Sea Witch Rising Read online

  Morning isn’t the time for parties, but this balcony may be the only way I can see into the castle from the water. Beyond the buoys, I swim into a narrow channel, sheer rock faces on each side, protecting the Øldenburgs from visitors they’d rather avoid. And there, right as I enter the opening of a cove, the balcony’s footings appear like skeleton bones, jutting up from the sea floor. They sweep out over the water and back down below the surface with the fluid motion of a dolphin’s jump.

  Above the balcony that sits atop those arches, the castle teeters from a cliff face. It juts out like the haughty chin of its founding king, eyes down on all that it owns, including the waters at its shores.

  “The sea’s not yours, greedy bastards,” I say under my breath. My father could build a castle just as big as this one from the bones of Øldenburgs and their ilk who’ve fought the sea and lost over the centuries.

  Gulls sweep the surface as a soft breeze caresses the tide, autumn sweet as it descends on 1914. Music tinkles out from the castle’s wide-open doors and windows. Hope rises in my gut—no, it’s not time for parties, but where there’s music, there are people.

  I hoist myself up just enough that I can see beyond the balcony and through three sets of grand doors that bring the outside in. Men in tea jackets, hair swept back as if it’s shiny and wet though perfectly dry, crowd around something within. Ladies are there too, but most run around in stiff blue dresses with white aprons. Servants—I’d recognize the scurry and dutifulness anywhere.

  I can see why Alia loved this balcony so—it provides cover that kept her from being spotted, while also allowing for an easy view of the happenings above. I watch for a minute, unsure what to do next except take it all in.

  But then a servant moves aside, clearing breakfast plates, and—there. A glimpse of what’s beyond.

  A girl dancing in a dress of shimmering gold.

  Alia.

  Long blond hair trailing as she moves in time with the music, a glorious smile upon her face. She’s always been graceful, yes, but it’s difficult to be anything else in the water, our very atmosphere encouraging swirls, twists, spirals.

  My lips drop open as I watch what she can do on two feet. A heavy feeling stirs deep within my bones that I could never move this way on little propped feet, not now, not with another lifetime of practice.

  We are twins, but not identical in the least.

  Yet, there she is. Moving like the water itself. It’s magnetic. Everyone is watching her with the same intensity as I am, but where joy sparks in their eyes, mine soak in bittersweet relief.

  My sister is alive. But she might not be for much longer.

  I know the bargain. Everyone does, even if Father banned it.

  The magic works for four days. Four days to earn a prince’s love or spill Øldenburg blood to survive. Without either, she becomes foam in the tide.

  One day is already gone.

  I’m too fearful to whisper it here, this close, but a refrain sticks in my mind.

  Oh, Alia, what have you done?

  3

  Runa

  THE SONG ENDS AND APPLAUSE TITTERS THROUGH THE room, along with calls for more. Alia curtsies, and when she does, I see him in the corner, pointing his dimples at her, dangerous as they are.

  Niklas.

  “Again, if you will, my dear,” he says, and I hate that he’s already using terms of endearment. She has a name, Niklas—use it. “Please, for our guests.”

  Alia obliges as a song strikes up yet again.

  The relief of seeing her here and alive ebbs, and the panic comes in double—triple—what it was before. I try to shove it down, lock it deep within me. I have to get her attention. I have to talk to her. Is the magic she used the same as when Annemette made her choice? What did she sacrifice to come here? Or better yet, who? No, no, I cannot believe my dear sister would harm anyone, even to achieve her greatest desire. Annemette was driven by revenge, my sister by love—or so she thinks.

  Alia begins dancing again, and the crowd settles back into watching her—all but two boys, who manage to break away and walk onto the balcony. At first, I think I can stay still and unseen, but then they keep walking, all the way over into the corner right above where I’ve stationed myself.

  Of course.

  Careful not to let my tail make too much of a splash, I pull my body as far under the latticed balcony as possible, winding my fingers around the arcing pole that holds it up, taking care that my hands don’t show.

