge hidden among the damp waves.
Yes, my plan will work.
30
I BURST OUT OF THE CASTLE DOORS AND INTO THE TULIP garden, hot on Annemette’s heels. I took off after Iker’s command and haven’t looked back, but I can hear them coming.
“Annemette, please!” I shout. I know I betrayed her, but even if she despises me for sharing her secret, she can’t deny I did it out of love. Although her own betrayal felt more like spite than love, it doesn’t bite. Not really. Because all I can think is how I can fix it. I can do it. I will do it.
If I can save her, we can use our magic to run away, far from here. It pains me, but it’s the only choice left to make.
My lungs heave to keep up with my pace, pure adrenaline propelling me forward as I tear down the cobblestones. I take a hard right through a gateway of stiff black rocks and onto the soft sand of the cove.
The moon shines heavy here, reflecting off every surface in a pearlescent glow. Annemette has stopped running, brought to her knees in the sand, an inch from the lapping tide. The gold thread of her dress catches the moonlight as her shoulders heave in a dry sob. She’s not far from where she rescued Nik—on the beach side of the cove, the stone wall jutting over the blind side.
“Annemette,” I call tentatively. The sand slows my progress, already inhibited by my heavy ball gown. She doesn’t move—chin tipped down toward the tide—nor does she seem to hear me. I’m about to repeat myself when she makes it clear she knows I’m there.
“Go away.”
“I’m sorry.” I settle onto the sand beside her, leaving more distance between us than I ever have before. “I let hope take over my words. I thought telling Nik would help us satisfy the magic.”
She doesn’t look at me. “It did not. It’s over. I’m over.”
“We’re both over if we don’t go now. The guards are coming. Let me help you, please.”
When she doesn’t answer, I move to stand. “The sea will give me what I want. And I want you to stay.”
Here, she finally glances at me. The look in her eye is all questions, but she seems relieved. I think.
I step into the water. The sea is crisp, and immediately it takes my boots, stockings, ankles, hemline—all of it—as its own. Grounding me in its power.
A shadow falls over us, and I look to the sky. Another sudden storm has swallowed the moon, the whole cove bathed in a shimmering silver darkness—the curtain drawn before the magic begins.
I measure the clouds. There’s lightning in the distance. This is good. I’ll need all the energy I can harness. My heart begins to pound as that familiar crackle sparks across my veins, warming me from my toes to the top of my skull. I raise my hands above my head, feeling the brewing storm’s charge on the edge of my fingertips.
“Evie, STOP!”
I turn. But only because the voice is Nik’s.
He’s standing on the sand not ten feet from us, all the finery woven into his jacket and the crown atop his head sparkling brightly in the moonlight. Shifting his weight, Nik lifts his chin, his stance so much like the one he uses in public appearances. It’s his practiced armor, and I recognize it in an instant. The next words are not his—they’re the crown’s.
“The guards are on their way. Annemette, if you are not gone from Havnestad before they arrive, they will forcibly return you to the water. You are a threat to Havnestad and all of the Øresund Kingdoms.”
Nik believed me. He remembered. As soon as my words tumbled out he must have seen his rescue—her tail.
And it’s ruined Annemette. And me as well.
There’s not a prayer of him helping us now. Even if my magic is able to keep her here, he’ll want nothing to do with her anyway. But if he believed my truth about her, he should believe her truth about me. And I know he does, deep down. He’ll want to protect me, but he can’t.
There are boots on the cobblestones now—thud, thud, thud—King Asger’s guards approaching. Coming for us. Annemette’s eyes return to the sea. Her shoulders begin to heave again, dry sobs coming fast, but she refuses to move.
I take one last look at Nik, standing there so regal, so good, so kind, but I’ve already made my choice. I turn to Annemette, my hand outstretched. “Get up! Let’s go! Don’t you want to live?”
Nik lunges toward me, his façade crumbling. “Evie, please don’t do this.” He grabs my hand, and I’m pulled to face him as much by the desperation of his movement as by the look in his eyes. He knows that if he sees me perform magic—confirming Annemette’s accusation—then he won’t be able to protect me. We’re truly on opposite sides.
But we have been all along—I was just the only one of us to know it.
“Evie, please don’t do this,” he repeats, and I nearly push a finger to his lips to still the tremble there, despite my frustration.
“Nik, you forced me into this magic. Annemette will die if I don’t do it,” I cry. “If you’d given her your heart, it would have been so simple—”
“Evie, you don’t understand. My heart is not mine to give.”
His hand tightens, and despite the want in his eyes I expect him say something next about nobility, duty—all the things the Øldenburgs hold dearer than their own feelings. But he doesn’t.
“My heart has been yours, Evie—always. Since Anna’s death. Since sandcastles and stick princesses.” His voice cracks and tears threaten his eyes. “I have always loved you. Every day. My heart is not mine to give because it is already yours.”
The truth crashes over me like a winter wave.
All this time, I’ve known. But the truth—the truth is always something I’ve struggled with, whether I’m lying to Nik or myself, or both. But his truth is the truth in my heart, too.
Th
en I’m kissing him.
Quick as a lightning strike, I press my lips to his hard enough that he takes a step back to keep us from falling to the beach.
In that brief moment, everything surrounding us stops—the sadness, the magic, the boot strikes on the cobblestones, the entirety of it.
His lips are warm, his hands gentle as they fold themselves over mine. He is delicate and strong at the same time, matching caress with intensity in a way I didn’t know was possible. In a way I don’t want to end.
I do love him. I’ve loved him as long as he has loved me. I’ve just spent so much of my life, so much of the last week, pretending it wasn’t true. So that we wouldn’t be hurt. That we wouldn’t suffer at the hands of class and expectations.
But love doesn’t work that way.
And with a sudden dip of my trembling heart, I realize I doomed Annemette from the start. I’ve taken her true love’s kiss.
“Step away from him, witch.”
Iker’s voice slices through my thoughts, and it’s Nik who pulls away, though the order was meant for me. Iker doesn’t need proof to know what I am; still the abandonment cuts deep.
The world comes flooding back in—twenty rifled soldiers on the beach, standing at attention behind Iker. Behind the only other boy I’ve kissed. Iker has vengeance in his eyes and armed men who can do something about it.
Nik’s hands clamp around mine again as he plants his feet to shield me from his cousin. I glance quickly to Annemette. She’s standing now, in the water. New clouds tightening, the wind has picked up, tossing her hair in long tangles, the coral comb nestled within them barely holding anything in place. There’s something in her face—fear, anger, urgency—that has hardened what had been just a resigned puddle.
“End your spell over him!” Iker’s eyes are ice. It’s as if he’s already forgotten who I am. Or that he didn’t care in the first place. I refuse to believe either—and twine my fingers around Nik’s so he’s not just holding me, I’m holding him.
Sea Witch Page 21
