Page 32 of A Magic Deep & Drowning

Thade shook out the water from his hair. “Quiet,” Maurits hissed, nodding toward the huddled form on the bed of seaweed.

Thade followed his gaze, stiffening. “So it’s true.”

There was a tender tug in Maurits’s chest as Clara shifted slightly in her sleep, her tangled hair and what was left of her bridal clothes glowing in the darkness. “What does Mother say?” he asked softly.

Thade tore his gaze from Clara. “She’s furious, of course.”

The games Queen Maren played, the lessons she meted out when she was in her usual mood were bad enough, but a furious Queen Maren was exponentially more dangerous. Maurits drew his hand over his face. “And what of the people of Franeker?”

Thade gave him a pitying look. “All dead, by my count.”

Cursing under his breath, Maurits shot a glance at the gentle rise and fall of Clara’s sleeping form. “Even her husband?” He had to ask, though he knew the answer.

“I suppose you are glad of it?”

“Of course I am not.” Yet Maurits couldn’t bring himself to be sorry either, not when there was one less obstacle standing between him and Clara.

“So, this is her. The human girl that made the crown prince of the Water Kingdom wish to renounce his crown.” Thade had moved from the ledge and was peering at Clara through the darkness.

Maurits’s jaw went tight and his body tensed as his brother inspected her. “What do you want?” he forced himself to ask. He could see Thade’s mind working, trying to play the situation to his advantage somehow.

But Thade only drew back with a shrug. “I have no plans to tell Mother where you are.” At Maurits’s suspicious glare, he cracked a rare smile. “You know as well as I that you can’t hide from our good queen. She’ll find you, and your pet. Will I delight in watching you brought down when our mother finally punishes you? Perhaps. Iamcurious what your plan is, though. You, who need water, and she, whose death is all but written in the waves.”

Maurits had assured Clara that he could keep her safe, and in the water no less, but the reality was that he could guarantee her no such safety. “You are the last person who I would tell of my plans.”

“Mm.” Thade gave him an infuriatingly bland smile. “I am certain of that. I am also fairly certain you don’t have a plan.”

“Then you have nothing to tell Mother,” Maurits said with an easiness that he did not feel.

Thade had taken a seat, shifting back into his water form and stretching his long tail out in front of him, arms crossed over his chest. He certainly did not seem to be in any hurry to leave. “Why are you so afraid of her?” he presently asked.

“I am not afraid of our mother,” Maurits snapped.

“Aren’t you? You go about your life skulking on land, avoiding her at all costs.”

“It isn’t fear that keeps me at a distance. My interests just happen to lie elsewhere.” He pointedly fixed his gaze away from Clara. “What I don’t understand is why Mother ended my punishment as a dog and granted me my shifting form back.” He looked longingly down at his legs that were even now beginning to grow scales. Without his mother’s leave, he could not keep himself in this form for long. Some water folk could come and go as they pleased, though he knew of none that preferred the land such as he did.

“Don’t you?”

“Mother does not go back on her agreements, especially when they are of a punitive nature.” Maurits paused as he watched Thade finally prop himself up from the wall.

Thade slipped back into the water. “It wasn’t Mother who lifted the curse,” he said, briefly surfacing. “It was me.”

Maurits stared at his brother. Whatever game this was, he wanted no part of it. “But why would—”

With a splash, Thade disappeared into the water, leaving Maurits to his anxieties. Leaning back against the cold rock, Maurits closed his eyes and listened to the gentle drip of the water. He had been more useful to Clara as a dog. Chucking a rock into the black pool, he watched the ripples spread until it was completely still again. There was little he knew with certainty, but he knew this much: his brother was not to be trusted, not any more than the mother who had made tormenting him her life’s purpose.

Chapter Eighteen

A weak, blue light diffused through the cave, the only sign that morning had broken and the long, wet night had come to an end. Clara might have slept for hours yet if it hadn’t been for the ache in her back, the fatigue of her shivering muscles. Gingerly turning over on the bed of seaweed, she looked about her.

Maurits had moved closer to her during the night, and sat propped up no more than an arm’s length away from her. He was wearing loose breeches, and an open linen shirt. In his lap he held what looked to be some sort of spear. It canted to the side, his grip loosened from sleep. His eyes fluttered open, and he returned her gaze, startled, as if he’d forgotten that she was there. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” he said, his voice husky. He must have sat there all night, staring at her. She hoped he was as sore and cramped as she was.

Clara sat up, pulling the threadbare cover to her chest. “How long will you keep me here in this cave?” There was air here to breathe at least, but her voice came out thin and shaky.

Hurt seeped into his face. “I’m notkeepingyou here, Clara,” he said softly. “It’s the only place that you are safe.”

“How long will I be safe here, then?”

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