“I was trying to convince Eva to choose him,” said Yara. “To drown him instead of Thomas.”
Lina snorted. “And here I was thinking you might be a good witch.”
Yara smiled in a way that made Lina shiver. “There’s no such thing.”
Unnerved, Lina strode ahead, the mosaics covering the walls flashing as she passed. Countless tiny squares of shell and mother-of-pearl depicted scenes from Caldella’s history.
There was Queen Magareta. The tragic queen. The one who had wanted to make peace with the mainlanders, who had built a great bridge between here and Seldoma. There she was, meeting her end in the mainlander king’s black cooking pot. And there were the giant sea serpents that had once terrorized these shores—minus the one that had terrorized Lina less than an hour before. In the mosaic, three girls, three dancers, were hypnotizing the beasts while three witches worked the magic to send them away.
Lina stole a little courage from the image.
They faced monsters—you faced one. All you have to face now is your brother.
She rounded the bend. Faces from nightmares and dreams were peering out of doors up and down the corridor. Witches of all shapes and sizes had gathered around Finley. Lina wasn’t tall enough to see over the heads of the two in front of her, blocking her way, so she stared through them instead. They were like wraiths, their bodies shaped from thin smoke, fading from existence in that way a dream did upon waking, their features uncertain and waning, soon to be wholly forgotten. Witches whose magic was very nearly used up.
“How can you not see it?” Finley demanded, appealing to the crowd, voice leaping several octaves. Yara hadn’t lied. He looked fine. Even finer than usual in the dry clothes she’d given him. Yara had even managed to tame his cowlick with a handful of greasy brilliantine, which, if Lina hadn’t already known, would have been proof enough that she could work magic.
“All of us folk on the island know. It’s bloody obvious to everyone that it has to be Thomas Lin who dies.” Finley shook a fist at the crowd, blood crusting his knuckles black. He’d probably gone and punched another wall. “The sacrifices haven’t worked since the last queen let him live. He’s broken the magic, and that’s why the dark tide is rising. You can’t cheat the sea of its prey.”
Yara brushed Lina’s elbow, slipping past and squeezing through the throng. “The magic isn’t broken.”
Lina pushed after her, taking advantage of the path carved by the other girl, the soup in her mug sloshing, slopping.
Finley glanced at Yara, then twisted and addressed a tall man with hair like flames. “I thought the queen was trying to fix it all. I was glad when she took him. I thought, I should’ve had more faith in her. Doesn’t she want to save the island? How does taking my sister help? Do you want our home to sink?”
An electric current ran through the crowd.
The man with hair like flame stopped lazing against the wall and stood straight. Before, he’d watched Finley with a vague air of amusement. Now his expression was serious. “There could be some truth in what the lad’s saying.”
“Marcin!” Yara reached the man’s side. Lina was stuck a few strides behind; someone had stepped on the end of her wool blanket, jerking her to a halt.
“You know it’s because Eva didn’t care enough for the last boy,” said Yara.
“I know Eva performed the last sacrifice perfectly. We don’t know for certain what caused the magic to fail.”
Several heads snapped toward Marcin, including Finley’s. Including Lina’s.
Strands of red hair shaded his hazel eyes. “I don’t like to think it failed because she’s heartless, because she can’t make herself care. I want to believe Natalia was right to make her queen. And I don’t like how she’s doubting herself, changing her mind. I don’t like how you’re influencing her.”
“I’m the one influencing her?” Yara’s tone was incredulous.
“You chose the last boy for her,” muttered a woman near Lina.
“You’ve been sulking since she chose Thomas,” said Marcin. “Been nagging at her to choose someone else, choose this lad here instead, since we came back. It’s like you want to save Thomas. Is that it? You fell for him back then, too? That’s why you went and let Natalia die?”