  One boy is tall, one is short, and both will be a huge problem if they happen to see me. But it seems to me as if they don’t want to be seen themselves—their voices are low, gestures short.

  “How many now?” the tall one asks, a handsome smile turning up at the corners of flushed cheeks.

  “The numbers are fresh to me as of last evening,” says the short boy, his hawkish features bending hard with each whisper. “Five U-boats.”

  I try to process a word I’ve not heard before. U-boat.

  “Shhh,” the tall boy says, nearly smacking the short one across the mouth. “Do not use that word.”

  “Oh, right, sorry,” the short boy replies. “Look, I know it’s not encouraging news, Will, but it’s what I have.”

  Will nods at this too. “Good work, Phillip. Thank you. The contract will be complete as of tomorrow.” His eyes search the waters. “My uncle—”

  Suddenly, Will cuts off and plasters a smile back on his lips. His whole voice changes, and he plants a hand gamely on the short boy’s shoulder, his broad back to the ocean now. “What a delight that your parents are making their way here, Phillip! It has been ages since I’ve danced with your darling mother.”

  It’s just then that I see Niklas striding their way. He’s got the audacity to wear a slender crown atop his head and more jewelry too—a brooch, cufflinks of shining gold, even a ring of blood-red stones that burn despite the weak light. I have a strong suspicion that this boy loves to collect shiny objects, my graceful sister being just the latest.

  “Ah, Will! I thought that was you, sneaking in the back and stealing kringle!” Niklas chides, doing more than simply clapping the tall boy on the shoulder—instead he brings him in all the way for a real embrace.

  When they part, guilt flashes across Will’s features. “There are some things I’ve never been able to outgrow, my friend, and kringle is one of them.”

  I angle myself a bit more so that I can see Niklas as he talks to his friends, but it’s then that another person comes into view. Alia. She places a hand on Niklas’s arm.

  “Oh, boys, this is my foundling. Isn’t she lovely? Did you see her dance?”

  The boys nod as Niklas gives her a little twirl and she falls into him with a ridiculous smile. She’s been topside for a day, and there’s already more color in her cheeks, though I suppose that might be Niklas’s doing more than the work of the September sun. “You’ve heard the story, of course, haven’t you? I’m sure it’s all the gossip. I found her yesterday on the beach during my usual walk at dawn. All torn up from a shipwreck and no voice. Lucky to be here, I’ll say. Now she’s my guest, and quite the dancer.” He pats Alia’s hand. “Things worked out just fine, didn’t they, my dear?”

  No voice? Relief floods over me—she gave up her voice instead of a life. But how? That doesn’t even make sense. And why would she give up her voice? How can he fall in love with her if he doesn’t even know her name? Wait, she could write it, couldn’t she? Surely. But she would have if she could, right? The questions tumble over themselves as the pleasantries continue.

  “Please meet Phillip—a distant cousin on my mother’s side,” he says, pointing to the shorter boy. “And Will, who I’ve known since boyhood, but, I don’t know—can I still call you friend, or is cousin now more appropriate?”

  Alia’s slippered feet move just so as she curtsies for the boys.

  “Oh, cousins. Don’t let formalities confuse you, my lady,” Will says. “Even though it won’t be official
for two more days, who cares? We’ll be cousins for the rest of our lives.” Will laughs, and I hate that I like the sound of it. “Why not start now?”

  “Fine, cousin, then,” Niklas agrees.

  They laugh, once again too jovial as Alia looks from Niklas to Will and back, clearly confused. The joy crumbles from Niklas’s face, and suddenly my lungs stutter themselves shut as I comprehend what would make these boys cousins.

  Blood. Or oh, no.

  As it hits me, the boys must realize it too and excuse themselves on the pretense of wanting coffee. When they’re gone, Niklas removes Alia’s hand from his arm, clutching her fingers sweetly.

  “Dearest,” he starts, taking a deep breath almost as if he cares, “I am to be married the day after tomorrow.”

  Alia’s face falls. Her other hand grips his arm so tight, her fingers wrinkle the starched fabric of his tea jacket. My heart feels as if it’s in her vise grip, too.

