Page 31 of A Magic Deep & Drowning

In the time it took him to come to this realization, she twisted away in a desperate bid to escape. But the water was high and the blankets were heavy, and he easily caught her by the wrist, tugging her back to him. She glared at him, struggling in his grasp, and he felt every inch the evil creature she no doubt knew him to be.

“Come,” he said gruffly, as if she had any say in the matter. “We’ll go in now.”

Part Two

Water

Chapter Seventeen

Seven steps and then the water was rushing up to meet them. Seven blinks of an eye and the black sky disappeared, giving way to an even darker night. Seven deep breaths and then a baptism so frigid and abysmal that Clara was certain she would never surface again.

Her body tensed, her eyes and mouth clamped shut, face instinctually turned into Maurits’s chest. His arms tightened around her, and she waited for the water to steal her breath and claim her as its own.

But the breathlessness never came. Her lungs did not burn, and her mouth did not fill with water. At some point in their descent, Maurits’s steady tread had transitioned to a fluid glide. Coldness still bit into her flesh, worming into her bones, but it was different from the coldness above the surface. Cracking one eye open, she turned her face to see shafts of moonlight filtering through dark water, gone as quickly as they appeared.

Maurits moved smoothly, though she could not tell how; he neither seemed to swim or expel any sort of effort, just flowed as if part of the water. Despite the soundless calm, a prickly sense of unease ran through her. From beneath every rock, yellow eyes glistened, watching her. Seaweed caught at her legs, twining up and around her until Maurits pulled her free.

They were spiraling upward now, and her stomach felt as if it would fly up her throat. With dizzying speed, they broke the surface, and Maurits gently pushed her up onto a hard ledge.

Falling upon the dripping stone, a gasping breath escaped her, her lungs struggling to fill themselves with air—real air. No matter that it was putrid and damp, it was air, and she couldn’t draw it in fast enough.

“Easy,” Maurits murmured. “Not so fast, you’ll be sick.”

Glaring at him and his useless warning, she struggled to steady her breathing. Eventually her lungs caught up, and her pounding heart was able to slow. Water dripped, echoing throughout the dark space. She hadn’t thought it possible to be colder, but she was certain she would die from it now.

All the questions that had been building up inside of her like the need for air finally came spilling out. “Where are we? How did we get here? Is it safe?”

Maurits was gathering arms full of wet seaweed, piling it at the far end of the small space. “We’re in a cave,” he said, pointing out the obvious. Two generous ledges lined the walls, water filling the deep crevice which cleaved between them. It was probably no bigger than the hall in Wierenslot, but the soaring ceiling made it feel impossibly large. Every movement she made sent a despondent echo ringing through the space. “We’ll be safe here, for now.”

“And how long will that be, do you suppose?”

Maurits mumbled something as he continued arranging the seaweed on the ground.

With a sigh, Clara sat down and pulled her knees up to her chest, hugging herself like a little girl. All the times that she had eschewed the monotony of Wierenslot, and now she would have given anything to be back, lying on her bed with a warm fire and a full belly. Pim would be at her side, his soft fur rising and falling in steady breaths as he watched her withhis fathomless eyes, the sound of Helma knitting in the next chamber. Clara’s stomach let out a painful grumble, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten in, what, hours? A day? Time had stopped at some point, as her body vaulted from one unimaginable scenario to the next. She watched with detached interest as Maurits added armfuls of dried seaweed and piled them against the damp wall. He must have felt her gaze on him. “It’s a bed,” he said, not quite meeting her eye. “You’ll be more comfortable on it than on the cold rock.”

She gave a jerky nod. She had only ever slept on feather beds, but she was so tired that she probably could have fallen asleep on her feet.

The bed complete, Maurits stepped back in invitation, and she slowly unfolded herself and stood, her cold bones protesting. He turned away while she settled herself down. The seaweed was surprisingly soft, and when he produced a thin blanket from a ledge and laid it over her, she was almost comfortable. She did not think she would ever be warm again, though.

She didn’t ask where he would sleep, and she didn’t particularly care. Perhaps he would go back into the water. Or perhaps he would leave her here, never to return. Though there had been something in that kiss—or whatever it was—that told her that he had no intention of leaving her.

As if reading her thoughts, he cleared his throat. “I... I’ll be just on the other side, if you need anything.”

She had already lain down, her back to him. What could she possibly need that he would be able to do for her? Dry up the flood and give her back her life? Return her to her husband and her family?

When she didn’t answer, he stood there for what felt like an eternity, seemingly weighing whether or not he should say something else. He clearly had some sense of self-preservation, because he was smart enough not to say another word. Thenthere was finally the sound of him moving to the other ledge and settling down. Closing her eyes, she forced herself to think of something—anything—other than the sound of water rising and bodies thumping against each other, until sleep eventually overtook her like a wave.

Despite what Maurits could tell were her best efforts, soon Clara’s breathing deepened and grew slow and even. With her safely asleep, the knots in his shoulders gradually loosened, and he could begin to think of what should come next.

With a heavy sigh, he sat on the hard rock, dipping his feet into the warm pool of water and relishing the feel of it between his toes. He should have been a dog still, and while Maurits thanked his lucky stars that his mother had seen fit to lift the spell, he couldn’t begin to fathom her reasons for doing so. And there was nothing that made him more nervous than when his mother was being unaccountably charitable.

He cast a look at Clara in the makeshift bed. Waves above, what was he going to do with her? He’d been able to spare her from the flood, but what now? Hide in his grotto until his mother forgot about her?

“I thought I might find you here.”

The low voice echoed through the cave, and then a moment later, Thade was pulling himself up onto the rock ledge.

Even if Maurits had wanted to, there was no time to hide Clara. The best way to deal with Thade was to be honest with him; his brother seemed to possess an uncanny ability to nose out secrets and truths that Maurits would rather remain hidden. Just like this grotto, which had been Maurits’s secret childhood refuge.

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