And Annemette, well, she thinks I deserve some of the magic she has tonight. She spelled the dress I’m wearing—an enchanting Havnestad blue, netted with black lace at the bodice. Hers is the same color, but accented with ivory. With our matching pearls and tresses left down and flowing, we’re a study in contrasts—light and dark.
I try to take a deep breath in, my nerves piling high, but my bodice is a little tighter than usual. “Pride must suffer pain,” Annemette had whispered in my ear as she tied the bodice. I’d think about how tight the queen’s bodice must be, but laughing would only hurt more.
People line up behind us as we move forward at a steady but slow clip, the line snaking forward in a constant motion but with the velocity of a centipede. When we wind down the hallway, the entrance to the royal ballroom is finally in sight. I spot King Asger’s tall form, crown atop his dark head, sapphires glittering beneath the great chandeliers that light the hall with a golden glow.
I glance to his left and see Nik and his less ornate prince’s crown. One more spot and two inches down and there’s Iker, wearing, for the first time this trip, his own crown, decorated with the rubies of Rigeby Bay.
Almost there.
Up front, the visiting girls dawdle, finally getting the attention of both princes. The queen is all smiles, and so is Nik—he’d never let these people down. Not in a million years. Iker has on his Prince Charming face, playing up to his reputation with winks and bows and kisses to each girl’s hand.
After another long spell, we come to our turn with the king.
“Evelyn, my, you look more beautiful than ever tonight.”
“Thank you, your grace,” I say, shaking his hand.
“Yes, quite beautiful,” adds Queen Charlotte, her eyes narrowing. “Your gown is lovely.”
I’m sure she’s wondering where I got such an extravagant thing, whether Nik purchased it for me, or worse, I stole it from one of her precious visiting girls. She’s too careful to say anything here, though I’m sure whatever rumor she spreads will reach me later.
I take her hand and curtsy.
“Evie, you look fantastic,” Nik says when I move down the line to him, and I’m surprised his attention is on me when Annemette stands behind me, looking even more striking. As I turn to him, he takes my hand and kisses it. My breath catches.
“Yes, she does. Hurry up, Cousin,” Iker says, irked.
I draw in Nik and give him a peck on one blushing cheek before squeezing his hand. He is simply dashing in his sleek black suit, hair combed and lying perfectly under his crown.
Next to us, Iker clears his throat. Nik gives my hand one last warm squeeze before we part, and he bows to Annemette.
Nik and I joke about Iker’s status as Prince Charming, but Iker certainly lives up to it tonight in every way. My heart was already pounding, but seeing him now causes the blood in my veins to grow hot.
Sweeping navy trousers top high-shine black boots. A crisp white shirt peeks from underneath a pressed coat that glows with golden thread and the crest of Rigeby Bay. The sun-kissed highlights in his hair shine in a way that only serves to make the ice blue of his eyes more stunning. The ruby crown is a symbol of his status, yes, but even in rags—even in nothing at all—he would look like a prince.
Iker takes my hand and kisses it, as he’s done with all the girls in line. His lips are gentle; the rasp of stubble at his chin makes my skin tingle and the flush deepen.
He straightens to his full height, broad shoulders back, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth—a subtle movement that makes my knees weak. “I am very much looking forward to dancing the night away with you, my lady.”
There’s a mischievous look in his eye as he leans into my ear. “Tonight you are the spitting image of a komtesse, but you have the grace of a queen. And in your blood is the sea woman I have fallen for.”
It’s all I can do not to kiss him right there, in front of everyone. But there will be time for that after all of this. After tonight is the rest of our lives. Together.
SIX DAYS BEFORE
The difficulty wasn’t in surviving the humans—it was in returning to the sea castle, slipping into her old life like nothing had happened, when everything had changed.
The little mermaid knew who she was. And as she swam through the sea castle’s ornate coral doors, past schools of fish new to this water, she could only think of one thing.
How to get herself back.
