Page 71 of A Magic Deep & Drowning

At Clara’s approach, Neese slowly turned and stood. Clara’s hand flew to her mouth when she saw what Neese had been guarding.

Maurits lay on the sand, his tail a little tattered and scarred, but looking as peaceful as if he was simply sleeping. Her greedy eyes quickly took stock of every feature she thought she would never see again, the planes of his gently sculpted cheekbones, his muscled forearms, his long, elegant fingers.

“Is he...?” Clara forced herself ask.

She had known that he was dead, had bitterly come to terms with it. But the spark of hope she’d felt when the nix had appeared had made her throw all that to the wind. Seeing him laid out like a corpse on a marble slab was too much, and she didn’t think she could go on living if her hopes were dashed now.

But Neese shook her head. “No, not dead. Look.” She traced a long, webbed finger down the column of his throat. “He washed ashore this morning. The basilisks saw and told me.” A bitter laugh escaped her. “They said that they had already dragged his pitiful ass back once before without being granted their debt, and they would not do so again.”

Dropping to her knees in the soft sand beside him, Clara put a tentative hand flush on his chest. He was cold as always, but she felt the flicker of life that Neese had showed her, a heart that was not ready to stop beating yet.

“The dire whale,” Neese continued. “It must have decided that their bargain—whatever it was exactly—had been fulfilled and left him to the current.”

Clara could not drag her gaze away from him. She wondered how he had come by the scars on his tail, and if they had hurt terribly. “When will he awake?”

Neese gave a snort. “I have been asking myself that same question for the past hour. Apparently not until he is good and ready.”

Clara’s hand drifted higher, until she was cupping his jaw. Some invisible string seemed to pull her closer to him. His lips were perfect, slightly parted and covered in the softest dusting of salt. It seemed the most natural thing when she lowered her mouth to his and allowed her body to remember every time he had given her breath. He tasted of salt and sunlight and Maurits.

Behind her, Neese muttered something, and then Clara heard her wading off into the spray.

The shrieking gulls and gentle roll of the waves were far away as Clara lowered herself beside him, resting her head on his chest. “You are my miracle,” she whispered. “I thought I wasted my chance to love you, but you have come back to me, and now I may try again.”

The slow rise and fall of his chest beneath her head made her drowsy, threatening to lull her to sleep like the waves. “I have you,” she murmured. “I have you, my resolute protector. My prince.”

The tide was coming in.

Maurits could feel the give and take of the sea foam on his tail, edging closer with each wave. His head was pounding, and his tail felt as if it had been sliced by a fishermen’s knife. He groaned, trying to piece together the flickers of memories that flashed behind his eyes: leaving Clara alone in the grotto after giving her a silent kiss goodbye as she slept. Finding the dire whale, offering himself in exchange for an end to the Water Kingdom’s reign. Darkness. He had been in the belly ofthe whale. He was going to die, had been prepared to die. And then, with no warning and no explanation, the great creature had breached, expelling him on the surface before diving back into the deep. Perhaps it had been a lesson, perhaps a mistake. Though, something told him that dire whales did not make mistakes.

Movement stirred beside him and he was aware of a gentle pressure on his chest. Clara. Propping himself on elbows, he looked down to see her curled beside him, her face resting on him like a pillow. Fair lashes feathered against her pallid skin. She was shivering, but she was radiant, and she was real. Not a dream or a mirage shimmering before him as he languished in prison. She was here, with the salt air tugging at her hair and the moonlight gracing her with a halo.

The weight of his weary head pulled him back down to the sand. He was tired, not just in his body, but in that deep well within him from which his magic sprang. He had only just started reconnecting with his powers, and now he felt drained. But that did not stop him from trying to conjure a blanket of warmth to cover her with. It must have had some small effect, for she stirred beside him, then awoke, a drowsy smile touching her lips.

“You’re awake,” she said, her eyes brightening as she scrambled to sit up. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

He shook his head, his smile growing to match hers. He wanted to tell her that she could sleep as long as she liked, that he would not move a muscle. He wanted to tell her a great many things, like how beautiful she looked with the salty breeze in her hair, her amber eyes sparkling brighter than the sea. Even if he had his voice, he would still be speechless in the face of her beauty.

A charming blush spread over her cheeks, as if she could discern his thoughts regardless.

“I have something of yours.”

From under her collar, she pulled out a chain with a large silver locket hanging on the end. She pried it with her fingernail and it sprang open, a soft blue light glowing from inside.

“I don’t know how...” Clara cradled the bubble in her hand. “I don’t know how it works.”

Maurits gently took it from her, his finger grazing hers. Inside, his voice glowed and flickered. He was moments away from being able to confess his deepest feelings for her. All he needed to do was pierce the bubble and swallow the light within.

Instead, to Clara’s confusion, he lifted the chain from her neck and draped it around his own, closing his voice back within the locket.

She had to tell him she loved her first, as he was now, voiceless, tail and all. Otherwise, he would always be left wondering. His mother’s curse be damned; he needed to know that she could accept him as he was.

“Don’t you want your voice back?” she asked.

He shook his head, tucking a windblown lock of gold hair behind her ear. She had never looked more beautiful than she did right now. He only wanted to hear her speak, to keep feeling her hands as she idly ran them down his chest over and over again like a mother cat licking its kitten.

She seemed to understand, and settled back down onto the sand with him, her ear on his chest. “I thought I would never see you again,” she whispered. “Everything that I thought mattered to me, I found inconsequential in light of your absence.”

She spoke like a woman now, her words confident and measured, not those of the headstrong girl he had met in Friesland. But there was still a spark in her eyes, one that he had been afraid had been extinguished forever beneath the water.

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