Nik nods, having gotten what he wanted, the trunks a mere formality.
Annemette grasps my hands and looks me in the eye. “Thank you,” she says. There’s a sincerity in her voice, tinged with desperation that I haven’t heard since she first asked if Nik was alive.
Right. She saved him, and she came here to see him. She had her reasons.
I could kick myself for being so petulant and bitter all night, even if only I noticed. But at least I, too, have achieved my aim. Repaying her good deed with their introduction. And it seems to be worth a lot to her. To both of them. Yet still my stomach flutters, the dock moving as if I’m adrift past the strait, alone on the open sea.
12
I DON’T WANT QUESTIONS. I JUST WANT TO GET UP TO the castle before the queen finds out about Nik’s invitation. Our lie about Annemette’s noble heritage passed Nik’s scrutiny, but he wanted to believe us. His mother, well, I wouldn’t put it past her to know the name of every noble this side of Prussia.
At the cottage, I blow through the entryway like I’ll hurtle through the back window, through the trees, and off the cliff, but at the last moment, I veer down the hall and into my bedroom.
My grand entry does not escape Tante Hansa, despite the fact that she was surely deep in her thoughts as she distilled octopus ink by candlelight.
“Was that a tempest or my sister’s child bursting through the house?” she asks, coming down the hall.
I ignore her, shutting my door before plowing through my chest of drawers for all the proper pieces of a wardrobe—stays, undergarments, stockings, boots, dress. I shove in the latest book of magic I stole from Hansa’s library—Myths of Maritime—too. There might be something in there about mermaids that would be worth a look.
Within a minute, Hansa opens the door. Immediately, her arms cross and her brows pull together. “You aren’t going to smuggle your entire closet out in that trunk, my dear.”
“Who said I was smuggling it?”
Tante Hansa takes a step forward, lips drawn into a perturbed line.
“The bloomers poking out the front.”
Sure enough, the ruched ankle of an undergarment is sticking out of my trunk like a dead man’s tongue.
Hansa tilts her head a bit, one brow now impossibly raised. “Are you going to tell me why you are rushing in and out of here with enough clothes for an entire week at sea? It wouldn’t have to do with your new friend, would it?”
The thought skips to the front of my mind to tell her. If anyone would believe that Annemette is a mermaid, it would be Tante Hansa. But I can’t tell.
“Well, child? Have you formed the perfect bluff in your pretty little head? You’ve had more than enough time.”
“It’s not a bluff. Nik’s asked me to stay at the castle—Annemette, too.”
That earns me an ancient Hansa chuckle. “His festival duties have the boy in such a tizzy that he needs to sleep with moral support down the hall, does he?”
“Something like that,” I say, though I know Tante Hansa isn’t buying it.
The brow arches higher. “Are you certain that cad from Rigeby Bay hasn’t arrived with promises on his lips and a night’s lodging at the castle?”
Heat creeps up my cheeks.
In my dreams.
“Iker still hasn’t arrived.” I’m not sure he will at all, I add in my thoughts, but I manage to keep my features plain despite the pang I feel in my chest. “And Nik has requested my—our—presence tonight in his stead.”
“Oh, he’s requested, now, has he?” Tante Hansa peers down her long nose like a blue heron. “So princely after one canned speech that he’s now requesting the presence of his little fish-rat friend?”
“You know Nik’s not like that. Besides, you come when you’re called—‘Healer of Kings,’ is it?”
“Don’t make this about me, child. I know what I’m doing.” She laughs again as I lug the chest toward the door. Annemette will be nearly finished with the grand tour by now. If Nik’s been ratted out by a member of the staff, the queen won’t go to bed without addressing him.
“Are you finished with me?” I take a step toward the door she’s blocking.
“No, I’m not finished with you.” She crosses her arms for a moment, looking stern, but then backs away from the door, leaving a sliver for escape. “But you are just as stubborn as your mother, and if you fight me as long as she would have, I’ll be in this doorway until dawn.”
I take another step toward her and lean in as much as my belongings will allow, planting a kiss on her papery cheek.
