Queen Mother Ragnhildr.
She’s spry, with tail-length hair so white it glows, straight and light enough that it swirls around her body like a halo. The ancient mermaid is swimming at me, full-speed, toward where I stay firm.
Fury is in her movements, her face, her hair. She raises a hand, ready to topple my cauldron into the nearest polypus branch—very much like Runa, days prior.
Before she lays an aged finger on my pot, the cauldron bursts into stark red flames. Her ancient reflexes do their job, snatching back her hand from the scalding heat, and—impressive—she doesn’t lose her focus.
“How dare you, you washed-up witch!” she hollers. “Endangering two of my granddaughters by giving them legs and filling their heads with hope.”
I meet her rage with a colorless, calm voice. “Everyone knows your granddaughters grow on trees. You still have eight left.”
“Bah! Eight is not ten. Or can you only count as high as your tentacles?”
I cock a brow, voice still cool. “Schoolyard taunts from a woman over two centuries old? I expect better from a woman of your reputation and stature, youoldfish.”
The woman’s eyes spark, and I know she’s taken the bait.
“Does this lookoldto you?”
I brace for a display of brute strength like the one her son threw at me, but where the sea king prefers a meat cleaver, his mother employs a razor-edged scalpel.
“Fœra!”she screams. A searing bloodred light streams point-blank at my forehead.
I dive and hit the sand hard as she shouts the command again and again. The second my shoulder smacks the sea floor, I roll back to a crouch, pewter sands swirling around me like smoke.
“Reykr!”I yell back. The gray sand responds, lifting into a cloud as thick as a village on fire, and blows toward the old mermaid in a choking, blinding mass.
She is more than mature, and she is ready, the breadth of her powers and years at her fingertips. As the first tendrils of my sand bomb reach her, she’s already shouted out a command.“Vaxa bálkr!”
In the blink of an eye, the whole foundation of my lair begins to shift and shake. A wall of vines shoots out from the dead sands, thick and protective. The wall repels my own spell, sending the sand plume straight into my face. As I begin to hack and cough, the mermaid screams again from behind the wall.“Vaxa hellir!”
The sea floor gives another furious shudder, and from its depths, one more wall shoots up, this one a great circle, surrounding me, the cauldron, and Ragnhildr. As the vines lace tightly together, the sounds of the ocean grow quiet. Even Anna has been cut off, the polypi tree excluded from our cocoon. The wall between us withers.
“Alone at last, old friend.” Ragnhildr extends a hand, her skin near translucent with age. I take it, letting her help me off the sea floor—and then I offer her a smile.
“I let you win, you old fish.”
“I hear we had a close call.” The woman’s voice is softer now. “I’m glad you’re all right.”
“I almost wasn’t. Your son’s power is unstoppable under the spell of ríkifjor.”
Ragn shakes her head, the necklaces piled around her neck tinkling. “The ríkifjor could’ve been a gift, but he’s used so many of the flowers, I wonder if he can survive without them. Too much of a good thing can be a worse curse than almost anything else.”
She says this, and once again, I’m reminded of my fatalmistakes with the Tørhed. I made everything worse by trying to heal the drought with my spells of abundance. Yes, too much of a good thing can mean death just as easily as not enough. Balance is crucial for all living things and the structures that support them.
Ragn goes on. “Yet, even with the ríkifjor and all that it’s cost him, he’s not powerful enough to do the things he wants. He can’t get his daughters back. Only you can do that. And though I know somewhere in that thick skull of his he loves them, I believe he loves more what they candofor him.”
“I agree,” I say. “He seemed hurt by Alia’s betrayal, but he would not have come for me because of a broken heart.”
“No, that tear we felt hurt him something terrible, even if the ríkifjor has masked his magical decline. That drug will only work for so long, especially now that Runa is gone too. With each missing piece, he grows weaker, their magic escaping him.”
It’s not a perfect equation, but I can’t help but picture the sea king’s magic streaming out of him like the lifeblood out of Nik’s back.
Out of Nik’s grandson’s chest.
“What will he do?” I ask her. I’m not worried the sea king will kill me—not anymore. He’s hoping he can keep me on the edge of fear long enough that I’ll do as he commands. But there is so much worse he could do than endmy life just byusingwhat’s left of it.
“You mean after he’s done having me do his bidding against you for sending Runa away and leaving the others with chic bobs?”