She hadn’t had magic on land. That much she remembered. But Evie had. She hadn’t seen it when she was a girl, but now that magic coursed through her own veins, it was easy to spot in her friend’s home, especially with that peculiar aunt of hers.
Oh, what a delicious secret that would been for Anna to have known. Ever the loyal friend, she wouldn’t have told anyone.
Magic existed, but it was illegal. A danger to the balance and order of things—at least in the eyes of the Øldenburgs.
Which made the little mermaid’s revenge easy. Obvious.
She’d use Evie’s magic against her. Force her to perform magic in public. And even better, force the people she cared about most to lay down the punishment.
Nik was trickier. Evie’s punishment would torment him, she knew, but it wasn’t enough. Evie’s punishment would be the start of his, but it wouldn’t be all.
And Iker, well, his confidence might kill him before anything she did would touch him, the oaf.
But before any of her plans could fully form, she needed to learn how to go above. She knew the stories of “their” mother. She’d been human once too—a witch they tried to drown off the coast of Hirtshals. But Father—the sea king, not her real father—had gotten to her first. Made her his queen. He said it’d been something he’d never been able to do before and hadn’t done since.
He’d lied.
They’d all lied.
Which meant there were more secrets. And she knew just where to look.
The day her sisters had turned fifteen, the sea king had made a big show about writing their names in the large ledger he kept on his desk—the kingdom’s official listing of every merperson allowed to go topside. The sea king ruled with order and regulations as a way of protecting his people from discovery.
Thoroughness was his safety net, and so far, it had worked.
He made note of every magical transaction. Thus, if there were a way to get topside, it was likely he would have recorded it.
And so, with the scent of Nik still upon her skin, the little mermaid returned to the castle and immediately snuck into her father’s chambers. He kept his business papers in a particular parlor room, one with a view of the great reef below, the million colors of his kingdom shifting in the ocean light.
His snores drifted in from the bedroom. She didn’t know how he could sleep so soundly. Not only because he’d lied but because of the chaos taking over his waters. Magic had upset the natural course of things. A spell of abundance was pushing faraway creatures into their seas, creatures who were devouring the scarce resources already eroded by a strange sickness that had attacked the waters only a handful of years ago. The black plague, they’d called it. Most believed it had been magic too.
But the little mermaid knew that soon the sea’s problems would no longer be hers.
Quietly sweeping past the sea king’s copious bookcases, the little mermaid pulled herself up tight to his grand desk. With deft fingers, she opened the ledger and paged to four years before.
It had been no one’s fifteenth birthday that day, so there wasn’t a name. Simply a few entries from the sea king about that day’s regulated magical activities. On the very bottom line of that day, written so plainly it shocked her, was her birth.
Annemette joined us on this day, her eleventh birthday. Her sisters and myself brought her to the kingdom with the same magic that brought me Mette. For the first time in thirty years, that spell found success.
If this was written, why had they lied? The truth was there and everyone in the kingdom knew it.
Why hadn’t they told her?
Just as fury began again to creep up her spine, the little mermaid realized exactly why they’d lied to her face.
They knew I’d want to go back.
So there’s a way back. There has to be.
She skipped forward, stopping for any longer entry, hoping for details of how he’d done it.
But she found nothing. Just page after page of dull business—“brought down a ship, the tally is twenty-two men, five barrels of oil, seventeen casks of wine, and ten pallets of silk.”
The little mermaid racked her mind for a better guess. Any guess.
A shot in the dark: she turned to thirty years before, looking for the entry marking the “birth” of the dead queen, Mette.
She found the passage dated February 17, 1833—an awful time to drown anyone. Hypothermia might have killed her before water claimed her lungs. In the three-page entry, the sea king went on and on about how the magic he’d used to save Mette had worked, but nearly killed him, leaving him so weak he could barely hold an inked feather to document it all. The magic had indeed been a typical exchange—he asked and he received—but the toll was so great, he’d nearly died.
