Annemette laughs. “Oh, I can definitely do that.”
The stiff call of a conch cuts off any further conversation,and the race begins. Our heads whirl around to a rush of sand and bodies, lunging down the course. Iker is already in the lead, Nik and Johan right on his tail. Amazingly, Leopold Christensen is fourth, experience making up for his lack of youth.
My heart is pounding as they get farther away, striding one in line with another until they are so far and so in step that it’s impossible to discern from our angle who exactly is in the lead.
We leap to our feet along with everyone else, our hands twined in a clasp of nerves, our faces taut with yelling above the din and cheer.
“Go, Nik!”
“Come on, Iker!”
And from my right, “Johannnnnn!”
Across the way, Malvina and her sisters have their hands above their blond heads, chanting, “Papa! Papa! Papa! Papa! Papa!”
As they cross the line, first there is silence. Then a cheer goes up, and the king and queen are applauding. Nik’s arms are above his head. He hops atop his rock and claps and waves.
The victory is his.
The other competitors circle around him, slapping hands and patting him on the back with hearty-enough claps that he must check his balance. Iker is the last one to congratulate him, pulling him off the rock, pinning hisarms in a bear hug, and running him back to the start line.
The girls on the platform shriek, and the crowd laughs. And the crush of people is so great that it takes several minutes for us to meet the cousins. Both are still breathing hard, sweat slicking their brows, hands on hips. Iker catches my eye and his breath quickly enough to set his future intentions. “Next year, I’ll take him. The scoundrel.”
Nik’s breath is still coming fast enough that he can only shake his head.
“It was close,” Annemette concedes, flush with excitement.
“I think your beauty must have made the difference, Annemette. Needed to impress you, the rat.”
I wince, though only a little. “I suppose that means we’ve come past the point where you work to impress me.”
“Hardly.” Iker leans into me, breath warm in my ear. “I was just planning to impress you in other ways this evening.”
Before I can roll my eyes—or better yet, slap him—Nik tugs Iker away from me and regains his voice. “Iker, if you want a night to ourselves, I suggest we leave now.” Nik points his chin up at the stairs, where a flock of beribboned girls and the queen are working their way down.
“Well spotted, Cousin.” Iker grabs my hand and nudges Nik forward. “Let us away.”
22
ILOUNGE UPON THE SAND OFHAVNESTADCOVE.
Above, the stars twinkle, the Lithasblot moon full on this, the fourth night, the shimmering light strong only thanks to the reflection off the smooth waters of the cove. But it is the perfect lantern for the night—bathing everything in a pool of silver.
Iker is lying beside me. The cut of his stubbled chin, the laughing light of his eyes, the sun-kissed pieces of hair curling at his temples fill my gaze. All of it in close relief and profile—my view coming from where I’m snuggled against his chest. It’s a perfect moment, and yet my mind drifts to the other side of the cove’s rock wall. Where Nik and Annemette are. She is singing, her ethereal soprano lifting toward the stars.
Please Nik, just kiss her.
I don’t want it to, but her voice takes me back to thatday Anna drowned, the song we were singing before we dove into the sea. Fru Liesel’s words play in my mind:Bad things follow her. Black death. Minnows...No. I stop myself from falling deeper into that hole. I’ve come too far from that day to take the blame for it and everything that followed. I have enough to live with.
I shift my attention back to Iker. He’s talking about our whaling trip. The cities we’ll dock in; the sea life we’ll catch. Apparently, I haven’t been the only one fantasizing.
“What do you think?” he says, his hand tilting my chin so our eyes meet.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Hirsholmene or Voerså Havn?”
“Oh, whichever you think best,” I say.
