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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 not keeping you here, Clara,” he said softly. “It’s the only place that you are safe.”

“How long will I be safe here, then?”

Maurits drew his hand through his hair, the gesture tugging her memory back to the day they stood in the drowsy sunlight by the canal. Suddenly standing, he gave a huff and turned away. “It’s safe, that’s all that matters.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t know,” she said, surprised at the strength of her voice. “You don’t have a plan, and you don’t

know what to do with me.”

He glanced back at her, the slight tightening of his jaw all the confirmation she needed. He had taken her from the only home

she had ever known, and he didn’t even have a plan . A hard knot formed in her stomach. “What will become of me?”

“I won’t let my mother have you, I know that much.” He said it with such conviction that she was almost obliged to believe

him. But then she remembered all his falsehoods and deceits. “But for now, I’m going to go find food for you,” he said. “You

need to eat.”

With a graceful arc, he was in the water, disappearing into the fathomless dark. Alone, her breath was loud in her ears, every

drop of water reverberating like the quivering string of a clavichord. She waited another minute or so, making certain that

he was gone, and then she began her inventory of her prison. She was not going to wait and see if he would be true to his

word this time; she would have to save herself. High above her, light filtered through a crevice. The walls were slick and

cold, but she tried to find handholds, to fit her feet into any little divot and climb up. After several attempts all that

she was left with were raw hands, her chest aching from the exertion.

Crouching at the edge of the rock to rinse her hands, something silver winked in the dim light from the opposite side of the

grotto. She stood slowly, following the dancing light to a carved crevice in the wall.

Putting her face to the crack, she squinted one eye shut.

The space was deeper than she’d realized.

When her eyes adjusted to the darkness, her breath caught.

Treasures—dozens of them, if not hundreds.

A little silver spoon, bent and tarnished, yet lovingly placed on a ledge.

Coins with the Prince of Orange’s face stamped on them.

Marbles, beads, jars. A little doll with a cracked face and missing limbs.

It was the collection of a child, mundane objects that had caught a little boy’s fancy and imagination. Reaching in, she gently

lifted the spoon and ran her fingers over the smooth bowl. It felt intimate, and despite her anger at him, she found herself

curious about the boy that Maurits had once been.

“What are you doing?”

The voice snapped her out of her reverie, and she spun around. “N-nothing,” she stammered, fumbling to replace the spoon.

Maurits came up beside her, but rather than reprimanding her, he simply took the spoon gently from her hands, turning it over

in his own as he seemed to consider it. “A crown prince, yet these baubles were my greatest treasures as a boy.”

She was curious as to where he had gotten them, why he had bothered to save such a strange collection of items, but she was

not about to give him the satisfaction of asking. All the same, he seemed to sense the question and gave her the ghost of

a crooked smile.

“Anything I could get my hands on from the human world, I took and hoarded away in my little cave. If there was a shipwreck,

I took whatever I could carry. Not gold or weapons or anything of that sort,” he added. “It was the simple objects that I

wanted. The little things that humans take for granted, like a spoon or a button. Something useful and clever.”

Was she supposed to feel pity for him? He didn’t seem to be looking for any, but there was a vein of remorse running through

his words. Returning the spoon to its ledge, Maurits cleared his throat. “I’ve brought food,” he told her. “Last night, you

needed sleep more than anything. But now it is time to regain your strength.”

Still addled from the intimate glimpse of his past, Clara glanced at the brace of dead fish on the stone floor.

Once, she would have delighted in spearing the little fish on a silver fork and feeling them slide down her throat, salty and delicious.

But here in the cave, fish were just one more cold and slippery thing. She pushed them away with her toe.

“You must eat,” Maurits said, not unkindly.

She turned her head away. Her hunger had gone from a persistent gnawing ache into something so painful as to be numbing. But

she would not eat the fish.

With a sigh, Maurits took up the brace of fish and began scaling them. His knife strokes were deft, economical. When they

were skinned and cleaned, Maurits went to the crevice and produced two rocks. She watched with wary interest as he struck

them together several times, finally producing a spark, which landed on a piece of a dried seaweed. With a little coaxing,

soon he had a respectable fire going. Jumping back, he took up a long stick and began skewering the fish and roasting them

over the flame. Her stomach growled despite herself.

“Here.” Maurits removed the skewer, and handed it to her. Her mouth was watering, but she couldn’t bring herself to take it

from him. She never wanted anything from him again, even if it meant she would starve. With a sigh, Maurits carefully placed

the fish on a piece of seaweed on the ground.

“What will it take for you to trust me?”