“Good night, Tante Hansa.”
I stride past her, past her smelly inks, and out the door. I’m not one step beyond the threshold when I hear her call, “Don’t grant all the prince’s requests, darling girl. Men are always asking for more than they should.”
Though I’m not with Father on one of his fish deliveries, it seems too strange to walk through the main entrance of Øldenburg Castle. There are some things that are just not for me as a commoner. Malvina Christensen and her ilk might think I don’t know my place, but I do. It’s evident every day.
I’m angling through the tulip garden, the trunk dragging along at my feet, when I hear my name.
It’s nearly midnight, but Queen Charlotte looks just as regal as ever, still in the full evening gown she wore at the festival, crown nestled in her perfectly styled hair. I catch Nik approaching behind her.
“Evelyn,” says the queen, the distaste in her voice not hard to miss. “Niklas told me you’d be joining us.” She eyes her son, and I know he had to fight for me to stay. “It was gracious of Friherrinde Annemette to suggest you stay in the same room.”
“She’s very gracious indeed, as are you for having us, Your Highness,” I say. The queen nods as if I’ve passed a test—I know how she prefers to be praised.
“My pleasure,” she says, and steps away. But then she pauses and turns. “Please stay within this wing.”
I nod. Yes, I know my place.
Once the queen is gone, Nik rushes to my side.
“Let me help you.”
“I’ve got it.” But just as I say it, he’s snuck a hand on either handle and hoisted the thing to his chest, as effortless as can be.
“You shouldn’t. You’re still recovering!”
“I’m fine. It’s practice for the rock carry—I have to defend my title.”
“Since when do you care about winning so much?” I goad him so we don’t have to talk about his mother.
“Turns out a taste of victory is all I needed to care.”
“Or the need to impress a girl. Speaking of . . . where is she?”
Nik takes a step toward the door, and I rush ahead of him to open it. “Mette was so enamored with her room; it was so sweet, I didn’t want to disturb her. Besides, Mother . . .”
His voice trails off as a guard comes to help, taking the trunk from Nik’s hands. Nik grabs the edge of the door above my head, relieving me of my duty. For a moment, I stand there trying to read his face, because it’s not as clear and open as I’m used to seeing. His emotions are all muddled, like Hansa’s magical ink swirling across the surface of water.
Nik looks over at the guard. “Take her trunk to the Baroque Room, please, Oleg.”
Oleg nods, and Nik pulls me back outside and onto the steps. He sits down on the top step, and I follow. His shoulder nestles next to mine and his voice is low.
“Apparently coming of age means more than giving speeches,” he says without preamble, his eyes on his hands.
My heart starts pounding and my hand finds his shoulder. “Nik . . .”
“Mother is pleased because Annemette is the first of her ‘girls’ to arrive.”
My mouth goes dry. I should’ve seen this coming—among so many other things these past few days. Annemette must have passed the queen’s scrutiny, my aid unneeded.
“She had her ladies send letters to every high house in Denmark, inviting every princess, komtesse,
and friherrinde to the Lithasblot Ball and God knows what else. Now that I’m sixteen, I should be courting, but Mother thought it wise to bring the girls to me.”
“Oh, Nik—” I start, but then he stares up at me, and the look in his eyes makes my throat catch.
“Lured them in with Iker’s presence, too . . .”
Of course: the playboy prince, two years older, with brave tales of the sea. I bet every last girl with a title is on a steamer right now.
“Two princes for the price of one—we’re the market special,” he says. “No wonder Iker’s still at sea.”
He’s careful to smile at his joke—he’s trying to save my feelings. But I can’t grin back, not even a little bit. I want so badly to turn to stone like the statues in his mother’s garden. There must be a spell for that, no? At least then I wouldn’t have this rot of disappointment creeping up inside me. It turns out knowing better doesn’t always help. It makes it worse.
