Sea Witch. Сара Хеннинг

when he eventually speaks, but his tone has changed. “Evie, I love visiting Havnestad, but I don’t like to step on my cousin’s toes.”

      Now my voice isn’t right. Why did Nik have to play that song? I swallow. “But you aren’t,” I say, hoping he can’t hear the pleading in my tone. “Besides, I don’t think Nik would mind seeing more of you, and there is the Lithasblot festival coming up in a few days.”

      “Ah, yes, when you people go nuts for Urda, throw bread at anyone without a double chin, and run in circles until you pass out.”

      “You people?” I say and give him a jab. Iker may be from across the strait, but he’s just as much an Øldenburg as Nik. Their family has ruled Denmark and Sweden for four hundred years. They know better than anyone not to discount the harvest the goddess has bestowed on us. “Don’t poke fun at the games. We take them very seriously.”

      “Oh yes, a life-or-death game of carrying around the heaviest rock.”

      “Or running the length of a log. All useful skills.” I laugh, happy to have lightened the mood again.

      Iker turns to me. “If I stay for this Lithasblot extravaganza, you must promise you will scramble across some recently murdered tree for my entertainment.”

      “If that’s what it takes, then I promise,” I say, dipping in a mock curtsy.

      A laugh escapes from my lips, but Iker’s attention is locked on my face. Almost as if he can’t help himself, his thumb grazes my cheekbone again, down my jaw and to my mouth. The touch of his finger to my lips sends color rising in my cheeks as I meet the glacier blue of his eyes.

      “Iker, I—”

      “Gooooooood people of Havnestad!” Our heads whip around as Nik’s voice booms across the length of the ship. He is still holding the guitaren, but now he has a crown fashioned of lemon wedges squashed on his wavy flop of hair. There’s a huge smile tugging at his cheeks, and his long arms are thrust high into the air. He’s actually doing quite the unintentional impression of Iker, though only after a few mugs of King Asger’s special brew. “As your crown prince, I hereby issue a royal decree that we sing for me on this, the sixteenth year of my life.”

      “Hear, HEAR,” yells Iker, followed by the rest of the crowd, which has suddenly crept back into the corners of my vision.

      “Excellent. Ruyven has sent the signal for fireworks. But first, a so—” Nik’s voice cuts out as Malvina’s strong hand jerks him down so her lips can meet his ear. The other hand is gesturing behind them, toward the cake. Nik stands back up slowly and resets the guitaren. “The lovely lady Malvina has informed me we are at a loss for candles.” Nik points the instrument’s neck at me, feigned formality still thick in his throat. “Evelyn?” He raises a brow.

      I raise one back.

      “Come on, I know you know where they are.”

      And I do. Exactly where Nik left them when he “borrowed” the king’s boat for the first warm day after a long, ice-filled winter.

      “Yes, I do, good prince.”

      As much as I don’t want to leave Iker’s side, I step away, the warmth of him clinging to my skin for a ghost of a second as we separate. I snag a lantern that’s dipped low on the line ringing the deck and move away from the crowd.

      Boots clomping on the stairs, I disappear belowdecks to the captain’s quarters. The space is much larger than something that should be a captain’s anything—the whole place is nearly bigger than the home I share with Father and Tante Hansa. The miniature lantern struggles to keep up with the vastness, illuminating a halo barely beyond the hem of my party dress. It’s utterly annoying.

      Glancing up the stairs, I confirm that I am alone; no one followed me below. My back to the door, I reach a hand into the lantern. Softly muttered words of old fall from my lips as my fingers pinch the tip of the candle. “Brenna bjartr aldrnari. Brenna bjartr aldrari. Pakka Glöð.”

      The candle begins to glow with the full force of one three times its size.

      It’s a small act—something so subtle I probably could’ve done it in full view of everyone above. But even something as run-of-the-mill as a strengthening spell is dangerous here.

      Women burned for far less under the Øldenburgs of yesteryear.

      My relatives burned for far less.

      Which means there are things about me Nik and Iker can never know.

      Besides, I already took a risk tonight when I silently urged Malvina’s cake to shed its sugary skin. I hadn’t tried something like that since I was a child, but it worked well enough. Strengthening the candle in the open would have been pushing my luck, though, and I’ve never had much of that to begin with.

      Now the cushion of light is more than enough. I ease my way through the vast space and toward the pair of chairs under one of the starboard portholes, a chessboard painted into the oak table between them.

      I’d watched Nik stuff the ship’s allotment of extra candles into the table’s drawer while helping him clean up evidence of his warm-weather get-together. Not that his father wouldn’t know about our little celebration—dishonesty has never sat well in Nik’s royal mind—he just hadn’t wanted to leave the castle’s harbor crew with more work.

      With rescued candles and matches in hand, I grab the lantern and spin toward the door. But suddenly in my peripheral vision, I catch two flashes of shocking white and blue. I spin back around to where a small halo of light beacons through the porthole.

      My heart sputters to a dead halt as I realize I don’t know of any fish with markings like those.

      Like human eyes.

      Lungs aching for me to remember how to breathe, I raise the lantern to the porthole, my mind churning to account for everyone onboard the ship. Yes, everyone had been there when I descended the stairs.

      Yet, when the halo of light reaches the thick glass, a friend’s eyes are there, deep blue and framed by luminous skin, water-darkened blond waves, and a look of surprise on parted lips.

      “Anna?”

      But in the instant I say her name into the damp cabin, the face vanishes, and I’m left staring into the indigo deep.

      My lungs release and draw in a huge gulp of air as I race to the next porthole, my breath coming in rapid spurts as I repeat her name. But there’s no sign of her beautiful face at that porthole or the next two.

      I stand in the middle of the king’s great cabin, heart pounding, breath burning in my lungs, as a heavy sob escapes my lips. Tears sting my eyes as I realize that even with Nik’s brotherly friendship and Iker’s new affection, I’m still just a lonely fisherman’s daughter.

      A lonely fisherman’s daughter wishing that I could have my sweet friend back. Wishing hard enough that I’m seeing ghosts.

      Wishing so very hard that I’m losing my mind.

3

      I WIPE MY EYES WITH MY WRIST, THE CANDLES AND matches still clutched in my fingers. A couple of deep breaths, and I will myself through the door and up the stairs, my legs leaden.

      “The good lady has returned with the candles!” Nik shouts when he sees me, his voice half-singing in tune with the guitaren.

      “And the matches, my prince,” I hear myself say in a much steadier voice than I’d have thought possible.

      “My dear Evie, always rescuing her prince from his own lack of forethought.”

      “Someone has to, Cousin,” laughs Iker, rising to his feet while Malvina snatches the goods from my arms. Immediately, she