Of course, Annemette is not Anna, but I can’t shake the feeling that this is what we could have had. I glance over at Annemette as she watches Nik speak on the platform in front of the bonfire. Rosebud lips slightly parted, she follows his words with the precision of a predator, so intent on remembering everything he says. I never saw Anna look at Nik like Annemette does, but eleven-year-old girls can hide their feelings as much as any of us.
Suddenly, Annemette’s lips pull up in a smile, eyes sharpening to something hard, and I follow her gaze up to Nik. He’s watching her back, but then looks to me, doing his best to concentrate on the words. Still, his ears begin to blush. Then Iker hands Nik the ceremonial first loaf of bread—large as a cannonball, crafted of dark rye, and braided in the shape of the sun wheel. Nik holds the loaf above his head.
“And so, let us give thanks to Urda with the staff of life—bread. Let us share our gifts of grain with our neighbors. Let no person in need go without. Let the loaves fly to them with the gentlest of care, a blessing from Urda by way of a neighbor’s hand.”
Nik tears a hunk of bread off the loaf and hands it to King Asger. Another piece goes to Queen Charlotte, and a third to Iker, whose parents stayed home this year. Together, the royal family lines up in front of the fire, bread in hand.
Nik lifts his piece above his crowned head.
“Let the sharing begin.”
With that, all four of them toss the bread in the direction of the crowd. Nik’s lands gently in Annemette’s lap. She laughs, and I’m so busy laughing too that I’m not paying attention when a crusty hunk of rye thwacks me square in the chest, bouncing off my bodice and into my lap. I glance up and see Iker with a vicious grin, hovering over the royal table, snatching more.
I grab a loaf from the table next to me and stand. I rip it in half and give the remainder to Annemette. “Aim for Iker.”
Her brows pull together with a moment of confusion. “I thought the bread was for the less fortunate?”
I gesture toward the sky. “It’s raining bread. No one will go hungry, I promise.”
Annemette looks up to see that, yes, bread of every make and shape is flying through the air. She ducks as a sweet roll screams in from Malvina’s direction. It bounces off Fru Ulla with a honeyed thud before a toddler snags it with two chubby hands.
“It’s all in good fun,” I assure her, and chuck the bread Iker’s way. He puts his arms up to shield his face but drops them too quickly and gets clobbered right in the nose by Annemette’s piece.
This only serves to make him grin and seize two cherry tarts from the table. He thrusts one into Nik’s hands, and they advance on us, eyes glinting.
“Run!” I screech, and grab Annemette’s hand.
We snake through the crowd and onto an open stretch of beach. Twined together, we run along the shoreline. But the boys are faster, and tarts whack us each in the back. We fall to the sand in hysterics—something I haven’t done in four years.
The boys pull us up—Iker hooking one arm under my knees and the other at my shoulders. He runs a finger along my back until my once class-defying gown is slick with beach-ruined cherry filling and aims it toward my mouth. “Sandy tart for the lady.”
I seal my lips and shake my head.
“For Urda, you must.”
The absurdity of the look on his face pulls my lips apart, and he seizes his opportunity to drop the filling onto my tongue. I gag and buck, coughing with laughter, and tumble out of his arms and into the sand.
Iker goes down too, landing beside me. His eyes seem to glow as he leans over my body and lowers his lips to mine. I enjoy the kiss, his newly shaven skin baby soft against my chin. I guess Iker doesn’t defy all royal protocols; Queen Charlotte won this round.
“Mmmm,” he says, licking cherry filling from his lips. “Delicious, though a bit . . . gritty.”
I laugh. “Sandy tarts always are.”
“Odd bit of cuisine, you Havnestaders.”
“Eat up. Nik will expect you at full strength tomorrow,” I say.
Iker raises a brow, mischief on his lips. “What if I told him I was saving my strength for you?”
I push him away from me and stand, my back to him, arms crossed.
“I was kidding,” he pleads. “Are all the games tomorrow?”
I nod, dusting myself off while he still lies in the sand.
“Does this mean tomorrow is when you will shimmy across a log?”
When I don’t respond, he stands and wraps his arms around me from behind, trailing two fingers across my navel, having them mimic a stiff jog.
“As promised, my prince,” I say, laughing a little. Why do I always give in?
“Yes—”
A scream cuts off Iker’s answer. Annemette. Both Iker and I whip our heads toward Annemette and Nik. They are closer to the crowd, Annemette crouching in the sand, Nik staggering a bit before falling to his knees, clutching his stomach. Standing before both of them is Malvina, hands in front of her body as if they’d just released a dagger.
Iker stiffens, his whole body suddenly rigid with tension. “Cousin?”
Nik staggers to a stand and raises a hand to wave him off, turning toward us. His white shirt and dazzling royal coat are a mess of black, like the tears I’ve cried twice before.
Iker takes a step toward the scene, fists forming.
But then Nik points toward his boots. Toward the pie plate lying facedown in the sand.
“Urda has been quite generous with Malvina’s blueberry pie. The goddess must have decided that my wardrobe and the beach were in particular need of nourishment.” With that, Nik begins to laugh.
Immediately, Iker joins him, and I catch Annemette’s eye as she rises from her crouch. A little chuckle bubbles from her lips, growing into a full laugh when her attention turns to Nik’s doubled-over form. I’m almost too shocked to laugh, having been holding my breath this whole time, but then I join in too.
The only one not finding humor in all this is Malvina, embarrassment but not regret in the set of her jaw. She doesn’t apologize as she storms past Annemette—clearly her intended target—and snatches the pie plate from the sand at Nik’s feet.
She stands to face him. Nik attempts to compose himself enough to look her in the eye but fails miserably, laughter still wryly present in his features as he lets the blueberry glop and sugar crust slide off his gold-threaded coat and onto the beach.
“I hope you will enjoy this gift in the name of Urda,” Malvina announces, nose in the air, before pivoting on her heel as best as she can in beach sand, blond hair flying.
When she’s gone, we gather around him and survey the damage. The shirt, coat and even his pants are all unsalvageable.
But true to his nature, Nik just grins and presents his sopping clothes.
“Pie, ladies? Urda does insist.”
16
I WAKE WITH THE SUN THE FOLLOWING MORNING, STILL warm with feelings of belonging from the night before. Yesterday was a daydream from start to end, and I wanted to never wake up. But in the white morning light, reality becomes stark and my mood shifts quickly.
Annemette is still fast asleep, toes stretching toward the ceiling, arms thrown above her head, tangled within her waves. I lie there for a moment and listen to the gulls before I realize my opportunity. I know a way I can do some real good today.
On silent feet, I head to the wardrobe and tug it open. The first dress on the right is one I wore two days ago when I met Annemette. I can’t believe that’s all the time that’s passed, but in the same breath, I can’t believe so much of our time has vanished. Today and tomorrow until midnight, and then it could all be over in the most horrific way possible—or it might be the happiest ending of all.
Annemette still seems confident, and I’m obeying her request that I not intervene, at least not magically, but the thought of losing another friend to the sea is almost unbearable. First Anna, then nearly Nik, and now Annemette, who’s only been in my life for a short while, but who’s helped open my world in ways I’d never imagined. She’s the friend Anna never could be to me, that Nik can’t be, either. She’s the only one who knows my secrets. Well, most of them.