It’s funny, though—maybe funny isn’t the right word, but Nik and I are both trapped. I’ll forever be the fisherman’s daughter, caught in a web of whispers and lies spread by those too scared to open their eyes and see beyond what’s in front of their faces. And Nik—he’ll be locked in by royal traditions, forced into a loveless match with someone only out for the crown. Nik will always be in the shadow of the castle. And nothing I can do will save him from that.
Except, if the queen already believes Annemette’s story, surely Annemette is better than these komtesses flocking to our shores. She does seem to make Nik happy. I know it’s only been a day, but even I’ll admit that I’ve never seen Nik smile as much as he has with her. It’s not everything, but it’s a start. And she’s not after his crown. That I know. She genuinely cares. She saved him. Besides, it might serve us all well to finally have some magic in the palace, to perhaps bring an end to Queen Charlotte’s brutal warnings and doll burnings. Maybe as a trusted friend to both the crown prince and princess, I wouldn’t be relegated to the kitchen door. My family would not have to live in secret. If Annemette makes Nik truly happy, we can both be free. Stop, Evie. You’re getting ahead of yourself. But a smile pulls on my lips all the same.
“Let’s go inside,” I say to him. “Everything will be okay. Annemette is waiting.”
13
I WAKE IN THE BLUE LIGHT OF THE MORNING AND SIT straight up. I thought a night in the royal wing, on the most comfortable mattress I’ve ever slept on, would do me well, but it hasn’t. I’m anxious.
I’ve smuggled a mermaid into the palace, for Urda’s sake!
In the bed across the room, Annemette sleeps, a ruffle of blond waves piled about her face. One foot has escaped the bedspread, five toes stretching lazily toward the ceiling.
It’s easy to forget that she’s never slept in a bed before. I throw off the covers and tiptoe to my trunk, left by Oleg next to the double-sided wardrobe. And there, beneath my underthings, is the book I threw in at the last minute. Though the name isn’t too suspect—Myths of Maritime—I suppose it’s lucky we arrived so late in the evening that the maid couldn’t unpack the trunk. I should’ve been more careful, though.
I crawl onto the plush red window seat and hold the book up to the new day’s light, thumbing through the pages for anything about mermaids. I know all the lore from childhood, of course. I can still hear Tante Hansa’s voice reciting the tales over the campfire.
Mermaids call sailors into storms, their siren songs and beauty too difficult to ignore. Probably a myth. Annemette is beautiful, but she didn’t force Nik into the sea, and I’d be able to tell if she was using magic on him now. I think.
Then there’s Mermaids can conjure storms with a blink, sacrificing sailors to please the all-powerful sea. I hope to Urda that this is not true. A shiver runs up my spine as I think of Father and Iker.
But the one that always made me and Anna scream was: Mermaids steal naughty children and feed them to the sharks for protection. Ha! I’ll let Tante Hansa have that one. It kept me from making lots of unwise choices, though I suppose not nearly enough. If only Anna and I had truly listened.
None of this lore is easing my rattled nerves. The only positive mermaid tale I know is the one I saw with my own eyes: A kind mermaid may swim you to shore.
But there has to be more written about mermaids than a few childhood warnings.
After much reading, I finally find a section on mermaids, following an intensive discussion of the kraken. It doesn’t say much—there’s just slightly more detail than the descriptions I know by heart. I focus in on one paragraph.
Accounts of mermaids at the surface often come with tales of rescue—the saved sailor opening his eyes just as the mermaid dives back into the waves. The maids are always described as staying within the water, unable to leave the sea completely.
That was exactly how it happened. Maybe there will be more on what happens next. I turn the page, expecting a section on a mermaid’s ability to change into human form. But there is nothing. No description, no account, no guesses at all.
I stare at Annemette. She can’t be the first mermaid to change into a person. She can’t. It just must be so rare there’s not an accurate tale to pass on.
Possibly feeling the weight of my eyes on her, Annemette shifts, her arms stretching high above her head. Her eyes blink open and she sees me watching her. I expect her to startle, to forget where she is and what she is, but she doesn’t. Instead, she just yawns.
