Sea Witch(63)

Only a life added to the exchange will fill the void. I was powerful enough to save her without sacrificing myself—and love may have pushed me through—but another try could kill me. Which means that to go above, she needs to take a life—a human life.

There were no entries for three days.

And, after that, no entries about it at all. The little mermaid paged ahead.

More than a year later, a new entry with shaky writing.

A storm brought a man into our path today. Mette saw her opportunity—though she’d come to love me, she missed home. She wanted to try the spell.

My queen could not kill a human. But this man’s life was over. Laying her hands on him, she repeated her spell.

“Líf. Dau?i. Minn líf. Minn bjo?. Sei?r. Sei?r. Sei?r.”

The human’s eyes jerked open as his lungs released. His skin glowed where she touched him, and soon the glow was bright enough that I could see neither of them.

In a flash the light was gone, the man was fully dead, and there was Mette, just as I’d found her—with legs and lungs, struggling for air. I swam her topside, found her a piece of the human’s shattered boat to hang on to, and then swam her to the nearest shore. I am not sure how long the magic will hold, or what will happen when it runs out. Or if I will ever get her back. Mette is on the hunt for a witch to help. She knows of a powerful one in Havnestad—one who will keep our secret.

I fear I will lose her. I fear our people will suffer.

The little mermaid turned the page. Nothing.

She turned the page again. Nothing. The sea king must have spent days waiting for his queen to return. The little mermaid knew she had, for she was the true mother of the girls who she, herself, called sisters.

On the fourth day, a new entry.

I have heard from my dear Mette! The Havnestad witch gave her four days at most. After that, I would need to change her back into a mermaid or she’d be lost to both the sea and land. I told her I was too weak. That I couldn’t, but the witch simply smiled and told me I underestimated love’s effect on my magic. Mette hadn’t loved me when I’d transformed her the first time, but she loved me now. And that made all the difference.

The little mermaid skimmed the rest. There must be a way to keep her legs longer than four days. That couldn’t be it. If she had to kill a man, she needed to know she could stay on land forever.

She skipped ahead. Nothing. Nothing anywhere.

Frustrated, she shut the book, careful not to let it slam, though she wanted to slam it. She wanted to throw it across the room. She raised her arm to do just that when she saw the queen’s bookcase across the way. She lunged for the shelf. Thumbed through the spines. And stopped when she saw what she wanted. The queen’s diary.

Heart pounding, she flipped to that year. To that day. The day the queen had returned with the sea king’s help.

The queen wrote that she had known what it would take to remain on land. Love wasn’t just the answer to return; it was the answer to stay. True love would break the magic, the witch had said.

But so, too, would something else—death. A sacrifice so worthy it would make the magic stand up and listen long enough to create a human life.

It was right there in Mette’s looping script. The answer to the little mermaid’s quest. A way to get both her life back and the perfect revenge.





28


THE BALLROOM IS BRIMMING WITH MERRIMENT. Beyond the doors, a sea of people—young and old, of Havnestad and not—mill about, their laughter and cries of delight adding to the general hum as the king’s band strikes a lively jig in the corner.

For once, Nik is not with the musicians, stealing their instruments and the show. Tonight, he does that from the dance floor.

King Asger has just finished a speech—one he didn’t foist upon Nik—and takes Queen Charlotte’s hand. “And now, the first dance.”

Nik steps forward, in line with his parents. The weight of the room is upon him as a statelier tune starts up. Wilhelm van Horn, Ruyven’s father, stands in front of the orchestra as the king’s official announcer. He reads from a scroll, stamped with the king’s seal. All of this is so formal, so unlike us. A prince coming of age is serious business.

Wilhelm clears his throat. “Crown Prince Asger Niklas Bryniulf ?ldenburg III invites for his first dance . . .” The drums kick up for a minute. Annemette grabs my hand. “Friherrinde Annemette of Odense.”

I squeeze Annemette’s fingers just before she steps forward into a sea of applause. Every eye in the room is upon her, this beautiful creature. Fru Liesel is proclaiming loudly somewhere behind me, “My Anneke, my Anneke.”

Annemette curtsies, graceful. The queen looks pleased. The king too. Nik looks slightly embarrassed, ears red. He glances to me, but I’m not sure how he can take his eyes off her. She’s the sun and the rest of us are ordinary stars.

She glides toward Nik. He extends a hand and takes hers and they stand to the side, a nearly identical image to the monarchs next to them. One generation and then the next. My heart heaves. After this exhausting, disappointing day, we might have a happy ending. For all of us.

Iker steps forward next. My heaving heart begins to pound, vibrating like a rail tie under an oncoming train.

This is the moment.

Wilhelm clears his throat yet again. I can already feel eyes settling upon my silhouette.