Page 59 of A Magic Deep & Drowning

Clara reluctantly followed Helma, once again leaving her home behind. When their path took them close to the Herengracht, Clara allowed herself to walk right along the edge of the canal. A sort of fatalism had come over her, and if she were to be snatched back into the water, well, so be it.

“Did you know, Helma?” Clara asked as they wound through the early morning women with carts, and burghers in black capes congregated like vultures. “Did you know that magic was still in the land? That the Old Ones were still here?”

Clara did not miss the way Helma slanted her gaze off to the side before she answered. “I suppose it stands to reason,” Helma said carefully. “Where do folks think that all the magic went? That one daypoof—it simply disappeared? The burghers knew well enough that there was power to be had, and that it did not come from men.”

Not quite satisfied, but too tired to pursue it further, Clara continued trudging behind Helma, wishing that she had a pair of boots on her poor feet.

The sounds of the city’s slow awakening began to build into a rich chorus. Men called from boats to each other, laughing children ran along the edge of the canal with fishing rods. Church bells tolled, and birds beat their wings in search of dropped morsels. But a softer sound, closer, was coming from the canal.

“Helma,” Clara breathed. “Look.” They came to an abrupt halt as Clara grabbed Helma’s arm and pointed.

The basilisks glided through the canal, their razor fins cresting above the surface as they wove between boats. Claracouldn’t be certain, but she thought she saw one look at her with its black marble eye and wink.

This time, Clara was not the only one to notice the creatures in the canal. Women abandoned their carts, fishermen hurriedly pushing their skiffs toward the canal walls. A little boy, wide-eyed, ran to the edge of the canal to stare, only to be pulled back with a tug to his ear by his mother.

If the basilisks were here on behalf of Thade, then they would be looking for her. But something told her that they were not here at the king’s bidding, or perhaps anyone’s bidding at all. They had seemed altogether too mercurial and slippery to serve anyone but themselves.

Helma crossed herself, and the sight of her old nursemaid falling back on her superstitions momentarily brought Clara some comfort.

“Nasty creatures,” Helma said. “What could they want?”

“I think it’s a warning.” Clara watched them as they slid through the water, leaving a wake of confusion and fear behind them. A tense hush had fallen over the crowd gathered at the edge of the canal. “I think the flood is coming.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

It seemed that Thade was taking no chances this time.

After the disaster of a trial, Maurits was roughly escorted to a chamber deep within the castle itself. He would be kept near Thade so that there was no chance of him meeting with Neese—or anyone else who might aid him, for that matter. Thade had underestimated Clara, and perhaps the king was beginning to worry that Maurits would likewise slip from his grasp.

WherewasNeese, anyway? He had not seen her since her last visit when he had been imprisoned, and had been surprised that she had not been in the audience of the trial. It would take more than a few guards to keep her away, and he wondered if she would be able to find him here of all places. The basilisks would know where he was, as they always seemed to know everything that went on in the kingdom. They would fulfill their pledged and send Neese to him. They had to.

While he waited for her, Maurits allowed himself to get comfortable. There were worse places to be imprisoned than his childhood room, he supposed. He remembered playing in this chamber as a child with Evi and Thade. They had been thick as thieves then, always in some sort of trouble with the palace guards as they raced through the halls, pretending they were sharks on the hunt. It was always Thade who would eventually grow nervous and tattle on them to their mother, but even he could not resist the thrill of the chase for a littlewhile first. Maurits ran his finger over one of the little shells Evi had carved in the stone. She had been a good artist. She had been a good sister. It was funny how he and Thade had grown distant after her death. Shouldn’t grief have brought them closer together? Instead, their memories had become a wedge, driven them further and further apart.

Beyond the stone walls, he could hear the chilling call of the dire whale, reminding him that there was no escape, no hope. He could feel himself slipping into melancholy. The land had always been a balm for the dark thoughts that consumed him in the water. This was his home; how was it possible that it could engender such sorrow in him? But homes are more than just the good memories and the comforts; they are also the difficult times, the trials that we face with our loved ones. He supposed Neese was right. He had used his human form to run away from his problems. And now that it was denied to him, he had not the slightest idea how to survive.

Clara would have helped him forget his troubles. Even when she was under the water, angry and hurt with him, he had felt stronger just for having her near him. He could face Thade, his mother, even the dire whale, if only Clara was nearby. He had always known her to be beautiful, to be capable of enchanting him completely with just a look slanted from her guileless brown eyes. But when she had stood her ground at the trial and spoken... she had been magnificent. He wanted to take care of her, to shield her from Thade’s vengeance, but he was beginning to suspect that she didn’t need his protection. She probably never had. What had she said that time when they had been walking by the canal? She only needed testing? Well, she had been tested, and she had come away stronger and even more beautiful for it.

The more wistful and melancholy his thoughts grew, the more time slowed. The kingdom didn’t need him. Neese didn’t need him, and Clara certainly didn’t need him.

Clara might not need him as a protector, but he did owe her a debt. He owed her several debts, if he were being honest with himself. He had lied to her and deceived her time and again. And with Thade threatening to send a new flood, she was in danger, as well as the rest of the land folk.

He roused himself from his melancholic stupor, gave himself a few brisk words of reproach, followed by encouragement. He had only been here for two days, but it would seem he was losing his mind.

Thade might have taken Maurits’s meager powers, but that did not make him powerless. Waves above, he was young and strong, and while he was shackled, it was nothing compared to the self-pity he had been allowing himself to wallow in.

His brother had underestimated Clara, and it was likely his brother had underestimated him as well. Thade wouldn’t be sitting on the throne with their mother a prisoner and Maurits stripped of his voice if he’d thought Maurits capable of fighting back.

So on the third day of imprisonment, Maurits began to do what he should have been doing years ago.

He trained.

Every night, long after the last guard had looked in and was satisfied that the defunct prince was sound asleep, he tested what few powers he had left.

Thade had been clumsy, though Maurits understood why. Maurits had never taken his training seriously, even as a young princeling being groomed for the throne. Swimming, rationing his breath, fighting... these were all things that he learned as needed. But he had never delved deeper into the gifts that all merfolk—especially those of royal blood—possessed, such as shifting his form, reaching into another’s mind to see their thoughts, bending the water to his whim.

Now he forced himself to regain the lost time. Thade had not touched the spark of power that rested deep within his heart, for Thade had simply assumed that it was no longerthere. But Maurits nursed it now, every night forcing himself to focus through the pain of flexing an unused muscle.

Legs had been his mother’s gift, a blessing that lasted for seven days and seven nights when the moon was full. The first time he had tested his land legs he had been like a colt, wobbly and unused to the feel of solid ground beneath him. The movement of putting weight on his legs had left him covered in bruises and scrapes by the time he could walk from the water’s edge to the trees. But it had only been a matter of practice, and once he had done it, it came easier and easier to him each time. Now he was beginning the process all over again, only this time in the confines of his small chamber and with no soft grass to soften his inevitable falls. This time it was his own stubborn determination that granted him the power to try, and not his mother’s charity.

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