The witches’ murmurs crested like a wave, building to a roar. Wild shadows skittered over the walls like angry spiders. A woman with skin a shade darker than Yara’s and long silver locks threaded with bells moved to place a supportive hand on Yara’s arm. But the rest… Lina came to the sinking realization that they hated Thomas as much as Finley did.
Her brother’s voice climbed above the clamor. “Thomas tricked you once, didn’t he? It’s all anyone on the island talks about: how he seduced the wicked queen, how he turned a foolish girl’s heart for his own selfish ends. You’re going to let him get away with it? He tricked her. He tricked you. He boasts about it.”
“That’s not true! He never talks about it.” Lina finally managed to push past the witches in front of her, bursting into the little breath of space at the center of the crowd.
The noise in the corridor cut to deathly silence. Every eye was on her now.
A witchling’s whisper carried: “Lee-nah. The one who brought the storm. It’s never been a girl before. I didn’t think Eva liked girls. I didn’t think she liked anybody.”
Lina’s cheeks were on fire. She liked the spotlight, liked being the one dancing center stage, but she wasn’t sure if she liked this level of attention. She opened her mouth to continue defending Thomas.
But Finley was already surging forward, his winter-gray eyes reflecting her own anguish back at her. He crushed her into a fierce, overprotective hug. “If they’ve hurt you…”
He was shaking. Her brother was shaking.
Lina’s throat closed. “They haven’t. I’m fine. I’m fine, Finley. Let me—”
His chin pressed sharp into the crown of her head. Her protests were lost and muffled against his chest as he rounded on the witches, voice tight. “You lost your sister because of Thomas Lin. Please, do not let me lose mine.”
13
Lina
They were given a room in the south tower. Marble-floored and vast, with daybeds and a balcony that faced the city. Intricately carved screens of amber and gold leaf sliced the massive space into sections, spilling a warm honey glow and afternoon sunlight through their carved cutouts in elaborate patterns.
Lina sank onto one of the daybeds, and in seconds, was fast asleep, exhaustion dragging her into her dreams.
She dreamed of Eva, of Thomas, of drowned cities and funeral bells still tolling below the waves, of drowned boys and black water closing over her head, jerking awake in the claws of such a panic she could barely gasp each breath out.
“How long was I…” She sat up. “Where’s…”
Finley put a hand on her calf. “Not long.” He was perched stiffly on the edge of the daybed. An untouched platter of dishes rested behind him on the mattress. Lina vaguely remembered someone bringing it in, clucking and pressing food at her like her grandmother.
You’re the sacrifice now; we can’t have you starving to death before the full moon.
Lina’s stomach rumbled.
“I can’t believe you offered—” Finley scraped a hand through his hair, tearing at it. “Are you mad?”
Lina scowled and fell upon the food, spooning crab mash into her mouth, chewing angrily. Already the relief she’d felt at finding her brother was fading into familiar annoyance. Why couldn’t she have found Thomas first? The witches had promised they’d bring him here, too. She wished they’d hurry up.
“It was the only way she’d let him go. The only way she’d let you go.”
“I don’t need you to save me.” Finley dragged a hand down his face. “I’m getting you out of this.”
“I don’t need yo
u to save me.”
“Weren’t you railing at me at the revel? For risking this?”
“That’s different.” Lina swapped her spoon for a fork.
“How is it different?” Finley demanded. He picked at the food on the platter. Dumplings filled with salmon. Herring mixed with sour cream, baked in two little clay pots and topped with onion and cheese. Soup served inside a crusty bread bowl. Crepes stuffed with sweet cheese, dusted with a snow of sugar.
Lina skewered half a crepe with her fork.
“You’re going to regret eating that.”
Probably. Lina’s stomach and milky, cheesy foods did not mix. But she only shrugged. “Well, I’m going to die soon anyway, so I have to live to the fullest.”
Finley blanched.
Oh, and the crepe was good. So good. Mouthwateringly good. Sweetly cheesy. Creamy. So absolutely worth it.
