Page 69 of A Magic Deep & Drowning

Alida put her spoon down with a sudden groan. “And that reminds me that I am supposed to meet Mr. Huygens at the guild at noon.” She rose, and with one last fierce hug and a kiss to Clara’s cheek, left.

Helma cleared the dishes away, and for a moment Clara allowed herself the fantasy that she was back at Wierenslot with Helma bustling about a warm kitchen as she grew drowsy in front of the fire.

But then Helma sat back down at the table, bade Clara pull her stool closer to her. “Come, sparrow. I know you have questions, and I think it time that you knew the truth.”

Clara wanted to tell her that she was too tired for more truths laid bare, more anything, but she nodded. This was what she had wanted, and though she was weary, there was nothing else for her to do now but listen. “Yes, I think you had better tell me.”

“I told you many stories when you were a girl,” Helma said. “But there is one that I never told you. You know of the Water Queen, but do you know that there is a Queen of the Trees as well? She rules from the land, her throne a twisted yew, her crown a garland of willow leaves.”

Clara shook her head.

“Well,” Helma said, settling into the story. “She is a good queen, a just queen. Seldom seen, but much loved and respected. She always believed that the people of the lowlands could take care of the land if they just understood it better. But that’s neither here nor there. What you must know about this queen, is that she has a sister. Now, this sister has just as much power as the queen, but unlike her royal counterpart, she does not like to intervene in the affairs of humans. Better to let them muddle through it themselves and learn their own lessons. That isn’t to sayshe never takes an interest in the affairs of men, or takes a particular shine to certain humans.”

Helma took a meaningful pause, and Clara couldn’t help but notice a shift in her old nursemaid. That bewildered look that Helma so often wore was gone, replaced with something almost like serenity, a beatific glow.

“What... whatareyou?” Clara asked on breath.

“Oh, tut.” Helma rearranged her skirts. “What names do they have for us now? Not quite a kabouter, nor an elf. Something older, something far more powerful.”

The clouds had cleared, and Clara stared at the sun slanting in from the window. Somewhere outside, a magpie called. The sounds of the city rumbled on. “You lied to me,” she said finally.

“I did no such thing!”

“All these years, I believed you to be my nursemaid, my companion.”

“Ah,” said Helma, holding up a knobbed finger. “And did I ever say I wasn’t? No, I only omitted certain small details.”

Clara scowled. “You say that the Old Ones don’t meddle, but it seems that they certainly like to insinuate themselves into the lives of humans.”

“Now,” continued Helma, “you tell me that you always considered me a friend, a companion. When you were young, you certainly loved me. But as you grew older, you came to see me as burdensome, a hindrance to your follies.”

Clara started to protest but Helma silenced her with a frown on her gray brows. “Don’t fret, sparrow. I always knew that you had a good heart. I wouldn’t have come to Wierenslot if I’d thought you beyond redemption. And with parents such as yours!” She huffed. “Well, youdidneed a friend.”

Clara’s mind was already racing ahead. “You knew about Maurits,” she said in a breath of disbelief.

Helma smiled, not in the least bit contrite. “Of course.I could see the magic shining off that boy the moment he stepped into the kitchen.”

“And you knew he’d come to take me.”

“No,” Helma said with a definitive shake of her head. “He might have come with that intention, but the moment I saw him looking at you I knew that he would not lay a finger on you, not when he had already fallen in love.”

It was too much. Hearing of his love from someone else—and not just anyone, but her oldest friend—was all it took to break the dam of tears that Clara had been able to hold in thus far. She let the salt flow freely, wishing her tears were a conduit to the sea so that she might be forever bound to her lover’s final resting place.

With Helma’s arms tightly around her, Clara rocked back and forth, an ebb and flow of tears. “I took him for granted,” Clara said through gasps. “I thought he would always be there, whether it was for me to be angry with him, or to forgive him. If I died, then I died first.” Never did she consider that she would be left alone with only her severed heartstrings and far too few memories.

“My little sparrow,” Helma crooned. “What a gift you have been given. You know what it was to be loved wholly, unconditionally. You know what it was to be loved by someone who would swallow the whole world before they let you come to harm.”

Clara bitterly disagreed. If this grief was not harm, then what was? But there was no use trying to explain to Helma the aching void in her chest, so she wiped away her tears and endeavored to save her howling grief for nightfall when she was alone.

“Now,” said Helma standing and extending her hand to Clara. “Will you come meet my sister?”

The clearing where she had bid goodbye to land was bathed in dappled sunlight, but still a chill ran through Clara. Had ittruly only been a matter of days since she was here last, determined to sacrifice herself? What a strange sensation to revisit a place that she had thought she would never see again.

Helma caught the shudder, and gave Clara a little pat on the arm. “There now, nothing to be frightened of. We must come here because she does not like to venture into the city, you understand. Not enough trees.”

“Why did she not come to the last gathering?” Clara asked, wrapping her arms about herself.

Helma did not respond. She was peering up into the canopy. “Oh, she was mostly likely there, somewhere. Ah!”

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