From the tips of my toes to the crown of my head, the oldest of magic crackles through me like Nordic ice ripping through a ship’s hull. The sea pours into my veins.
I toss the amethyst into the waters, and I watch it sink.
Then I wait. My heart thuds in my ears, fear mingling with the magic’s chill. At my throat, the pearl throbs, frozen. I tell myself to be patient. Remember last night. This is how it works, but after five breaths, the panic is so great in my heart that I drop to my knees.
Fickle sea with nothing to give.
I haul myself over the side of the dock, fingers straining against the weather-beaten boards as I get my face as close to the surface of the water as possible, vision straining for any sign of my precious gemstone.
But all I see is my reflection. Pale and nervous, exhaustion and worry coating my features.
“What have I done?”
Shame bites at my heart. Heat rises in my cheeks, but a chill runs the length of my spine. I whip my head up and fall back onto the dock, curls snagging in the boards. My fingers dab at the pearl.
Tante Hansa was right—I was a lucky thief, but with cheap parlor tricks. I’m not a witch yet—not like my aunt, my mother or Maren Spliid. I’m just a—
Sea spray cuts off my thoughts, shooting straight up from the water like a whale spout just below the surface. My eyes widen as they scan an object within the stream. I struggle to sit up fast enough to cup my palms into position as it begins its descent.
When it lands, I close my grip, protecting it. Protecting the hope that has risen in my heart.
I take a breath and open my hand.
A stone as blue as the noontime sky and smooth as glass sits there, the same weight and size as my amethyst.
Just as sure as the tide, it worked.
I gave. It took. It gave. I took.
Just as I’d hoped.
Clutching the blue gemstone, I hop to my feet and meet the sea’s gaze.
“Skipta.”Exchange.
I drop the gemstone back in the water and hold mybreath, thinking about my amethyst. Hope piling in my heart that I can haggle with the sea to get the exact exchange I want.
“Skipta,”I repeat, and then whisper the only Old Norse word I know that’s close to what I want. “Bjarg.” Stone.
Cupping my hands, I stand there, eyes on the horizon. Two gulls play on the water’s surface, dipping, splashing, and rising in tandem.
As they soar just above my head, another spout shoots up from the deep. Bigger and stronger, it sprays the royal dock and me with it, but I hold my ground, hands outstretched.
Another item lands in my hands. Palms still together, I run one wrist over my eyes to clear the seawater there, blink the blurriness away, and then reset. Breath held, my fingers bloom open and reveal not my amethyst but something even more radiant.
A stone of deep crimson, jagged crystals a crust on its surface like rock sugar. Its heart is as bloodred as my own, seemingly lit from a fire within.
It is not what I had in mind, but it’s blinding with beauty—much more so than my amethyst. But can it do what my amethyst can do? Or will it wreck the spell?
I can’t worry about it now. It’s clear from the magic’s response that it will only trade like for like. The exchange will be the same when Annemette is in place of the stone. And I do not have a body to give the sea.
Thisisa problem.
But maybe the solution has already come to pass—four years before. Perhaps now I can foster the final trade.
“What is it with you and me and mornings?”
Nik.