“Oh, and when you get home,” Lina continued airily, waving her fork, wanting her brother to taste more of the anguish she’d felt on St. Walpurga’s Eve, “I’m going to need you to find my hip flask and hide it. It’s in my bag with my dance shoes, rolled in a pair of tights. And I need you to get rid of the strawberry-flavored cigars behind my dresser. There’s this loose bit in the skirting where I shoved them. And…” Lina racked her brain for anything else she wouldn’t want Mama and Ma to find. She’d never really thought about it before, all the incriminating things she’d leave behind if she died.
There were so very many things.
“My diary. Burn it. And don’t you dare read it first. And you have to promise to take care of Ma and—”
Her throat choked a little. What would her mothers think of her coming here? Would they be proud she’d fought to save the person she loved?
Or would they be horrified? They preferred her and Finley to keep their heads down, had raised them both to never make a fuss.
“Lina.”
Lina ran her fingers through the strands of her necklace, touching each bead, like Mama praying her rosary. “I need a shower. And some clean clothes. I’m about to say my final goodbyes to you and Thomas, after all.”
And wasn’t there something so romantic and tragic about that? The thought of saying goodbye to the person you loved, who you would never see again? The prospect filled Lina with a kind of melancholy ache, a guilty thrill. Would Thomas think of her when she was gone? As a guiding light, as the voice living on inside his head, as the girl who had changed him, saved him?
“You take that look off your face,” Finley ordered, ruining the moment. “Stop it right now. This is not romantic. You are not the tragic heroine in one of your stupid fantasies. You are not doing this.”
Lina scowled. Of course she wasn’t going to do it. It wasn’t as if she wanted to die. It was just hard to turn this part of herself off. She’d always lived in daydreams and stories, spinning what adventure and romance she could from an ordinary life, from boring everyday happenings.
She would take Thomas’s place because it was the right thing to do, because she’d dragged him and Finley into this, but… There was still time before the full moon. And Thomas had tricked his way out of this dilemma last time, hadn’t he? Lina very much doubted she could get Eva to sacrifice herself, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t think of something else, some other way out. As soon as Thomas and her brother were safely away from here.
“Look,” Finley pleaded, sucking in a deep breath, trying hard to control his temper. Lina couldn’t stop herself from tensing. “I know you want to save his life, but think, all right? What about everyone else’s? What about our lives? What about our home? What will happen to Ma and Mama and everyone when Caldella sinks? I told you, the magic won’t work if it’s anyone else. The sacrifice has to be him.”
Lina bit down on her fork. “The witches don’t think that.”
Back in the corridor, Yara had said last year’s sacrifice failed because Eva hadn’t cared enough for the last boy. She’d said something similar when they’d been walking together, too. Lina had been so distracted by Finley she’d almost forgotten.
The queen has to fall in love with the sacrifice.
Lina shifted, suddenly uncomfortable.
Well, that couldn’t possibly be true either. That was even more impossible to believe than Finley’s stupid theory.
There was a portrait of the Witch Queen hanging on the wall directly above the daybed. Lina’s gaze strayed unwillingly toward it; Eva’s painted scowl mirrored her own, only the expression suited her better. It fitted with her dark features and sullen kind of elegance. Half-threatening, half-beautiful.
Such an irritating face.
“Some think I’m right. Like that witch with the red hair.” One of Finley’s legs jiggled the daybed, making the plates on the platter rattle. “You can’t have both. You can’t have Thomas and the island. You really don’t care what happens to anyone else?”
“You only started to care about it all because Auntie Iris lost her house and your stupid best violin was in it when it flooded. You didn’t care until you started listening to all those delusional rumors about Thomas, hating him just because Ivy told you I liked him.”
The tips of Finley’s ears burned red. His fists clenched.
Lina bit her lip, heart hammering.
The air grew taut.
And once again, they were dangerously close to that moment on the steps of St. Dominic’s when they’d fought and Lina’s ankle had broken. It seemed that no matter how far they traveled from it, how many days and hours passed, they always somehow circled back to the moment that had split the world into before and after.