She nearly laughed. “I didn’t trust you on land, not for one minute. I might have indulged you, sought you out, but even then,

I knew better than to trust you.” And now that she was here wherever this was, she trusted him even less. But it was easier to say it than to believe her own words. There was still something

deep within her that responded to him, that drew her to him. She wanted to be the object of his gaze, his attention, his heart,

all while knowing that she was only giving him the opportunity to hurt her again. And he had hurt her, badly. She would be

a fool to trust him.

Something flickered in Maurits’s luminous eyes and he opened his mouth, but whatever he was about to say was lost as a bubbling splash drew her attention to the water.

The head that surfaced looked human enough at first glance, but as the dark hair crowned and gave way to a preternaturally

long neck with gills, Clara realized that she was beholding something that should have only existed in stories. She edged

back closer to the wall.

The creature bowed her head to Maurits, though there was something like amusement in her red slit eyes, as if she did not

take the gesture very seriously.

“Prince,” she said. “I heard you had returned.”

Maurits gave a low curse. “It seems that everyone knows.”

“Not everyone. Thade used some clever magic to ensure that your mother does not know where you are.”

“Did he now?”

Clara watched as Maurits and the... creature, conversed. There was an easiness between them that spoke of at least being

acquainted, if not friends. Yet Maurits did not invite her to come out of the water (if she was even able to) and he made

a point to stand between her and Clara at all times. Perhaps she should have been frightened, shocked at the existence of

this creature, but after seeing the silver woman in the woods, and learning the truth about what Maurits was, she found that

her capacity for believing the unbelievable had greatly expanded.

The creature dropped her voice, her slit eyes narrowing further over Maurits’s shoulder. Whatever they were talking about,

they did not want Clara to be privy to it, yet they spoke in perfect Frisian. Clara pretended to be disinterested, but she

could not help studying the strange beauty of the creature. What else lurked in these waters? What else did she not know about,

simply because she had led a sheltered life, or because it had been deliberately hidden from her?

While Maurits was deep in conversation, Clara took the opportunity to eat some of the fish.

Stealthily at first, but then ravenously.

She closed her eyes, the crispy skin salty against her lips.

It was the best thing she had ever eaten.

She shoved a few more in her mouth, barely stopping to chew them.

“You’re eating. Good.”

Her eyes flew open to find Maurits turned back to her, watching her intently. Immediately, she pushed the remaining fish away

and glared at him. He sighed.

“I have to go attend to some... business. Will you be all right here for a little while? I promise I shall return, and

I will bring clothes for you. Something warm.”

In answer, she turned back to the wall, waiting for him to leave.

“Your lady is downright feral, isn’t she?” The words were spoken in the musical hiss of the creature, and sent prickles down

Clara’s arms.

“She is not feral,” Maurits said sharply. “And I would wager that she does not wish to be considered ‘my lady,’ either.”

The creature made a little sound that Clara interpreted as a smirk, and then there were twin splashes of water.

Alone at last. The emptiness of the cave wrapped around her, every drip of water magnified and echoing. Clara finished the

fish and drank greedily from the bucket of clear water that Maurits had provided. When her belly was finally full, she stood

up, surveying her surroundings with renewed determination.

She could not stay here. Maurits was not to be trusted.

But what was there for her on land? An empty house—and that was assuming there was a house at all—a dead family? And what

of the rest of Friesland? What was the extent of the flood? Were there other cities still standing, cities that she could

go to? But even if there were, she could not simply reappear in her smallclothes and expect to step back into society.

She had to try. She would not be a prisoner, subject to the whims of a man—or whatever he was—who was untrustworthy at best, and dangerous at worst. If she was to escape, it had to be now, while he was gone.

The sliver of light that filtered in through a crack was much too high above her to reach, as she had already discovered from

her first attempt at scaling the walls.

Which left the water.

There was no current here, no movement from the inky black water, but Clara could feel energy charging it all the same. It

was a living thing, home to creatures that she could not even begin to imagine. Her eyes had been closed for most of the descent

with Maurits, but she doubted that she would have been able to reconstruct their journey anyway.

Testing the water with one toe, she shivered. Maybe it was better to wait for Maurits to return. Force him to take her back.

But what if he came back with that creature again, or others? What if what he said about his mother was true, and he decided

to take Clara to her after all? No, she could not risk it.

Sitting on the edge of the rock, she carefully put both her feet in up to her ankles. The water was placid, only faint ripples

emanating from where her calves now dipped. No sea monsters or angry queen came spiraling up from the water, so she slid further

in, twisting her body so that she could grip the rock ledge as she lowered herself down.

There had never been an opportunity for her to learn how to swim, and indeed, she doubted that it would have served her now,

in any case. But if there was light above her, then all she needed to do was hold her breath, pull herself up along the rocks

as far as she could, and she should be able to reach the surface.

Taking a deep breath, Clara closed her eyes, and prayed that she was right.