Sea Witch(36)

“She reminds me so much of Anna . . . ,” I say, feeling as if the words are tiptoeing out.

“Her coloring, yes,” he admits, but doesn’t go further. Not the response I was hoping for.

“And her features. Her singing voice.”

He shrugs and leans back off his knees and straightens. “But you know what’s not? The way she looks at me—Anna never would’ve allowed herself to think of me as handsome.”

“That’s so untrue! She had a huge crush on you, and you know it.” I knock his shoulder, though it feels strange to speak of Anna’s private feelings as a joke. I’m quiet for a moment, and then I say, “Give Annemette a real chance, please. For me.”

“But what about you and Iker?”

“Stop thinking about Iker, Nik! I’m happy, but I won’t let him ruin me, like I know you’re so afraid of. I’m smarter than that.” He blushes red for a moment, but I keep going. “The only happiness I want you to worry about is yours.”





FOUR YEARS BEFORE


The boy dove back in. He couldn’t just leave it to these other men to find his friend. He’d saved one; he needed to try to save the other.

Drowning was common in Havnestad—the sea took as much as she gave—but this, this could not be.

Immediately, the water clawed at the damp length of him, the undertow a thousand hands ripping his body toward the swirling sands below.

His father’s constant refrain crept into his head. Do not be a hero, Iker; you are already a prince.

He’d said it anytime Nik had done anything particularly reckless. A compliment swaddled in a reminder: You are not just a prince, you are an heir. The lone heir.

And here was his father’s voice, nagging as fiercely as the waves.

He crested the surface and shook it all off—the words, the water—and filled his lungs. All around him, men thrashed in the waves. Not a single one held Anna.

The boy dove down again, forcing his eyes open against the salty sting.

Blue. Blue everywhere.

He blinked, letting his vision adjust.

Shadows on the ocean floor became crops of seaweed, moving in dark time. Algae, debris, and the tiniest of sea horses floated across the blue, a mosaic rather than one solidly flowing body.

His eyes swung left, right. His entire body spun around.

She’s here. She’s here. She must be here.

He surfaced again, not far from the sandbar now. No men yelling. No one sagging under the weight of a blonde in a petticoat.

Back down again, deeper, deeper, the undertow greedily guiding him on.

Eyes open, he scanned the bottom. Lungs burning for breath, he dove.

And there.

One hundred yards away. Down in a crevice. A flash of white. A foot, bare against a huge tangle of seaweed and coral.

Eyes pinned on her location, he shot to the surface—he’d need air to get her. Eight great, heaving breaths.

I can do this. I can get to her.

Down he dove again, eyes open as he plunged, pinned to the sliver of white. So far away. So far down.

The boy’s lungs burned. His ears popped. Darkness crept into the corners of his vision.

And still the slip of white was there. But not getting closer. It never seemed to get any larger, any more attainable. It just flashed on the seafloor, so much a star he could not touch.

His mind began to slow, as did his legs and arms, which no longer struggled against the undertow.

You do not need to be a hero, Iker; you are already a prince.

You are not just a prince, you are an heir.

The lone heir.

Breath beating against his lungs, he made his choice.

The prince pushed himself deeper.

His life didn’t matter more than hers. He was the one with the chance to save her, and that chance shouldn’t hinge on the blood in his veins.

Legs burning, he kicked, no breath left in his lungs to propel him. But he was so close. He could make out actual toes now. Head pounding without air, blood spiked with pressure, he kicked again, his arms pulling against the water.

But then came a pressure on his foot. Yanking him back—up. Pulling him until, for a heartbeat, the weight was gone. As soon as it disappeared, it was replaced with elbows hooking under his shoulders. A chest at his back. And force, so much force, propelling him to the surface.

In that moment, his lungs finally sputtered for breath and he involuntarily inhaled, water still surrounding him. A deep mouthful of the sea hovered above his windpipe for a split second before he spit it back into the water.

Out of breath, out of time, water closing in, he broke the surface. The air was so fresh it burned; as his lungs heaved, his tongue swelled from the salt he’d inhaled.

Coughing, breathing—finally breathing—he opened his eyes again, water streaming into his eyes.

He couldn’t see well, but he knew the face before him.

“No! Iker—” he began, coughing. Coughing so hard. More salt water streamed out of his mouth. Dribbled down his chin. He wiped at his mouth with a sleeve so wet, it just smeared the water around with more water.

“I’ve got you, Cousin. I’ve got you. Don’t worry. You’re safe.”

“I—” He coughed again and took a breath, long and deep. “I have to get her.”

With air in his lungs, he tried to shrug off his cousin.