He’d scared her. Her brother had scared her. And she knew he hadn’t meant to, knew she’d been the one to start the argument, but the memory stayed like scar tissue, thick and unyielding, the body’s way of protecting itself. A permanent reminder that while some things healed, they also left a mark. She would always have to push past this.
Finley’s eyes dipped from her face to her ankle. “If you’re doing this to punish me—”
“This isn’t about you. I’m not doing it to punish you. And that, it wasn’t your fault.” Which was only half-true, but his pity, his guilt, was suffocating. A hundred times worse than his anger. Lina couldn’t stand it.
It occurred to her briefly that if she did die, he wouldn’t have to be so obsessed with putting things right anymore, wouldn’t have to feel guilty every time he looked at her. And then she wouldn’t feel guilty for making him feel guilty for something that was his fault.
She let out a breath. “Stop looking at me like you broke me. I am not that weak. And I have a plan to get out of this. You and Thomas return to the island—”
“You can’t think I’d leave you,” Finley cut in.
“—and I stay here to await the full moon,” Lina continued, talking over him. “Letting them all think I’m going along with it. Letting them think it’s all settled. But there’s the regatta. It’ll be held soon, won’t it?”
The spring regatta always took place soon after the revel. If this were any other year, Lina would already be busy preparing; helping Finley decorate his broom boat with their cousins, weaving wreaths of white lilies with all the aunties to set upon the waves, daydreaming about how many falling stars she would catch at sunset and how many sticky toffee apples she could eat before she made herself sick. The festivities were as large and magical as those held on St. Walpurga’s Eve.
“Hundreds of boats will be out in the sunken harbor,” she continued. “Thousands of people watching the races and laying wreaths on the water, including the witches. I’ll be with the queen—the races are held in the sacrifice’s honor—and with all the distractions, I’ll slip away. You and Thomas just need to get a broom boat right up close to her ship so I can climb down when it gets dark. Then he and I can sail away together.”
Just like in he
r daydreams.
“Oh, aye,” said Finley, “and where will you two idiots go?”
Lina hadn’t thought that far ahead. And she didn’t know Thomas well enough to know where he would want to go. She didn’t even really know where he lived on the island. Did he have family? He’d said that the last time he’d been taken, he’d had no one to save him.
Finley’s brow was still furrowed, but at least his fists unclenched. “The queen’ll come after you.”
“She’ll be too busy, won’t she? Finding someone else to sacrifice.”
Someone else to chain to the pillar in St. Casimir’s Square.
Someone else to feed to the waves.
Lina swallowed suddenly, an echo of saltwater choking her throat.
It had never bothered her before, the idea of the sacrifice, and maybe that was horrible, that it hadn’t bothered her so long as it wasn’t her brother or Thomas that it was happening to. Someone she cared about.
Finley shifted, as if he were troubled by the same thought. “We’ll go to Uncle,” he said finally. “We’ll find somewhere to hide you.”
“And Thomas.”
Finley didn’t reply.
“And Thomas,” Lina repeated louder.
Finley gave a noncommittal grunt, lunging in to steal the last salmon dumpling and cramming it into his mouth. “I don’t like leaving you. What do you think they’ll say if I leave you? Auntie Van. Laolao.”
Lina wanted to roll her eyes. She was pretty sure they wouldn’t say anything. The whole family spoiled him rotten. Finley got away with everything because he was the boy. The only nephew. The precious first grandson. He’d even been named after their grandmother’s cheery, blue-eyed husband. All he had to do was duck his head and mumble, “I’m sorry, Laolao,” and she’d melt and thumb his chin with her wrinkled, crooked fingers.
“Uncle’ll have my head. I don’t like it. I’ll stay, too.”
“You don’t have to! Everyone will be worried. You have to let them know we’re okay. You have to get them to bring a boat.”
The Dark Tide Page 9