Of him we slay, him we slay.
Though it was sad, I loved “The Mermaid’s Vengeance.” Because I knew it was from above, there was a little measure of guilt within me for its appeal, Father’s constant refrain about the dangers of humans,the evilsof humans, in my ear.
Once, when I was older, I asked Oma Ragn about it, and why she’d sing it at all if a human wrote it. Her answer was immediate.
“My dear Ru, I’ve sung it to all my girls for a simple reason: we cannot forget what humans think of us.” She paused and gave a little smile. “Or what we can do to them.”
The light shifts from gold to salmon, the sun crisp against the waters, and all I can do is watch the spot where Alia once was.
“Or what we can do to ourselves, Oma,” I say, the song swirling in my head.
For once I wish I could cry the way humans do. I can’t, not yet, not until the exchange has been made for good. I may cry then, but it doesn’t help me now, my sorrow having no real means of escape. A sob isn’t enough. Beating my fists against the ground isn’t enough. Screaming at the sky isn’t enough.
Though I’ve never felt them, I imagine tears as a release. When a body has nothing left to give, it can onlywill its anguish back to the earth. Much like Alia just did. She became tears a thousandfold and returned to Urda.
“Runa?”
I startle at my name spoken aloud, wrenching my head around to look over my shoulder. My hand crawls to the pistol in my lap.
Will. He’s standing there, his body protected by the stand of trees. His hands are raised in the air like I’m pointing the pistol at him already. Despite the shock on my face, he takes a step over the brush protecting him and comes into plain view, his hands still up. “Runa, I’m not here to hurt you. Or capture you. I promise.”
He takes another step, his body fully exposed and mere feet from me. It’s enough that I shoot up to standing, barring him from coming closer.
“What do you want?” I ask.
He lowers his hands a little, but still keeps them out. His eyes flit to the gun in my grip, but there’s something about his hesitation that isn’t about what the pistol can do.
“I saw what you did to those guards. Back there. I... the fire, it was a spell I’d never seen.”
I say nothing.
This boy is Niklas’s friend. His cousin by marriage for a few brief hours. He’s not an Øldenburg, but he’s adjacent enough that the last thing I need to confirm for him is that I’m a witch. I shift on my feet. I don’t want to kill anotherhuman today, but I find my finger sliding to the pistol’s trigger.
“Oh. Look. No—I mean, I can only do this.”
A little sheepish grin curls at the corners of his lips as he bends down and plucks a blade of grass from the earth. He holds it up and swipes his hand over it like the magician at one of the pre-wedding parties we attended. I’m about to roll my eyes, when he says something that makes the hairs on my forearms stand straight up.
“Vaxa fagrliga lágr kappi.”
The blade of grass shivers for a moment in the dawn’s light before spilling out of itself—stretching down and up and out until, in two blinks, it’s something else entirely. A flower—thin white petals and a sunny yellow center.
Will bows and presents it to me. “William Jensen, at your service. A very serious wizard who can only make daisies.”
I don’t take it. I’m too stunned. “A wizard?”
He nods. “It’s a big term for what I can do, but yes, I have some measure of magic. Not like you—or Alia.”
I suck in a deep breath. “Did you see her go?”
He nods and after a long pause, he speaks again. “I’m sorry.”
That thick feeling of release presses hard on my chest again and suddenly I either want to tackle this boy and whip him with the pistol in my hand the way the guard hadhoped to do to me or sink into the ground and sob until my voice is raw and used. I sweep my finger off the trigger because I don’t trust myself not to actually use it, and hold the grip tight in my fingers. “What do you want?” I repeat.
“To help,” he says simply, still holding the flower out for me.
“I don’t believe you.” I haven’t been in these legs long, but they stand sturdy beneath me. Unflinching. “How do I know you won’t haul me back to the castle for imprisonment or worse? Your cousin has told everyone in the castle that we’re the reason her husband is dead. I don’t know you, Will, but I know your loyalty bends toward her and the dead king.”
He places the flower in the front pocket of his coat. “Don’t shoot me. I have something I need to show you.”
