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“Wonderful,” he said. “We must be very careful in these next days to act as if nothing out of the ordinary is happening.”

“Oh, Gregor, I am well used to that, as you know.”

He smiled. “Good. It is in God’s hands now.”

BACK IN THE silence of her room, late that night, Margrethe sent her ladies away. She wanted to savor this moment, the way she felt now. If her plan failed, she might never feel this full of possibility again. But right now, anything at all could happen. She walked to the window, threw it open, stared out at the snow and the stars. Wondered if he was staring at the same stars right then. Thinking of her.

She lay back on her bed. She closed her eyes and tried to conjure him up before her. The dark room in the convent where he lay wounded. His skin shimmering in the pale firelight. His yellow-brown eyes, like weeds.

She sighed, relaxed into the mattress.

She imagined him in the garden, kissing not only her hand but her hair, her eyelids, her cheeks. His lips pressing against her, the snow falling around them. The two of them slipping into the water. Her legs covered in scales, her perfect breasts exposed to the air as she leaned over him.

An ache moved through her. The idea was shocking, exciting.

Being in the water wearing nothing but a long, sleek silver tail that flared from her lower belly and curved down to a fin. Holding him in her arms, his skin against her skin, his mouth open and warm and soft.

She turned onto her belly, pushed herself into the bed. She could smell the sea, his skin, feel his palm sliding down her back. Keeping her legs pressed together, she rubbed against the sheets. A deep ache extended from the center of her body. Until she broke open and everything seemed to slip into dream.

She sat up then, covered her mouth. Horrified at what she had done. And then she knelt down by the side of the bed and prayed for forgiveness.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The Mermaid

WHEN LENIA OPENED HER EYES, AN OLD WOMAN stood over her, peering down. The sun was bright behind the woman’s wrinkled face.

“Are you hurt?” the woman asked. “Can you sit up?”

Lenia opened her mouth to speak, but she had no words, no tongue. Under her back, she felt rocks cutting her skin. Was she dreaming? The air on her skin felt strange, like nothing she’d ever felt before. She was … cold. She had never been cold in her life.

“Are you from the court?”

Lenia just blinked up at the woman.

“Are you visiting here? Can you sit up?”

The woman leaned down and put her hand on Lenia’s arm. It felt like an iron on her skin. Lenia sat up, automatically, backing away in pain. The sand seemed to move under her, scraping at her bare skin.

And then she felt the strangest thing—the sensation of rocks and earth at the end of her body, where her tail should be.

She looked down and gasped.

Legs. She had human legs.

Wildly, she looked back up at the woman, at the world around her, and everything hit her. Off to the side, leaning against a rock, was the bottle the potion had been in.

The sun was so bright. It had not been this bright before. It burned against her eyes, made everything seem like it could turn to flame at any minute.

From a distance came more voices, and the woman called to them. “Help us!” she said. “There is a woman here who’s been hurt.”

She looked back at Lenia. “Here, cover yourself, dear. They are soldiers from the king’s castle.” She took off the fabric wrapped around her shoulders and handed it to Lenia. After Lenia did not respond, the woman knelt down and carefully wrapped the shawl around Lenia’s torso, tying it, to cover her breasts.

“What a strange necklace you have,” she said. “It looks very rich.”

To Lenia’s surprise, the fabric felt soothing on her skin. She remembered how Margrethe had been covered in furs to ward off the cold.

“Can you stand up?”

Lenia looked from the woman to her own body.

She looked down again, at her legs. Her smooth, flat skin, her arched feet, her curved