Page 7 of A Dark and Drowning Tide

“Well,” Heike said, clearly disappointed she had not gotten a rise out of her. “I’mstill holding out hope for you, if only to see the look on Sylvia’s face.”

By now, the genuine spite in Heike’s voice did not surprise Lorelei. Over the months the crew had been preparing for the expedition, Lorelei had watched countless rifts form and mend among the group almost day by day. But whatever tension simmered between Heike and Sylvia had the air of something old and unforgiven, like a bone that had never set quite right.

After a pause, Heike leaned in conspiratorially. “And Johann’s, for that matter. Could you imaginehimtaking orders fromyou? How I’d laugh.”

Lorelei had endured far too many insults today to let it go unpunished. Before she could think better of it, she said, “I’m holding out hope for you as well.”

Heike’s coy smile faltered. With venom, she said, “How sweet of you.”

For almost two years, each member of the crew had been conducting their own expeditions in order to collect data forZiegler—datashe’duse to pinpoint the general location of the Ursprung. After twelve years of knowing her, Lorelei understood the theory well enough. The density and types of flora, the behavior of the wildeleute, even the number of magic users in a givenpopulation...Allof it was correlated with the concentration of aether in nearby bodies of water. If the Ursprung was indeed the source of all magic, all they had to do was follow the data like a breadcrumb trail through the woods. Ziegler hadn’t shared her findings with any ofthem—exceptHeike, who she’d conscripted to chart their course a few weeks ago. Ever since then, Heike had been in a foul, vengeful mood. Lorelei could hazard a guess as to why.

Wilhelm had promised to marry someone from the province where the Ursprung was found, and Heike had made no secret of her aspirations: Wilhelm’s hand and the throne at his side. Clearly, the Ursprung was not in Sorvig.

A voice cut through the chilly silence: “I beg your pardon. Miss van der Kaas?”

A youngman—oneof Heike’s countless suitors, judging by his hopeful expression and the sweating glass of punch in hishand—sidledup to them.

“Ah, my drink!” She accepted the glass from him. “Thank you, Walter.”

“Werner,” he amended.

“Right.” Heike stared at him as though mystified he hadn’t already disappeared. “Did you still need something?”

He shifted on his feet. “You’d promised me your next dance.”

“Did I?” she said with mock surprise. “I’m afraid I’m dreadfully tired. Ah, but Miss Kaskel hasn’t danced all evening.”

“Nor do I intend to,” Lorelei said.

Predictably, the lordling recoiled. Try as she might to hide it, her accent exposed her for what she was. Fifty years ago, Yevani had stitched rings onto their cloaks with golden thread, but there was no point to it now. She was branded by her tongue as surely as she was by her government-issued surname.

“She’s just being demure.” Heike’s smile turned predatory. “Go on. Ask her.”

“If I do,” he managed, “people will talk.”

“Ask,” she repeated, all sweet pretense draining from her voice. “If you’re gallant enough, perhaps I’ll find a second wind.”

Now Lorelei understood what game Heike was playing. She’d almost feel a scrap ofkinship—orat leastpity—forthe poor bastard if he weren’t eyeing her as though she were about to play some devilish trick on him. With grim resignation, he extended a hand to her. Lorelei could only stare at it in numb surprise.

Heike inspected her nails. “Is that all the grace you can muster?”

He met Lorelei’s eyes, his gaze smoldering with furious, humiliated resentment. “Miss Kaskel, would you do me the great honor of this dance?”

Indignation rose up within her. “I will not.”

Heike laughed. “All right, enough. You’ve convinced me. I will give you your dance, sir.”

Werner all but wilted in relief. As she tucked her hand into his elbow, Heike winked at Lorelei. “Good luck.”

She did not need luck. She needed another drink.

Just before the orchestra struck up a new song, a herald’s clarion voice cut through the chatter: “His Imperial Majesty King Wilhelm II.”

The crowd fell into a breathless hush. The doors of the balcony above the dance floor opened. King Wilhelm himself stepped into the wash of the chandeliers’ light. He was dressed, as he always was for his public appearances, in a scarlet military frock coat adorned with shining golden medals. Evidently, he’d earned every one of them. When he renewed his father’s war of unification at the beginning of his reign, he’d led his armies into battle himself, and it was said he’d had no less than three horses shot out from under him before he began taming dragonlings instead. He cut an impressive figure: tall and broad, with dark brown hair neatly combed back from his face.

No one dared move as he surveyed the crowd.

“Good evening, everyone.” A wide smile broke across his face. It was always a strange transformation, to watch a king become a man. “Thank you so much for coming tonight. Now, I know most of you are here for the food, but if you’ll indulge me, I want to talk about a dream. My father’s dream, really.”