Sea Witch(5)

Iker drops the curl.

Clears his throat.

Adjusts his body so that we’re not touching in so many places.

It’s over. I know it. Perhaps fantasies are only meant to come true for a moment. Surely a trick of the gods.

His eyes linger on the band when he eventually speaks, but his tone has changed. “Evie, I love visiting Havnestad, but I don’t like to step on my cousin’s toes.”

Now my voice isn’t right. Why did Nik have to play that song? I swallow. “But you aren’t,” I say, hoping he can’t hear the pleading in my tone. “Besides, I don’t think Nik would mind seeing more of you, and there is the Lithasblot festival coming up in a few days.”

“Ah, yes, when you people go nuts for Urda, throw bread at anyone without a double chin, and run in circles until you pass out.”

“You people?” I say and give him a jab. Iker may be from across the strait, but he’s just as much an ?ldenburg as Nik. Their family has ruled Denmark and Sweden for four hundred years. They know better than anyone not to discount the harvest the goddess has bestowed on us. “Don’t poke fun at the games. We take them very seriously.”

“Oh yes, a life-or-death game of carrying around the heaviest rock.”

“Or running the length of a log. All useful skills.” I laugh, happy to have lightened the mood again.

Iker turns to me. “If I stay for this Lithasblot extravaganza, you must promise you will scramble across some recently murdered tree for my entertainment.”

“If that’s what it takes, then I promise,” I say, dipping in a mock curtsy.

A laugh escapes from my lips, but Iker’s attention is locked on my face. Almost as if he can’t help himself, his thumb grazes my cheekbone again, down my jaw and to my mouth. The touch of his finger to my lips sends color rising in my cheeks as I meet the glacier blue of his eyes.

“Iker, I—”

“Gooooooood people of Havnestad!” Our heads whip around as Nik’s voice booms across the length of the ship. He is still holding the guitaren, but now he has a crown fashioned of lemon wedges squashed on his wavy flop of hair. There’s a huge smile tugging at his cheeks, and his long arms are thrust high into the air. He’s actually doing quite the unintentional impression of Iker, though only after a few mugs of King Asger’s special brew. “As your crown prince, I hereby issue a royal decree that we sing for me on this, the sixteenth year of my life.”

“Hear, HEAR,” yells Iker, followed by the rest of the crowd, which has suddenly crept back into the corners of my vision.

“Excellent. Ruyven has sent the signal for fireworks. But first, a so—” Nik’s voice cuts out as Malvina’s strong hand jerks him down so her lips can meet his ear. The other hand is gesturing behind them, toward the cake. Nik stands back up slowly and resets the guitaren. “The lovely lady Malvina has informed me we are at a loss for candles.” Nik points the instrument’s neck at me, feigned formality still thick in his throat. “Evelyn?” He raises a brow.

I raise one back.

“Come on, I know you know where they are.”

And I do. Exactly where Nik left them when he “borrowed” the king’s boat for the first warm day after a long, ice-filled winter.

“Yes, I do, good prince.”

As much as I don’t want to leave Iker’s side, I step away, the warmth of him clinging to my skin for a ghost of a second as we separate. I snag a lantern that’s dipped low on the line ringing the deck and move away from the crowd.

Boots clomping on the stairs, I disappear belowdecks to the captain’s quarters. The space is much larger than something that should be a captain’s anything—the whole place is nearly bigger than the home I share with Father and Tante Hansa. The miniature lantern struggles to keep up with the vastness, illuminating a halo barely beyond the hem of my party dress. It’s utterly annoying.

Glancing up the stairs, I confirm that I am alone; no one followed me below. My back to the door, I reach a hand into the lantern. Softly muttered words of old fall from my lips as my fingers pinch the tip of the candle. “Brenna bjartr aldrnari. Brenna bjartr aldrari. Pakka Gl?e.”

The candle begins to glow with the full force of one three times its size.

It’s a small act—something so subtle I probably could’ve done it in full view of everyone above. But even something as run-of-the-mill as a strengthening spell is dangerous here.

Women burned for far less under the ?ldenburgs of yesteryear.

My relatives burned for far less.

Which means there are things about me Nik and Iker can never know.

Besides, I already took a risk tonight when I silently urged Malvina’s cake to shed its sugary skin. I hadn’t tried something like that since I was a child, but it worked well enough. Strengthening the candle in the open would have been pushing my luck, though, and I’ve never had much of that to begin with.

Now the cushion of light is more than enough. I ease my way through the vast space and toward the pair of chairs under one of the starboard portholes, a chessboard painted into the oak table between them.

I’d watched Nik stuff the ship’s allotment of extra candles into the table’s drawer while helping him clean up evidence of his warm-weather get-together. Not that his father wouldn’t know about our little celebration—dishonesty has never sat well in Nik’s royal mind—he just hadn’t wanted to leave the castle’s harbor crew with more work.