Sea Witch(57)

Behind me, Iker’s voice booms over the rain, pinging hail, and another slice of thunder. “As good a chance as any. Cousin?”

Nik lifts his head, not once wincing as two hailstones smack into his flop of wet hair. “I’m not sure of the obstructions. But it’s our best chance.”

Taking that as a yes, I squeeze Annemette before running for the wheel to help steer as Iker adjusts the mainsail to change course.

We get going in the right direction, and Iker turns to me. “Evie, stay. We need you to hold course against the wind.”

I take one glance at Annemette. One glance at Nik. Iker’s right.

We cut around the queen’s three-sail, skip around two other schooners, a sloop, and the tiniest of one-man rowboats, and zip in a line to the cove. The blind part of the beach comes into view first, then the rock wall, and finally, Picnic Rock.

We enter the cove and I take a deep sigh of relief, my arms shaking while holding our line, red welts from the hail rising on my exposed skin.

Then Annemette begins to scream.

“Turn! Turn! Turn!”

I follow her eyes, but I don’t see a thing. There’s nothing but rough water ahead, our boat still too far out for the footstep islands to be a hazard. “Sandbar!”

Just as the word slips from her mouth, we shudder to a halt—run aground with water on all sides.

I meet her eyes and know exactly how she knew the sandbar—submerged and hidden from sight—would be there.

She’s the only one of us to ever swim so far out into the cove.

I wait for the questions to begin. But they don’t come. Instead, Iker is silent as he bends over the bow to survey the situation—both how stuck we are and what the damage might be. I truly hope there’s no damage. “Time to swim for it, crew.”

Nik leans over and confirms. “Yes.”

“No!” Mette shouts, still clinging to the mast pole. “I can’t.”

But Nik isn’t accepting that. “It’s a hundred yards. I will swim you in. You’ll be fine.”

Iker drops anchor so that his boat won’t float away when the storm ends and the sandbar releases it. He comes alongside me and brushes a few half-melted hailstones from my hair.

“Leap together?” He takes my hand and we step to the edge of the bow. The water is alive, waves at a rough clip, revealing the octopus that has haunted the cove since the beginning of summer, plus schools of large fish and several dolphins. The cove is practically overflowing with more animals than should ever inhabit it—unusual animals. My mind flashes to my spell, my daily call for abundance.

No, it can’t be. I didn’t do this. It’s the storm—pushing sea life out of place.

Before I can think any more, Iker is pulling on my hand to go, and we leap into the cool water.

The hail has stopped, and the thunder has rolled into the mountains ringing Havnestad. Tendrils of lightning still flare in the sky, and the rain remains steady, but the swim isn’t the worst I’ve ever had. Rocky and rough and exhausting, but I make it to shore just seconds behind Iker, pulling myself onto the nearest pile of sand with a great heaving breath. I roll over and fill my lungs again and again with salt air, sand caking the wet folds of my dress.

He helps me up until I’m in a seated position and have a view of the cove, where I watch Nik pull Annemette to safety. He holds her head above water, her body flat against his. My heart fills with love for him all over again, knowing that not long ago, I was the girl in his arms, being swum to shore in a terrible tide.

Nik’s stroke doesn’t miss a beat, and they are on land soon enough. His breath is thick with effort, hers with fear. In his eyes, I’m sure I see a spark of love—something I hope tonight’s ball will truly ignite—and Annemette will be home at last.





THREE AND A HALF YEARS BEFORE

The newest mermaid simply became another royal sister, her memory in such a state that she believed she had always been there. Everyone said so. Even if she had the nagging feeling that her life felt like one big conversation entered years too late.

She was just a little mermaid, swimming in the collective shadow of her five older sisters—Lida, Clara, Aida, Olena, and Galia. Blond and fine-boned all, full of cheer and manners. Together, the six girls were the pride of their grandmother, the Queen Mother Ragnhildr, or as she preferred, Oma Ragn.

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.