There’s nothing quite as dangerous as a child who thinks he knows better than his parents and acts on those instincts.
No, there’s not.
Sofie and Agnata declare they need some air, bravingthe rain in hoods Katrine fetches them. Once they’re gone, Katrine turns to her supper tasks in the kitchen, asking Will as she chops potatoes for yet another stew—labskovs—to fetch and dry more kindling for the fire.
As they both get to work, I have my chance. I lock eyes with Katrine so she knows where I’ll be and then retire to her bedroom,The Spliid Grimoiretucked under my arm. I set the book on the bed—one piece of the puzzle at hand. Next, I tiptoe to the wall perpendicular to the door, where three trunks sit, stuffed to the gills with clothing of various types. Katrine has been collecting for safe-house life for some time now.
In the corner, wedged at the end of the row of trunks, is a basket containing our laundry. I kneel and begin to rummage through it, carefully piling dresses, trousers, and socks on the floor.
Finally, at the bottom, is Sofie’s nightgown.
It’s cut lace and new—meant to be white as snow. And it would be, save for the gaping red-black smudge of Niklas’s blood down the front.
“Blood magic?” I startle, and there’s Katrine at the doorway, watching as I hold the nightgown up to the light. “Will it work to get you home?”
“Yes. I think.”
Katrine nods, and when she moves to return to her stew, Will is standing there. Staring at me, at the bloody dress in my hands, now clutched to my chest as if it’s themost precious thing in all the world.
And maybe it is.
“Will, let’s leave Runa be,” Katrine calls. “Come help me refresh the fire.”
“It’s all right, Katrine,” I say. Then, to him, “Please stay.”
“You’ve found a way,” he says once she’s shut the door behind her. It isn’t a question. His nose does its handsome little scrunch for a moment before he lifts his eyes to mine. “I knew you could do it. Literally anything, including repairing a broken spell.” He grimace-smiles and continues. “I knew it, and yet I still had this little glimmer of hope that you would be there with us tomorrow. That you’d see through the plan you made happen.”
I weave my fingers through his, and it shocks me though his skin is so much more familiar than it was yesterday. His hands are stained from wet wood bark and octopus ink.
“Will, I want to help. You know I do. You also know I want to try to go home. But things have changed, and now I need to be there.”
“We need you too.” He cups a knuckle under my chin, tilting my face up to his.
I squeeze my eyes shut, seeking just the right words to explain without saying too much. “And I need to protect you.”
Will hesitates. “Protect me from what, Runa?”
I open my eyes, and he’s looking right at me, trying to read the thoughts flashing behind my features. Searching for answers as directly as I search for what I can say.
No. He deserves to know. I’ve kept it from him, from everyone all day; though I didn’t want to disrupt our plans, the timing may never be right before dawn.
“Will, I need you to sit down.” I pull him across the room and dump him in the rocking chair.
He sits accordingly, watching me, waiting—the listener that he is.
My legs itch to move, and I begin to pace between the laundry basket and the bed.
“Remember when you guessed that I knew a thing or two about royalty?”
He nods.
“Well...” I squeeze my eyes shut again and stop pacing for a moment—walking blind is not yet in my skill set. “My father is called the sea king. He presides over every mermaid and merman, and he has for more than a hundred years.”
My eyes flash open, and Will nods, face still locked up tight without reaction. Good.
“As you can imagine, he’s very angry about what happened to Alia. He’s angry that she left our world for this one, using magic banned long ago. He’s angry that I went after her. He’s angry that we failed to save her from the consequences of the magic. And he’s even more unhappythat if I don’t change back by dawn tomorrow, I’ll be a human forever.”
“Why is he unhappy about that? He should be pleased that you won’t...returnlike Alia,” he says, by way of being respectful. I suppose she did return; all water goes to the sea eventually.
