CHAPTER ONE

Water had always been her friend: the rivulets of the rain whispering secrets, the placid ponds stirred with a flick of her fingertips, and most especially, the waves of the wild sea that lapped the western coast.

But now she was drowning.

Catrin Albrecht, Princess of Athraig, gasped and flailed in the storm-tossed waters. She couldn’t see the white sails of the boat she and her cousins had been aboard.

Had it capsized when the huge wave swept her over the side? Was Alicia also fighting for her life in the cold green waters?

Stop. Don’t panic, her mind said, but her body would not, could not, listen. Even one such as she, born a water-witch of the royal line, couldn’t control the fear crashing through her.

She beat at the waves, her numb hands as stiff as paddles while salt water slapped her across the face, over and over. Her legs churned beneath her. At least, she hoped they did, she prayed they did, though she could not feel the water moving past her skin.

Only cold. And hopelessness.

Drowning’s not such a bad way to go. Just give herself up to it, swallow the sea and release the air. Then the panic and flailing and desperation would end.

No.

She was stubborn, as all her people were stubborn, as hard as the mica-flecked marble that made up the glittering walls of the Summer Palace. Yet the only way through was to surrender. At least a little bit.

Only, it was so hard to breathe.

A wave rose over her head, poised like a hammer at the top of a blacksmith’s swing. In the moment before she was submerged, Catrin gasped what she could of the spray-filled air, then let herself fall.

The water accepted her like a stone flung into the depths.

It was eerily calm beneath the waves, as though the storm that roiled the channel didn’t even exist. It was dark, too, the usual sun-greened waters stirred with silt and shadows. Cat could scarcely make out the pale shapes of her own arms swirling in front of her in the murky light.

Her woolen skirts billowed as she descended, a dark jellyfish pulled ever downward by the current. Her hair stranded out like kelp, the brown tendrils appearing green in the brackish water.

Please, her lungs begged, the trapped air within straining for release.

She opened her mouth and blew out a silver stream of bubbles. They rose, carried east by the current, to break, unnoticed, on the turbulent surface of the sea.

The last of her breath went up, and she went down, too exhausted to be afraid. Down, into the cold depths calling her name.

CHAPTER TWO

The storm that had tossed Prince Jenson of Fiorland’s ship off course suddenly abated, the lashing winds sucked back into the clouds, and the clouds themselves turning from charcoal to woolen gray. Jenson eased his grip on the railing and cocked his head, squinting up at the suspiciously innocent sky.

Judging by the angle of the afternoon sun, they’d been blown east, out of the main body of the Strait and into the wide channel lying between his homeland and the country of the warlike Athraig.

Risky waters to be in. Especially as their countries had, until very recently, been enemies.

A last, cold gust ruffled the fur half-cloak slung over his shoulders, then blew his overlong blond hair across his face. Annoyed, Jenson pushed it out of his eyes. He’d let it grow in order to impress a princess, but only had a broken heart to show for it. Foolish.

“Land!” cried the lookout in the high rigging, pointing south.

Captain Vold, stationed by the mast, lifted his spyglass to follow the lookout’s direction.

“Where are we?” Jenson strode over, though he suspected he already knew the answer.

“Off the coast of Athraig.” The captain didn’t sound happy. “Meklen Bay, if I’m not mistaken.”

Jenson’s stomach tightened. He’d intended to visit Athraig—indeed, he was commanded to do so, as the newly appointed Fiorland ambassador to that kingdom—but not like this. He was supposed to arrive later, aboard the official royal frigate, to present himself to Athraig’s formidable queen, Berta Albrecht. Not be caught skulking about the coast like a common smuggler.

“Hold course for land,” the captain told his mate, who had the wheel.

Jenson gave him a sharp look. “We’re not turning back toward Fiorland?”

“We can’t.” Captain Vold closed his spyglass with a slap. “Our barrels of fresh water went overboard in the storm. And the mainsail took a beating. Resupply’s necessary before we make for home.”

“Dangerous,” Jenson said, the back of his neck prickling. Unbidden, he set one hand on the dagger at his belt. Time to don his sword.

He’d traveled far that year—from the northern ice of his home to the sunbaked streets of Parnesia and the forested island of Raine. Athraig was next. But discovery now would be the worst way to encounter the viper pit of Queen Berta’s royal court.

The Athraig guarded their coastline well. Maybe the crew of the Mergeld could anchor near a small village, tend to their needs, and sail away again without Queen Berta any the wiser, but it was chancy.

“We’ll keep a close watch for other ships. I don’t think they spotted us coming in.” The captain glanced at him. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, but we don’t have a choice.”

“Make for Athraig, then,” Jenson said, looking south.

Blue hazed the horizon, the faintest glimpse of land. If they were quick, they could resupply, then sail out again under cover of night.

He lifted his face to the cold air, inhaling deeply, and smelled smoke on the wind. Luck be with us, he thought. Slip in, slip out, and back to Fiorland with none the wiser.

As the ship drew closer to the coast, the captain busied himself with his charts. Jenson remained at the railing, watching the shoreline grow more substantial.

“Where are we putting in?” he asked, once Captain Vold had rolled away his papers and come to join him.

“There’s a small village, above that bay.” The captain pointed, and Jenson glimpsed an arc of water, enclosed by a series of steep, rugged cliffs descending to the sea. “I’ll send a few men ashore in the dinghy to resupply.”

“The folk there will know we’re from Fiorland,” Jenson said, squinting at the gray mass of the cliffs.

“Aye.” The captain sucked his teeth, clearly disliking the situation. “But our fishing boats pass by now and again. If they ask, we’ll say we’re after the herring. We’ll ride offshore a bit, though. No need to show we’re bearing a royal prince.”

Jenson appreciated Captain Vold’s caution, though he didn’t think he looked that different from any other man aboard. At least, not from a distance. Like his older brothers, he was practical about his clothing, preferring the comfort of leather and furs to the ornately trimmed tunics of court dress.

As they approached the shore, he glimpsed curls of smoke rising from the village chimneys. The houses there were made of stone and blended with the rocky coastline, but here and there a flash of color shone: a blue shirt hung on a line to dry, a yellow gate, a patch of red flowers.

The ship made for the curve of the tiny bay west of the village. Jenson squinted at the slice of gravel beach. There was a dark form visible against the stones. A seal? A beached dolphin? It lay there, unmoving.

“Captain,” he said, “lend me your spyglass.”

Captain Vold handed him the brass tube, and Jenson trained it on the shape lying on the beach. He could make out the flutter of cloth—and was that an outflung arm? Frowning, he leaned forward.

“What is it?” the captain asked.

“It looks like…a body.” Unsettled, Jenson handed the captain back his glass.

Captain Vold peered through it, squinting.

After a moment, he lowered it and turned to Jenson with a grim expression. “Aye, looks to be. Not dead for long, though, else the crows would be at the corpse.”

The back of Jenson’s neck tightened. Death by drowning wasn’t the worst way to go, but he’d prefer a warrior’s end, by blade and fire.

“I’ll send the dinghy over,” the captain said.

Jenson sent another glance at the body on the beach. “I’m going, too.”

“Your Highness.” Captain Vold emphasized the words, as if to remind Jenson of his rank. “That isn’t wise.”

It wasn’t, but the more Jenson looked at the figure on the shore, the more he felt compelled to investigate. And in the end, his word outweighed the captain’s.