We lock eyes, Niklas and I, and... the tiniest speck of remorse crumbles loose from my rage, before his eyes close for the last time.
Alia grabs my arm in that moment, trying to yank the blade free—as if it can be undone.
Oh, Urda, I wish it could.
I killed him, not Alia.
I press Alia forward, trying to shove her feet onto the square of marble where his blood will surely drip any second now. But she finds another wave of fight within her and uses my momentum to wrench us both back. The knife dislodges, more in her hand than mine.
Alia and I both hit the marble, her full weight landing with a crunch onto my body. My head whips back and bangs off the diamond-hard floor, my vision going blurry as a hot prickle of my own blood trickles somewhere from my scalp.
My sister scrambles off me, knife in hand—most of the blood sprayed off the knife and onto the marble when she hit. I try to find the words to tell her to wipe the blade on her feet, just in case Urda will accept my sacrifice in place of hers, but my tongue won’t obey my mind. Before me, Alia vacillates between trying to help me up and reaching for Niklas as if she can repair him.
And then there’s a howling cry.
Sofie.
She’s awake and wailing, hands covered in her husband’s blood, which she wipes furiously on her nightgown. I expect her to dive for us, believing her own life is in jeopardy, and go for the knife.
But instead she hops from the bed, taking a book from the nightstand as she lunges to get past Alia and to the threshold.
Alia blocks her, knife out, trying to stop her from leaving, but Sofie shoves Alia away, and they both stumble toward the balcony. Alia falls backward, slapping her wrist on a chair drenched in moonlight. Her fingers fly open, and the knife sails backward.
Sofie grabs the book again, and rushes past where I lie, broken on the floor, working to get to my feet. As she goes, I can’t tell if the pounding in my head is from the blood leaving my body, her footfalls on the marble, or the press of guards.
Alia gets back to her feet, rushing to the edge of thebalcony, peering over the side. I know by the immediate hang of her shoulders that the knife is gone beneath the waves. Even if the sea witch can retrieve it, our fates are sealed.
She turns around, eyes taking in Niklas, face up in bed, his blood soaking the sheets and furs.
I get to my feet, woozy. “They’re coming.” I can’t tell how loud my voice is. It could be a scream; it could be a whisper; it could be no real sound at all.
Alia grabs my hand. I don’t know where we’ll go, but we can’t be here.
The footsteps are growing now. Several men running.
Alia yanks us back out of the bedchamber and into the parlor, over to a bookcase. She pulls hard on a slim volume of dusty green leather, and the whole bookcase moves. At least I think it does—my vision is double now, a starburst of purple blotting out most anything I can see.
Then we step into the dark and begin to run.
14
Evie
IHANG OVER MY CAULDRON, FINGERS DRILLED TO THEedges, knuckles turning white. Before me, everything’s gone to hell.
Nik’s ring is on Runa’s thumb, but the girl is wounded, bleeding from the head.
Beyond her, Alia lunges with her knife in hand at the boy’s bride, who’s screaming her pretty little head off. There’s no sound to my picture, but I can only imagine the entire castle and half of Havnestad are blinking their eyes open to the noise.
On the bed, Nik’s grandson takes his final breaths on the linens and furs. Somehow, I can’t look away from him. Despite the years, he reminds me more of Nik than I expected—dark hair, coat-hanger build, ears that could pink at the tips for the right girl.
Maybe with the right spell, I could fix all this. Heal him, bring them back, and not upset Urda. Maybe—
“Come out, you old squid. Explain yourself!” A booming voice echoes throughout my lair. It’s ancient and feminine, but no one would accuse this sound of being weak.
Conflicted heart in my throat for Alia, Runa, and Nik’s grandson, I erase the swirling scene in my cauldron and hastily straighten myself, preparing for the hurricane to come.
A woman appears, much older than I. Much older than the sea king, too.
