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 theright 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.
Thekingweaves 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 restingon 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 learnto properlyprojectwithout 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’sher. 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, butthis. 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 bemarried.
