She answers with a smile. “I am more than all right—Nik has asked me to open the ball with him.”
I gasp. Each year the king and queen take the ball’s opening dance. And now that Nik is of age, it makes sense that he would dance alongside them—something even I didn’t know. Something maybe Nik didn’t know until his mother’s guests arrived.
“That’s amazing.” If that invitation doesn’t show blooming love, I don’t know what does. And after a night of staring into her eyes, there’s no way Nik won’t fulfill the magical contract.
“It is,” she agrees. “Though I am thoroughly exhausted. We have time for a nap, don’t we?”
I catch my reflection in the length of the window—red spots on a pink sea and a bird’s nest of curls. Iker hasn’t asked me to open the dance, though surely he will dance too. Maybe he doesn’t think he needs to ask me. Maybe he thinks it’s implied.
“I don’t know—it might take all three hours to mask this and—”
“Ljómi,” Annemette says, and a frigid breeze flows over my head and down my arms. It’s cold enough that my eyes snap shut for a moment until it blows over.
When I open them, and see myself in the mirror, I’m completely different. My hair is clean and bouncy; my skin is glowing, all redness gone. I am radiant. My clothes are still a mess, but the rest of me is better than before. And again, I’m reminded that Annemette is more at home with her magic than I ever will be. She is magic.
“Thank you. . . . How long will it last?”
“Not forever, but long enough for Iker to have trouble remembering.” She yawns. “I’ll spell you a new gown later. Now, I need to sleep.”
“Mette, you can’t—we have less than eight hours until midnight and I need to teach you to dance.”
Annemette shuts her eyes. “I’ll figure it out. Mermaids dance more than we swim.”
No. No. No. What is wrong with her? “Dancing with your legs is a lot different, Mette. I mean, I know you’re graceful, but do you know the Havnestad waltz? Every girl in that room will know it backward and forward. If you don’t do it right, everyone will know your story is false. The king, the queen . . . Nik. It could all fall apart before your time is up.”
Annemette sits up and smiles. “All right. You win. Sleep can wait until after I have his heart.” She lifts her arms for me to grab her hands, and I tug her into the center of our gilded room. Somehow, she’s spelled herself without me seeing, her skin glowing, her hair cascading perfectly over the shoulders of her dress, now dry. Mine remains wet, but I won’t ask her to change it. Not yet. I can’t distract her from this. We’re almost to the finish line. And the ball is more important than any moment we’ve had yet.
I place her hand on my shoulder and take the other out to the side. My hand goes to her hip. I’m intensely glad Queen Charlotte never succeeded in making les lanciers the dance of choice at the ball—I’d never be able to teach a quadrangle to a mermaid by myself.
And we begin. “One, two, three . . . one, two, three.”
She adjusts her hand on my shoulder, clearly bothered by its damp state. “Purr kl?di.”
My dress dries instantly as we spin around the room. Annemette steps on my toes and corrects but doesn’t apologize.
“Just you wait for the dress I’ll make you for tonight. If I’d known the last one was going to get covered in Malvina’s pie, I wouldn’t have spelled one so fine, but I’ll have to go all out on this one. Really show the town up—and the queen’s girls, too. Iker won’t be able to keep his eyes off you.”
I smile at her as we spin in circles. “Thank you,” I say. And I’m grateful. This afternoon with Iker was difficult, and I’d love nothing more than to get back to where we were this morning.
“You’ll look just like a princess.”
“But you’ve already done that once,” I laugh.
“Oh, now we’re getting picky, are we? Fine, I’ll make you look like a queen!”
I laugh so hard, it’s practically a royal snort. Then I lead us into another turn, holding her hand tight.
SEVEN DAYS BEFORE
Aida’s birthday had unlocked something within the darkness of the littlest mermaid’s mind. She couldn’t see what was there, couldn’t access it, but she’d felt the click of the key settling in. She knew something lay in the endless black, hiding. Waiting to consume her whole, like a shark in a reef.
And with this shift, she noticed something else. A fatalistic obsession.
Humans.
She knew they were dangerous. That they plagued the sea, stealing lives with abandon. Upsetting the balance of things by killing too many or too few. The natural give-and-take forever ruined by their greed, their ships, their nets, their harpoons.
If the “legend” of merpeople were ever proven, they would be mercilessly hunted by humans. Made a sideshow. Sold to the highest bidder.
Confirmation of their existence would be the death of them.
Yet, as she approached her fifteenth year, she began to daydream more and more about observing humans above water. She often left the confines of her father’s castle at night, looking for ships to float next to, listening and watching for any signs of what people were like, these trips becoming more frequent the closer her birthday came.
A few days before the special day, she came upon just her type of boat. One without anywhere to go—a monolith simply floating in the tide. Even better, this one had funny little windows in the hull. She’d seen those a few times before, leading to little below-water spaces where humans played cards or stored their treasures, depending on the type of ship.
But these windows were dark. All the people were above, playing music loud enough that the sound drifted below. The little mermaid had always loved music, and she swam along to the lingering notes, swirling and rolling through the water just below the surface.
But then, after a few hours, a light appeared behind the windows. Brighter than the mermaid had ever seen. Light made by more than an ordinary candle. Maybe several candles. Or something larger—a torch.
The little mermaid stopped drifting to the music and rushed to the nearest window. She pressed her face as close to the glass as possible.
And saw into her past.
The girl beyond the window struck her like a bolt of lightning.
Suddenly, all her mind’s darkness was illuminated, and she could see everything. The memories in her mind surged forth through the blackness, one right after another in rapid succession, physically knocking her back with their force.
But not before she’d made eye contact.
The girl had seen her.
The girl had recognized her.
Evie. The girl’s name was Evie.
And her name—it wasn’t Annemette. It was simply Anna. Anna Kamp. Friherrinde Anna Kamp.
And the king’s son.
Nik.
Nik, with his sweet face and dark eyes. Stately despite being slim, elegant, and graceful. A lover of music and the arts. So kind. The first memories of him came to her in a golden cloud, as if he’d filtered sunlight itself and bathed in it.
She had to see him.
The mermaid gathered all her strength and pushed forward, back to the little window. Evie and Nik were always together. If Evie was on this ship, Nik was too. She knew it deep in her bones.
But he wasn’t there. And Evie was ascending the stairs. Leaving her alone.
If Nik was there, he was above.
Where they were laughing and dancing and singing.
Without her.
And that’s when the dark memories crawled forward. Burning so painful she had to squeeze her eyes shut.
That day. Evie and the heavy waves. The dare. The undertow. She would still be alive if Evie hadn’t suggested the race.
The little mermaid began to sob—this time very aware that she could shed no tears as a mermaid like she had been able to in a past life. And, oh, how she craved that release.
She’d drowned that day.
Or nearly drowned—she was clearly alive, though her life had been stolen away. Her father—the sea king—must have saved her, or he wouldn’t have kept her for his own.