And in his weakness and burgeoning love, he’d told Mette how she’d come to be a mermaid. He wanted the beautiful stranger to recognize his personal expense in having saved her—maybe that would make her love him, too. Instead, his admission initiated a flood of memories—memories that left her yearning to go back right away.
She’d been a witch. She’d known magic above. And he knew magic below.
And because he already loved her, he told her she could go.
The little mermaid’s heart began to pound. Fingers shaking, she turned the pages.
Finally, after lengthy paragraphs documenting weeks of the king’s recovery, she found what she wanted.
Today Queen Mette began testing a spell to bring mermaids to land in human form. In previous weeks, the queen had run tests on loyal subjects but failed to send them topside, as the magic stalled out, exhausting her and tormenting them, despite all her knowledge of the ways of magical barter. But this morning, she had an epiphany.
This spell is unlike any other. The magic needs assistance—the energy it uses is too great and deadly otherwise.
Only a life added to the exchange will fill the void. I was powerful enough to save her without sacrificing myself—and love may have pushed me through—but another try could kill me. Which means that to go above, she needs to take a life—a human life.
There were no entries for three days.
And, after that, no entries about it at all. The little mermaid paged ahead.
More than a year later, a new entry with shaky writing.
A storm brought a man into our path today. Mette saw her opportunity—though she’d come to love me, she missed home. She wanted to try the spell.
My queen could not kill a human. But this man’s life was over. Laying her hands on him, she repeated her spell.
“Líf. Dau∂i. Minn líf. Minn bjo∂. Sei∂r. Sei∂r. Sei∂r.”
The human’s eyes jerked open as his lungs released. His skin glowed where she touched him, and soon the glow was bright enough that I could see neither of them.
In a flash the light was gone, the man was fully dead, and there was Mette, just as I’d found her—with legs and lungs, struggling for air. I swam her topside, found her a piece of the human’s shattered boat to hang on to, and then swam her to the nearest shore. I am not sure how long the magic will hold, or what will happen when it runs out. Or if I will ever get her back. Mette is on the hunt for a witch to help. She knows of a powerful one in Havnestad—one who will keep our secret.
I fear I will lose her. I fear our people will suffer.
The little mermaid turned the page. Nothing.
She turned the page again. Nothing. The sea king must have spent days waiting for his queen to return. The little mermaid knew she had, for she was the true mother of the girls who she, herself, called sisters.
On the fourth day, a new entry.
I have heard from my dear Mette! The Havnestad witch gave her four days at most. After that, I would need to change her back into a mermaid or she’d be lost to both the sea and land. I told her I was too weak. That I couldn’t, but the witch simply smiled and told me I underestimated love’s effect on my magic. Mette hadn’t loved me when I’d transformed her the first time, but she loved me now. And that made all the difference.
The little mermaid skimmed the rest. There must be a way to keep her legs longer than four days. That couldn’t be it. If she had to kill a man, she needed to know she could stay on land forever.
She skipped ahead. Nothing. Nothing anywhere.
Frustrated, she shut the book, careful not to let it slam, though she wanted to slam it. She wanted to throw it across the room. She raised her arm to do just that when she saw the queen’s bookcase across the way. She lunged for the shelf. Thumbed through the spines. And stopped when she saw what she wanted. The queen’s diary.
Heart pounding, she flipped to that year. To that day. The day the queen had returned with the sea king’s help.
The queen wrote that she had known what it would take to remain on land. Love wasn’t just the answer to return; it was the answer to stay. True love would break the magic, the witch had said.
But so, too, would something else—death. A sacrifice so worthy it would make the magic stand up and listen long enough to create a human life.
It was right there in Mette’s looping script. The answer to the little mermaid’s quest. A way to get both her life back and the perfect revenge.
