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“I have a plan to help you seem more human, but I’m going to need a few days to work on it.”

The pieces are still coming together. I massage my temples as I stride to the window.

Cordelia catches my arm. “Where are you going?”

“There’s work to be done.”

“Can’t it wait?” She squeezes my bicep. “Stay for a while. Please.”

When do I ever say no to her? “Just for a while.”

She holds on a few seconds longer, then releases me, pressing her hand to her abdomen. I go back to the moment she wrenched herself through a small hole in the underwater temple, how helpless I felt as I watched her rake her body past those broken edges.

“I almost forgot about this.” I pull a small jar from the folds of my dress. “A salve for your scrapes.”

She curves her back, her belly going concave. “They don’t hurt anymore.”

“Human skin doesn’t heal the same way as a mermaid’s.” I take a step closer. “Let me see.”

“I’m learning conflicting things about private areas and clothing.” She lifts her nightgown, showing me the red welts extending past the frilly waistband of her undergarments.

I touch her wounds gently, and she sucks air in through her teeth. “Why haven’t you asked someone to tend to these?”

“I haven’t had time to think about them, and the maids who bathed me didn’t seem to be concerned.”

I uncork the jar and scoop the salve out with my fingertip, her belly quivering as I spread the balm over her raw skin. “This should keep them from getting infected. Try putting some more on in the morning.”

I flex my fingers back to make sure I haven’t missed any spots, and do a quick sweep of her body for reassurance.

She’s unharmed. She hasn’t fallen prey to one of Cosette’s tricks.

“Thank you,” she says, her nightgown still balled in her fists.

“There. All better.” I take the thin hem and lower it past her knees, standing tall again. “Now get some sleep.”

She looks between the bed and me, then jumps back as if I’ve asked her to hug a giant squid. “That won’t be happening.”

I glance at the small mountain of pillows and blankets stacked in the center of the mattress. “Have you tried yet?”

She nods.

“You’ve barely slept in two days.” I part the canopy. “Try again.”

Narrowing her eyes at me, she climbs in and crab-crawls on top of her pillow pile, her arms and legs dangling over the sides.

I bite my upper lip until I can speak without laughing. “That’s an interesting method.”

She smushes her face into a pillow, and another sob shakes her shoulders. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting to be sleeping in a human bed tonight, so pardon me if it does not come naturally.”

A lump swells in my throat.

I’ve been where she is, scrambling for purchase after my world flipped upside down. I found it was easier to let go and sink into the emptiness.

But that’s not Cordelia. She has to keep going. She’ll toss and turn and make herself ill until she finds a solution, and I’m not sure there is one.

I move close to the bed without touching it. “I could show you a more comfortable position, and maybe you’ll feel a bit better in the morning.”

That’s all I can offer—comfort.