Sea Witch(58)

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.”