28
THE BALLROOM IS BRIMMING WITH MERRIMENT. Beyond the doors, a sea of people—young and old, of Havnestad and not—mill about, their laughter and cries of delight adding to the general hum as the king’s band strikes a lively jig in the corner.
For once, Nik is not with the musicians, stealing their instruments and the show. Tonight, he does that from the dance floor.
King Asger has just finished a speech—one he didn’t foist upon Nik—and takes Queen Charlotte’s hand. “And now, the first dance.”
Nik steps forward, in line with his parents. The weight of the room is upon him as a statelier tune starts up. Wilhelm van Horn, Ruyven’s father, stands in front of the orchestra as the king’s official announcer. He reads from a scroll, stamped with the king’s seal. All of this is so formal, so unlike us. A prince coming of age is serious business.
Wilhelm clears his throat. “Crown Prince Asger Niklas Bryniulf Øldenburg III invites for his first dance . . .” The drums kick up for a minute. Annemette grabs my hand. “Friherrinde Annemette of Odense.”
I squeeze Annemette’s fingers just before she steps forward into a sea of applause. Every eye in the room is upon her, this beautiful creature. Fru Liesel is proclaiming loudly somewhere behind me, “My Anneke, my Anneke.”
Annemette curtsies, graceful. The queen looks pleased. The king too. Nik looks slightly embarrassed, ears red. He glances to me, but I’m not sure how he can take his eyes off her. She’s the sun and the rest of us are ordinary stars.
She glides toward Nik. He extends a hand and takes hers and they stand to the side, a nearly identical image to the monarchs next to them. One generation and then the next. My heart heaves. After this exhausting, disappointing day, we might have a happy ending. For all of us.
Iker steps forward next. My heaving heart begins to pound, vibrating like a rail tie under an oncoming train.
This is the moment.
Wilhelm clears his throat yet again. I can already feel eyes settling upon my silhouette.
“Crown Prince Christian Olaf Iker Navarre Øldenburg invites for his first dance . . .” The drums begin, and I can’t separate them from my own heartbeats. “Friherrinde Oda of Kalø.”
My heart skips a beat.
Who?
Iker extends his arm in the direction of an icy-blond stranger.
; The girl steps forward, the women around her frozen with excitement. Iker doesn’t so much as glance my way. He watches the girl as if she’s a prize pony, sauntering forward. The queen looks pleased. So pleased. For once, the rogue prince has done her bidding.
My cheeks burn while my heart and blood grow cold with stagnation. I should have known all along. Iker could never dance with me here. Just like he’ll never be able to dance with me in Rigeby Bay or anywhere else. Whether our whaling trip is real or not, it won’t be anything more than those few weeks. I close my eyes and let the wave of embarrassment wash over me.
When I open them, Malvina’s smug face flashes before mine, as if there’s a spotlight on her from across the room. This is what people like her have been waiting for ever since Nik, Iker, and I became friends—my ambition slammed down in front of them all.
And here we are.
I’m just as bad as the townspeople say I am. Always expecting something from these princes whether I deserve it or not. Nik drops Annemette’s hand and takes a step forward. As if he can save me. But I meet his eyes and hope our special language spans the distance and the weight of so many eyes.
My heart is broken, but his is more important in this moment. These next moments could mean life or death.
Yet Nik is still reaching for me, until Annemette grabs his hand and whispers something in his ear. He immediately moves back in line, his eyes in the middle distance.
When the music begins and the dance officially starts, all I want to do is run away, but I’m trapped, forced to watch the three royal couples, a fake smile plastered on my face.
Nik’s crown is a beacon in the very center, everyone else floating around him. The smile on his face is unavoidable, the brightest thing in the room. Brighter than the queen’s diamonds. Brighter than the king’s sapphire crown.
Annemette’s long waves sweep around, swinging with each spin, a flash of butter-blond moving at a happy clip across the inlaid marble.
Many of the older townsfolk hang by the dance floor with more enthusiasm than even the youth, standing close enough to soak in young love at its most enchanting.
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