Then, I summon Annemette’s confidence. Mother’s magic. My own stubbornness.
There’s no reason why this won’t work.
I can do this.
I can do this.
“Skipta.”
From the tips of my toes to the crown of my head, the oldest of magic crackles through me like Nordic ice ripping through a ship’s hull. The sea pours into my veins.
I toss the amethyst into the waters, and I watch it sink.
Then I wait. My heart thuds in my ears, fear mingling with the magic’s chill. At my throat, the pearl throbs, frozen. I tell myself to be patient. Remember last night. This is how it works, but after five breaths, the panic is so great in my heart that I drop to my knees.
Fickle sea with nothing to give.
I haul myself over the side of the dock, fingers straining against the weather-beaten boards as I get my face as close to the surface of the water as possible, vision straining for any sign of my precious gemstone.
But all I see is my reflection. Pale and nervous, exhaustion and worry coating my features.
“What have I done?”
Shame bites at my heart. Heat rises in my cheeks, but a chill runs the length of my spine. I whip my head up and fall back onto the dock, curls snagging in the boards. My fingers dab at the pearl.
Tante Hansa was right—I was a lucky thief, but with cheap parlor tricks. I’m not a witch yet—not like my aunt, my mother or Maren Spliid. I’m just a—
Sea spray cuts off my thoughts, shooting straight up from the water like a whale spout just below the surface. My eyes widen as they scan an object within the stream. I struggle to sit up fast enough to cup my palms into position as it begins its descent.
When it lands, I close my grip, protecting it. Protecting the hope that has risen in my heart.
I take a breath and open my hand.
A stone as blue as the noontime sky and smooth as glass sits there, the same weight and size as my amethyst.
Just as sure as the tide, it worked.
I gave. It took. It gave. I took.
Just as I’d hoped.
Clutching the blue gemstone, I hop to my feet and meet the sea’s gaze.
“Skipta.” Exchange.
I drop the gemstone back in the water and hold my breath, thinking about my amethyst. Hope piling in my heart that I can haggle with the sea to get the exact exchange I want.
“Skipta,” I repeat, and then whisper the only Old Norse word I know that’s close to what I want. “Bjarg.” Stone.
Cupping my hands, I stand there, eyes on the horizon. Two gulls play on the water’s surface, dipping, splashing, and rising in tandem.
As they soar just above my head, another spout shoots up from the deep. Bigger and stronger, it sprays the royal dock and me with it, but I hold my ground, hands outstretched.
Another item lands in my hands. Palms still together, I run one wrist over my eyes to clear the seawater there, blink the blurriness away, and then reset. Breath held, my fingers bloom open and reveal not my amethyst but something even more radiant.
A stone of deep crimson, jagged crystals a crust on its surface like rock sugar. Its heart is as bloodred as my own, seemingly lit from a fire within.
It is not what I had in mind, but it’s blinding with beauty—much more so than my amethyst. But can it do what my amethyst can do? Or will it wreck the spell?
I can’t worry about it now. It’s clear from the magic’s response that it will only trade like for like. The exchange will be the same when Annemette is in place of the stone. And I do not have a body to give the sea.
This is a problem.
But maybe the solution has already come to pass—four years before. Perhaps now I can foster the final trade.
“What is it with you and me and mornings?”
Nik.
I turn, holding the gemstone against the folds in my dress, wishing I had the right angle to drop it into my pocket without being obvious.
The twinkle in Nik’s eyes doesn’t let on to how long he’s been standing there. He’s fully dressed and clean-shaven, shoulders square and hands on his hips.
“I promise I didn’t stalk you to hassle you about kisses again.”
“Mm-hmm, that’s what they all say.”
A blush rises so quickly on Nik’s cheeks that I know he’s immediately wishing he hadn’t shaved before the sun. “I truly am sorry. It’s none of my business.”
I smile at Nik. “Of course it’s your business—you’re my best friend.”
He takes two steps and sinks to the dock, his boots kicking over the side and dangling. I find a dry patch of wood and sit next to him.
“Some best friend I am,” he says. “Always ditching you for duty. And you can’t even talk to me about boys—one word about kissing and I become a beet-red gargoyle.”
I put my hand on his elbow and use the other to squirrel the stone into the pocket hidden in the gown’s folds. “To be fair, we are talking about your best friend kissing a cousin you treat like a brother.”
He nods. “It’s true. Why couldn’t you go for someone a little less close? Say a Ruyven or Didrik or Jan?”
I can’t help it: my nose scrunches immediately. “Because Ruyven or Didrik or Jan . . .” believe I think I’m too good for them.
“Aren’t Iker?” Nik cocks a brow.
Now it’s my cheeks that flame up and I point to them, laughing. “This is how you look when we talk about kissing.”
Nik laughs, and just the word kissing makes him blush too. When our eyes meet, something about his face softens. He brushes a wayward curl away from my cheek—not in the romantic way of Iker, but in the loving way of family.
His thumb and forefinger linger in my hair, and I laugh again because I’m not sure what else to do. After the sound dies, I can’t draw in a breath. I can’t do anything but hold his eyes.
“Moving in on my territory, Cousin?”
We whip around and there is Iker, fully dressed but not clean-shaven, a ship rope spooled about an arm.
“I can’t help it if my best friend is the prettiest girl in all of Havnestad.”
Iker doesn’t laugh. His voice is as sturdy as his ship. “Wouldn’t say that too loudly—I have it on my own authority that you never want to anger a blonde.”
I force my features into an overdramatic pout. “Did someone get burned once upon a time?”
A devilish grin spreads across Iker’s lips, and that familiar joyous light winks in the icy depths of his eyes. “Yes, and it still hurts.” Then he hooks a brow. “My mother always told me a kiss can make it better.”
I get to my feet. I can still feel Nik’s fingers in my hair. “There’s plenty of time for that later.”
“There is,” Nik adds, putting himself between me and Iker. “Now, let’s get back to work. Your ship won’t prepare itself.”
“That’s rich, given you were the one to walk down the dock and not come back.”
“Where are you going?” I ask suddenly, worried that Iker might be about to leave without me.
“Father wants to take the castle workers on the steamer for the Celebration of the Sea today.”
In my sleep-deprived state and my focus on the ball, I’d forgotten about the Celebration of the Sea, the afternoon party on the harbor before the grand event. It’s fun, everyone in Havnestad with their boats anchored a little way out in the water. It manages to bring us closer to our cherished sea, and yet, looking back to the coast, we can see how beautiful our home truly is.
“Anyway,” Nik goes on, “Mother plans to have all her special guests and their minders aboard the old three-sail. And Iker doesn’t want our party to go with either.”
“Stupid as a plastered horse, that would be,” Iker grumbles.
“So we made the royal decision to take the schooner.”
It’s silly, but my breath catches. “Just the four of us?”
“Indeed.” Nik nods. “As long as we can ship off before my parents get wind of what we’ve done.”
My heart rises. Just the four of us all day on a boat. Laughing, singing, eating, before dressing up and dancing the night away—a fitting end to our Lithasblot and a fabulous beginning to the new way things will be. The weight of the gem in my pocket tells me this is right.
“Perfect.”
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