Page 30 of A Magic Deep & Drowning

“And the following encounters?”

This was harder to answer. “I should have left you alone, Clara, but I couldn’t. Ever since I saw you on the beach, looking out over the sea with such longing, I have not been able to go a moment without wanting you. I am tortured by thoughts of having to go through life without you. I have nothing to offer you but heartache, but all that is mine would be yours as well. You must believe me that I love you, and will never let you come to harm.”

He hadn’t meant to declare himself, and certainly not in such circumstances. Nonetheless, he let the words hang in the cold air, afraid to breathe. Perhaps he had misjudged her, and she would forgive him after all. What if she did truly love him, and had only been waiting for him to make the first entreaty?

Her face contorted as the silence dragged on, and with a sickening realization, he saw it what for what it was: horror. She was horrified of him, his confession, or both. Waves above, what had he been thinking? She had just lost her parents, her husband, and now the man who had been instrumental in their demise was offering her his heart.

But he couldn’t stop himself; she deserved to know. “I made a deal with my mother: the chance to come on land, in exchange for you.”

“For me?”

“She wanted you. She wanted all those little children that were promised to her, loved each of them in their own way. She sees you when you walk near the canal, wants you. And she sent me to deliver you to her.”

“But... But I’m not even a child anymore! What could she possibly want from me?”

“It’s not what she wantsfromyou. You were part of the bargain struck with the burghers all those years ago, before you were even born. Seven hundred souls she was told shecould take. She wants her due. She wants the men of the Republic to feel the pain, the loss, that she felt when she was pushed back and dammed up, drained.”

“And what of the women of the lowlands! Surely she is a mother herself, she could not wish to inflict such pain and loss on so many other mothers.” Clara glared off into the distance, shivering.

“You think my mother cruel,” he said, his hope of bringing Clara around dwindling as he spoke, “bent on destruction and fulfilling petty bargains.”

“Well, isn’t she?”

Maurits shook his head. “She has seen the land built and built with no regard for the life or world beyond that of humans.”

“And her bargains struck for children?”

Maurits gave her a patient look. “She didn’t actually want them, not at first.”

“But... what do you mean?”

“It was a ploy, a bluff. She only put forth those terms because she assumed that the burghers would never agree to such outrageous demands. She never anticipated actually having to call the debt in.” Seeing Clara’s face and guessing her next question, he went on. “She took the children so that it would be known that there would be consequences. If the men of the Republic were going to be so cavalier with the lives of children, then they could not be trusted to act as stewards of the land.”

Clara let out a little huff. Whatever patience and trust she had for him was thinning fast, and he still had not told her the truth about Fenna, or Pim.

The fire grew low as dampness crept in, and soon they would be without warmth or light. Not an issue for him, but potentially deadly for Clara. “We should go,” he said softly.

She was watching the tendril of smoke tapering off into the dark. “Where?” Her gaze remained fixed on the dying flame. “The water? I don’t trust you for one moment, and I don’t care if your mother is the queen of Spain herself—I’m not going in the water. Besides, wouldn’t that be the first place she would look? Couldn’t she see us there?”

Rain was coming down harder now, the ground beneath his feet turning thick with mud. “There are two options,” he said. “One, we keep seeking dry land, and she follows us, flooding everything and everyone in her way.” He didn’t add that this option would eventually dry him out, kill him. “Or two, you trust me that I know my mother and that there are ways I can keep you safe below the surface.”

Still, she would not stand. All that was left of the fire was a fizzling wet pile of sticks and dark smoke. She whispered something, so quiet that he had to come crouch beside her to hear her.

Her lips quivered like a child’s. “I want Pim.”

His heart nearly broke then. She didn’t resist when he lifted her. Her skin, which was usually warm and soft as silk, was cold and puckered from the wet. Even so, as he held her against his chest, he could feel the steady thrum of her heartbeat. He didn’t know what awaited them beneath the surface; his mother might see fit to break her word and revoke his land form. She might send her water maidens to sing beautiful songs and draw him and Clara apart. But whatever trials might come, he would keep the shivering young woman in his arms safe. He vowed it with every fiber of his being.

The water was at her chin when Maurits stopped. His breath was cold against her cheek, and she could feel his hesitation in whatever he was about to say. “You don’t trust me,” he said. “I know that. But you must allow me to do this one thing. It will allow you to breathe beneath the water.”

Her body ached with the cold, and her mind was growing dim and unfocused. Even if she had been able to resist, she was inclined to let him do what he would. There was a question in his eyes, and she thought that perhaps he really did intend to help her. With the smallest nod, she let him know that she would not fight whatever it was he meant to do. Perhaps he would drown her, claim her for the water after all. And would that really be so terrible? What was left for her on the land that she had once called home?

But he did not plunge her into the water. Instead, his grip tightened on her, his fingers gentle and firm, as he lowered his lips down to meet hers. Her breath caught. Whatever hazy thoughts had been swirling through her mind ceased as her senses were caught up in the kiss. At first, it was no more than the gentlest brush of cold lips against cold lips. Despite her shock, a flicker of warmth ignited deep within her, slowly spreading up her spine and flooding her body. He was dangerous, and a liar. He was also possibly mad—what else could explain the fantastic story that he had just told her? But she was too tired to fight, and some wretched part of her, deep down, was grateful, excited even, for the feel of his lips on hers. She had craved this for so long, and it was impossible to deny her body that for which it was crying out.

The kiss deepened, and her mouth opened, inviting him in despite her misgivings, all the while water swirling about them, lacing the pleasure with icy cold reality.

Could Clara feel that he was giving her more than just the breath that would sustain her in the Water Kingdom? Could she feel that he was pouring his very soul and heart and every ounce of love he had to give? This was not supposed to be a romantic gesture, but he felt his body responding to her supple form in his arms. How he had dreamed of this moment when he had been stuck in his dog form, and long before then too, if he was being honest with himself. All his frustration was givenrelease now. A soft moan escaped her and he deepened the kiss, greedy for every bit of her. For all that he had taken from her, he could give her this at least. Who knew what would face them in the water, and this might be the last time either of them had even the smallest bit of pleasure. He was doing it for her, he told himself.

Then, as if coming to her senses, she broke the kiss, staring up at him in the dark. A look of horror spread over her, as if she could see him for the monster he was. Everyone she knew was dead, and he was exploring the depths of her willingness, exploiting the haze of her grief. He could tell himself that it was for her benefit all he wanted, but it was a selfish lie.

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