“I could get used to this.” She rolls fully toward me. A slim finger points to her calf. “But is it normal that this part just aches? Burns. And my toes are . . . tingly.”
“Pins and needles?” I offer.
“More like knives,” she replies without hesitation. “But I’ll be fine.” She pushes herself up a little and yawns again.
I set my book between my nightdress and the windowpane. “Maybe it’s a side effect. You know, of your transformation,” I say. And now’s my chance: “Have other mermaids ever turned into humans before?”
“I’m not the first,” she replies. She stands and turns her back to me as she opens the wardrobe, revealing a closetful of dresses.
“Where’d those come from?” I ask, my mouth agape as I walk over to the wardrobe.
“I conjured them last night while you were sleeping.”
I want to scold her for doing something so reckless, but they’re incredible. Silk day dresses in pink, cerulean, and deep purple, each with little white collars and pearl buttons. I clutch at my necklace and wonder if those pearls pulse like mine. The evening gowns are even grander. Full skirts and long trains, gold embroidery, and even beading. They’re going to think she is the wealthiest friherrinde in the whole region.
“Do you like?” she asks. “Hopefully they will do the trick.”
I nod eagerly. “What trick?”
“Allowing me to stay,” she says, clutching a Havnestad-blue dress with mother-of-pearl inlay. “Don’t you want me to stay?”
“Of course I do, Mette,” I say, trying out the nickname for the first time. And I realize I mean it. Not only so she can save Nik from his mother’s misguided intentions, but to have a friend who knows magic, who knows the real me. I didn’t know how much I wanted that until I met her. “How long do you have?” I ask, hoping she’ll give me a real answer this time. “I want to help.”
“The magic lasts four full days,” she replies. “I have three left.”
My face falls. “That’s it?”
“But three days becomes forever if, before midnight on the final day, my true love has fallen for me, too.”
Too.
Nik.
Forever.
“I love him, Evie. I really do.” Annemette flops on the bed, no longer the shifty girl holding everything back. More like the girl I used to talk with about boys and gossip in her own grand room. “He’s why I came back. I know he can love me. Didn’t you see us last night?”
“But what if he doesn’t?” I ask. She turns and stares out t
he window, out at the sea far below.
“What is it?” I come to her and sit on her bed. “Tell me, Mette.”
She shakes her head and buries her face in her hands. When she responds, it’s as if she’s repeating something she read in a book—and maybe she is.
“To come to land in human form a mermaid must complete a magical contract—her life as a mermaid for four days on land.” She pauses and shudders, her chest heaving slightly. “She may not return to the sea after those four days, for she can never again be a mermaid.”
My stomach practically tumbles to my feet. “Wait . . . you die?” What kind of dark magic did she do? Nik is wonderful, amazing, the best guy I know—but to risk her life for someone she barely knows?
She sits up and nods. “I know. It’s crazy. But you don’t get it. He’s what I’ve been missing. I knew he was mine when he fell into the sea. Into my arms. And to be human? Evie, you don’t know how lucky you are.”
I don’t even know what to think. Of course I want her to live, and I want them both to be happy, but how can this work? Falling in love in four days seems . . . unrealistic, to say the least.
I temper my words carefully. “How can you tell when he truly loves you?”
Annemette’s face goes dreamy again. “True love’s kiss is all I need.”
I almost laugh. Now it’s unrealistic and ridiculous. So much so, I’m completely incredulous. “A kiss, really? Your life for a kiss? That’s it? That’s some magic.”
“It’s the feeling in the kiss. I’ll know. The magic will know.”
I think of Nik on the steps—enchanted, yes, but in love? No. Not yet, anyway.
I walk back to the window seat. I need space to breathe, to think. If Annemette hadn’t risked her life on this, I don’t know how I’d feel if Nik really did fall in love in three days. The whole thing just feels wrong—her life depending on Nik somehow awakening powerful magic, simply by having enough love in his heart for a girl he’s only just met. One I like, one he likes, one I’m forever grateful to. But I just don’t know . . . there has to be another way to keep her alive without forcing Nik to love her.
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