  “Though it’s only been a day, I . . . I feel like I know you. It’s strange, this kinship that we have—both of us lost as sea. Washing ashore on the same beach, some miracle, my little foundling.”

  Alia nods, close to him, a look on her lovely face so pure that it says a thousand of the words she cannot. Willing him to see. Willing him to know that he does know her. That she saved him. That it wasn’t an act of his God that rescued him from the wreck that drowned his brothers and father; it was her.

  I hold my breath as I feel it coming. He’s leaning into her and she’s still clutching him for dear life, looking up to him with eyes that contain whole oceans of blue, her lips and cheeks rosy from dancing.

  Yes. Kiss her. Please, kiss her.

  For the magic to work, she needs true love’s kiss—all the stories have been the same.

  Their lips touch, and my arms give way as I slide down the pole from relief. It’s short, and sweet—but I realize before it’s over that it’s not enough.

  There’s no magic to it. It’s not transformative in the least. Whatever spell Alia has found to give her legs, this kiss doesn’t have the power to keep her on two feet.

  Too quickly they’re apart again, all of it rushing back to Niklas—the surroundings, the people just steps away in the dance hall, what he is bound to do in two days.

  “I’m sorry. I’m king now, and a king’s duty is to his people. With my father and my brothers departed . . . it’s up to me to do what’s best. There are so many uncertain things about the world right now . . .” He trails off, and I can only imagine how the war would affect a kingdom like this. “But what is certain is that despite what’s going on, I need to make the right decisions for Havnestad. And the right decision for a new king is to ensure the continuation of the monarchy.”

  Continuation of the monarchy. Anger singes my veins as my breath grows short. His monarchy would be dead if it weren’t for the girl right in front of him.

  The king weaves his fingers tightly in Alia’s. “But please, please stay. Sofie will love you—I’m sure of it.”

  Sofie. I hate her name already.

  He smiles softly. “Perhaps you can be one of her ladies and stay here as long as you wish.”

  Yes, yes, I was right—this boy just likes to collect things. His foundling on the beach. Now his dancing girl in the castle. There to entertain his wife as her own heart explodes from sorrow.

  What a kind and generous king indeed.

  “Your Highness,” comes a woman’s voice from within, “the queen mother has requested your presence in her chambers.”

  Niklas squeezes Alia’s fingers. My sister’s hand drops from his arm, obliging, as if she hasn’t just weathered the biggest blow in all her life. The boy she’s in love with, the one she rescued, the one she gambled her life on, cannot love her because his heart is wrapped up in a contract signed by his father.

  “I will see you soon, my sweet foundling.”

  And then he’s gone.

  My sister’s form slumps on the balcony, her head resting on the cross of her forearms against the railing, her shoulders heaving beneath her tumbling hair. I slip my fingers up through the slats in the balcony floor, thin ribbons of marble crosshatched beneath my sister’s feet. I touch the toe of her slipper, as light as rain. Alia’s eyes flash open, meeting mine. She immediately glances over her shoulder to the room off the balcony, clearing out from the breakfast entertainment. The guests are gone, and a few servants run about shutting the open doors.

  When all the doors are closed, Alia sinks to sit on the woven floor pretending she’s just looking out past the cove into the tip of the sea.

  My voice is low and rushed. I swing around the pole so that she can see the entirety of my face as I bark at her all the questions I can’t hold inside anymore.

  “How? Did Father keep the books we thought were destroyed? The ones Annemette used? Or did you ask them—Mette’s daughters? Why didn’t you tell me? And what happened to your voice?”

  Alia takes a deep breath and holds up her hands—watch this, her fingers spell. When we were younger, our oldest sister, Eydis, taught us hand signals she’d devised to communicate across the room during our daily lessons while our instructors’ tails were turned.

  Alia signs a single word. Witch. We used this to describe our voice instructor, who had a habit of burying us up to our necks in the sand so that we’d learn to properly project without the crutch of movement.

  But there’s only one real witch I know. Alia didn’t find the magic herself through books or rumors. She went straight to the creature who doesn’t need to know the old ways—the only one under the sea dangerous enough to try something like this.

