Will obscures his profile with a quick salute and I hold my breath, waiting for Baron Gerhard to recognize his nephew despite the hat pulled down low. The baron doesn’t linger and neither does the driver—though the vehicle slows through the pinch point to avoid scraping the paint of either motorcar.
When the pass is complete, all three of us exhale deeply, the other car gaining speed as it chugs down the hill toward the docks, pointed toward the prize that’s cost everyone far too much.
Will hits the gas, and we lurch forward up the hill. As we take a hard right off the sea lane and into town, arumble begins. Soft, so soft, until it’s suddenly a volcanic and undeniable BOOM—ripping toward the sky as the clouds gather again over the Øresund Strait.
I glance in the side mirror. A fireball the size of Øldenburg Castle lights the noontime sky—the warehouse and the U-boats inside it now nothing but memories and ash.
31
Evie
THERE IT IS.
I feel it like the earth quaking. Like a volcano erupting. Like the flood of waters that cannot be stopped.
Like I did when Alia died. Or when Runa’s transformation from mermaid to human was complete and permanent.
The magic around me and in me has shifted again—the balance tilting a little to the left, to land, to the place in the shadows. Those shadows spent centuries growing. Since before the tragedy of Maren Spliid and Christian IV, the witch-hunter king. Before families, covens, and the magic itself was split and divided and cut and ripped into minute slivers of a whole and tossed into the blowing wind.
And, oh, it feels good.
Runa and her little coven have produced the most powerful magic on land in a generation.
Since the day Nik lived, Anna succumbed, and I was made.
Real, true, strong land magic, depleted for generations, driven into hiding, and then, weak and tired, sleeping for so long, is now awake. Eyes open, yawn shaking, raising its head. It’s here.
And it just killed Havnestad’s fledgling U-boat program. I know it.
My cauldron’s in use, bubbling with a spell that might change my world for the better, too. So, though I cannot see Runa in action, I lift my eyes to the surface and smile up to the clouds blanketing the sky.
“Look at you, little witch,” I say to no one at all but the bubbling turfmoor and waving polypi. “Not yet human a day and you’ve already done more magic than the land has seen in fifty years.”
I allow myself a smile for Runa, the little gardener, planting magic and immediately bearing fruit.
“She’s talented indeed, but she needs your help,” Anna answers.
I nod, my back to her. “Yes, and she’ll get it soon.”
She must.
If I feel the magnitude of what just happened on land, I know the sea king does too. He will be coming. He might already be on his way. And before he arrives, I must be ready.
The glee for Runa fades, replaced by the concentrationI must have in its place. The potion in my cauldron simmers happily, steam rising to the surface in an endless drifting current. It must boil longer than Tante Hansa’s pea soup ever did—or at least that’s what I think it’ll take—I’ve never performed this spell before.
I lean over my cauldron, giving the contents a stir with my swordfish spear. It’s been a day since I first put the potion on, and the color is good—the bright yellow of sunshine. Fitting for the freedom it provides.
But it’s not ready. It has all the aspects necessary—land, sea, lifeblood—save for one.
Love.
All I need is the ring.
Just that word bouncing through my mind’s eye brings me back to childhood. Back to the time when we were ten and Nik bashed his leg on a rock during a climb of Lille Bjerg Pass. It wasn’t a deep cut, but it was right on his shin and bled like his entire life was going to flow right through it and into the dirt as Anna and I carried him down.
Nik passed out for a moment, and we had all his weight on our shoulders, which wasn’t as much of a problem as his size—tall and gangly, the angles of him made him nearly impossible to drag down without scraping up his shins and boots worse than they were. So, when Anna’s mother appeared from inside a shop right near the trailhead, we decided it would be best if I stayed back with Nik, andtogether they went to fetch the royal physician.
Nik came to as soon as they rounded the corner, confused and then slightly embarrassed, his ears blushing hard as I relayed what had happened. “Mother will have something to say about this.” Nik’s eyes were on his hands, long fingers playing in the grass. “‘Niklas, a king shouldn’t be scarred—the eyes of the people are always watching,’” he said, trying very hard to mimic his mother’s particular affected speech pattern. Then he smiled, dark eyes flashing. “Yes, as if the kingdom will crumble when I roll up my pant leg, flash a scar, and prove that I am indeed human.”
