“On the surface, they call her Anna. The men are yelling her name over and over.”
The sea king read the faces of his daughters. Glanced down at the sea’s newest mermaid. The littlest of his girls. He smiled.
“Annemette. Let us call her Annemette.”
24
THOUGH SOFT AND SUBTLE, THE BLUE LIGHT OF THEmorning stuns me awake, and the sound of the sea echoes in my ears.The sea.
My eyes fly open. Candle still flickering. Book splayed pages down in my lap. My back propped against the rock wall.
I fell asleep in my workshop.My lair, I think with a smile. But quickly I snap back to reality. That was not part of the plan.
I grab the grimoire and carefully flip it toward the right page, the parchment delicate and thin. I’m looking for the one with the triton. I thumb through all the pages, but on my first try, I don’t find it. It’s too dark in here. With a frustrated huff, I grab the book and the candle and pad across the dirt floor to the cave’s entrance.
Dawn is just minutes away, the indigo night reachingpast Havnestad to the west while a shade a tick lighter licks at the horizon. Between the coming light and the glow of the candle, I calm myself and read with eyes bleary from a lack of sleep.
Luckily, I found what I was looking for before my body gave in to rest last night. I can almost recite it—but I don’t want to take any chances, recalling the panic I felt earlier when I thought the masking spell had gone wrong.
In the brighter light, I focus my eyes on the flipping pages, attention on the upper right-hand corner.
Where is it?
After a few minutes, there it is—the triton. Etched into the page, the symbol of the sea king. I huddle over the page and read.
The sea is forever defined by its tide, give and take the measure of its barter. In magic, as in life, the sea does not give its subjects lightly—payment is required, the value equivalent, no matter the ask. A shell, a fish, a pearl of the greatest brilliance—none can be taken without a debt to be paid.
I know magical barter. I’ve known it my whole life. I saw it in my mother’s eyes the moment before she died, giving her life for mine. If there’s a way out of the spell Annemette used to come to land, I’ll find it.
I look up at the sun rising.
In eighteen hours it will be midnight.
In eighteen hours, Annemette’s time is up.
I can’t lose her again.
Blowing out the candle, I hide my book in a crevice in the wall and slide the crate of oysters in front of it.
My fingers dab at the pearl at my throat—Annemette’s pearl—the light that showed me the way to my own magic. I’m grateful to Annemette, and now, hopefully, I can return the favor.
I make my way to the docks, the winds from deep within the Øresund Strait airing out the crowd of ships with fresh breeze and salt brine. Every spot is full, and half the boats will be leaving in the morning. Half the boats, including Iker’s—with me on board. A warmth grows in my heart when his little schooner, towed in and repaired from the storm, comes into view, tied in place to the royal dock.
I press the little amethyst to the hull of Iker’s boat for double the time I do any other ship. But I do touch them all, moving swiftly, repeating my words. This magic needs to be done before I test the kind that will keep Annemette home.
In an hour, I’ve finished. Dawn has risen completely, scarlet and salmon painted in wide swaths about the horizon. It’s just bright enough that I squint into the light as I stand on the edge of the royal dock, the one that leads deepest into the harbor.
My heart begins to pound, a nervous twinge climbing my spine.Seventeen hours.I know how to exchange words for what I want, but not items, so now is the time to work it out. I place one hand on the pearl and hold my amethyst in the other. My two most prized material possessions. Items I’d fight for—though it’s a toss-up as to which one I should use. I squeeze my eyes shut and make my choice.
Then, I summon Annemette’s confidence. Mother’s magic. My own stubbornness.
There’s no reason why this won’t work.
I can do this.
I can do this.
“Skipta.”