  “You went to the sea witch?” My tone is appalled and disgusted at once—if there’s a single being beyond humans that we’ve been consistently taught to fear, it’s her. I take a deep breath and I ask, though I know what she will tell me. “And she took your voice?”

  She nods.

  My disgust squirms and twists into blatant outrage. I’d never sacrifice a life, but this. It’s all I can do to keep my voice down. “So you really can’t tell him that you love him? Who you are? What you did?”

  She shakes her head slowly, sadly.

  “What about writing? Can you do that? Tell him the story that way?”

  With another shake, she confirms it. She’s utterly defenseless. Able only to use her smile, her shining eyes, her graceful dancing, to get what she needs. She’s done well for herself to get this far, but it’s . . . so superficial. Not to mention, he’s about to be married.

  “That kiss didn’t do it? Didn’t appease the deal? You must earn his love,” I confirm. Alia nods and I continue. “It’s not the kiss that does it; it’s the love behind it.”

  Alia squeezes my fingers and then makes our sign for human—two fingers walking. Human love.

  “Or Øldenburg blood?” I whisper. Alia’s face blanches, and she shakes her head violently.

  No. No. No, Runa, NO.

  It’s the only other way to satisfy the spell. We know this from Annemette’s story too.

  A kiss of true love or Øldenburg blood.

  But this path isn’t one she’s entertained—not yet. In fact, given the look she gave Niklas, it’s the last thing she’ll entertain at all.

  “Alia, listen to me. You may not have a choice. His brothers and father died in the storm where you saved him. Everyone in the sea knows that.” I think of that other boy, Phillip, but his relation to Niklas is on his mother’s side. His blood will not satisfy Urda. “His might be the only Øldenburg blood available. And if that’s what it’ll take—”

  Alia shakes her head violently again, pointing at me, then her ear, then toward the door where the king made his exit. She points to herself, and through the force of her hands, the signs she’s using, the fury on her face, I understand her.

  You heard him. He knows down deep I rescued him. He loves the mermaid who rescued him. That’s me. He loves me.

  “Alia,” I say, hooking the pole with o
ne arm and swirling my tail around the bottom so I don’t slide. I grab her trembling hands, trying to still them. I’ve always been the one to tell her the truth when her dreams push the boundaries of reality. “He loves the idea of you—this girl he plucked from the same sea he survived. He hasn’t said he believes in mermaids, has he? Or that he believes one rescued him? Or that you look just like her? No, he hasn’t.”

  I reset my grip, harder, stronger, as she shakes her head. “You can’t hang your hopes—your life—on a boy like that. The only person he’s in love with is himself. He loves the idea that Urda swept him up and saved him while his inferior brothers sank to the deep. You were just the courier.” The words feel like darts pouring from my lips, but I have to make her see.

  Alia’s shaking head gains speed, and she grits her teeth hard, a red flush gathering under her eyes.

  She points to me, and I know what she’s going to say before she signs it. I know her nearly better than I know myself.

  You don’t know him, Runa. You don’t. You’re wrong. That’s not true.

  It’s then that Alia surprises me, breaking my grip on her with such strength that I teeter back, holding on by only my tail, curled around the balcony base.

  Then she signs a single word.

  Leave.

  “No, I won’t leave you. Are you crazy? You have, what, three days? And he’ll be married by then. Alia, won’t you—”

  Leave!

  She stands, red in the face, so angry she mouths the words.

  I don’t want to see you again. If I am to die, let me die in peace.

  Then Alia turns, because if I won’t leave her, she’ll leave me.

  And she does, not even looking back, disappearing through the nearest set of French doors and into the castle.

  I slip beneath the water. All the panic I’ve pushed down rises, galvanizing within my chest, setting my heart a-skitter and my fingers trembling. The sudden need to do something holds tight to my skin, bones, heart, and tail.

  I have to stop this. This can’t happen. It can’t. There has to be a way to undo this. To save Alia from herself. I can’t have Alia fail. I can’t lose her twice.