He tosses around what I did with sweeping hands. “Repair the plague you created. Kill Annemette when she threatened to take us down with the young prince. But it was never about us; it was always about you, and it was wrongheaded for Mother to think otherwise, let alone admire you for it.” His teeth flash in disgust. “Still, I kept her around because every little note and visit got me closer to the root of your magic.”
Magic—his voice lowers in disgust as he says the word. But it’s tinged with something else: jealousy. His fingers trail along the rim of my cauldron, the potion all but finished.
He doesn’t know what it is. He can’t. But there’s a sharp tilt to his shoulders, and I see it happen before he completes the movement—my cauldron toppled over, the most important spell I’ve created in fifty years spilling, golden and promising into the dead water of my cove.
My last chance, diluted. Gone.
My life is the next to go.
“I needed you to bring Runa back—surely you know that was the only reason you survived this long.” Yes. I know. “But now, there is no return for her. So, you must take her place. Grow me ríkifjor and spare your life.”
“No.”
“No hesitation?” He nearly laughs, mirth flashing in the blue depths of his eyes. “Has your life been so horrible here? Do you miss home that much that you’d gamble with Urda’s graces on the afterlife to see all those you’ve left in your wake? Your mother, dead because of you. Your father, dead because of you. Your aunt, your Øldenburg loves, suffering under the weight of that day until they left this earth.”
Gently, I place Ragn’s body in the sand, laying her down for a final rest until I can properly bury her, do my best to honor her as she deserves. Then, I square my shoulders and reveal myself to him fully, defiantly. Every inch of my years, my power, my penance, stated in the tip of my chin and the smooth presence of my tentacles, black, shining, regal.
“Me?” I spit. “You would question me? The man who just murdered his own mother?”
This seems to take his shoulders down a tick. I smile, gaining steam. “The man who feels so betrayed by the two humans he saved that he’s willing to risk literally his entire species and the lives of thousands of humans to satisfy his own greed?”
He seems to shrink and shrivel a bit more. Good. I inch closer to him, not letting him escape my stare. My wrath.
“Trust me, Your Highness: revenge doesn’t mend a broken heart.”
The sea king doesn’t let his gaze stray. Doesn’t look to his mother, or to his girls, horrified over his shoulder.
“Oh, but it does feel good,” he tells himself. His jaw hardens and he regains every lost inch, chest puffed out. Chin out. Decision made. I just need him to say it. “Goodbye, Sea Witch.”
36
Runa
ADOZEN MORE GUARDS ARRIVE THROUGH THE KITCHENdoor.
We’re surrounded.
Both exits are blocked.
“Hell and high water,” Will curses under his breath. Then he drops my hand and steps in front of me. In front of Sofie and Agnata too. He moves with his hands up, slowly presenting himself to the guards.
“Will, what are you doing?” Sofie whisper-screams.
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he again slaps on the grin he used while dressed in his castle finery, title to his name, the king’s newest cousin. He projects his voice, loud and clear and ready to play. “Let’s not get into it here, boys. We can talk up at the castle, eh?”
The guards respond by drawing their pistols.
“This isn’t a negotiation,” their leader says. “I’ll takeall four of you for destruction of kingdom property, witchcraft, and the murder of our beloved king. Have I missed anything, Herr Jensen?”
The ring in Sofie’s hand and the car outside—theft. But our crimes are not my concern. We’ll surely break a few more laws by sunrise. If they’re going to take us, let it be quick. The sooner we’re outside, the sooner we can use our magic. Our spells are utterly useless here. Fire and wind are too dangerous in close quarters. If the bullets start flying and we draw shields, we’re likely to kill a bystander with the ricochet. Even the sleeping spell is no good, because when the guards go down, at least a few of their pistols could discharge.
“Ah, I didn’t think so,” the leader goes on. “Binds, then we march.”
They start with Will. Three men rough him up as they remove his coat, pistols, and clean out his pockets of our extra amethysts and inks.
“Make it as embarrassing as possible, gents. Baron Jensen would be most approving,” Will says as the guards do their best to wrench his shoulders nearly out of their sockets while stringing his arms together behind his back at a barbaric angle.
The guards approach the three of us next. Agnata whimpers the whole time that she’s done nothing wrong, but they search her anyway. From the folds in our skirts they retrieve the amethysts Sofie and I had tucked away forsafekeeping, and my little pouch of the remaining ríkifjor seeds too. Each item is tossed into a burlap sack. We are utterly disarmed. All except Sofie, who has managed to slide Niklas’s ring to the tip of her thumb, burying it so deep in her fist, the guards have yet to notice.
