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Maurits did not like that he was forced to sit on the low stone, the object of his desire so near and yet so far from him.

Though he supposed it was fitting that Clara was above him, for she was so far above him, perfect in every way, from the slight

pout of her lips as she hung on the moss maiden’s words, to the slender finger she occasionally touched absently to her collarbone.

While Maurits had honed his powers and practiced to the point of exhaustion, he could not maintain his shifted shape for long.

Already scales were beginning to come in on his legs, slowly transforming them back to his tail. He did not mind gazing up

at her like the goddess she was, but he acutely felt the disadvantage it put him at. She had loved him best in his dog form,

but it was his man’s form that he wanted her to see. She had once kissed him in that form, had once, he dared to hope, loved

him a little. Now she only saw a creature who had betrayed her. And if he had his damn voice he would have been able to tell

her all of this instead of having to hear his thoughts spelled out in the wretched tones of a moss maiden.

“What will it take for him to stop?” Clara asked at last, carefully averting her eyes from Maurits.

The question was both naive and bold in its scope, and Maurits loved her all the more for it.

“There is nothing,” the moss maiden translated for him. “Thade will stop at nothing.”

There was a worried murmur from some of the elves.

“I could go back,” Clara said quietly. “I could go back and appease him. I thought that I could do more good here, warn people.

But it has become clear that any warnings will not be heeded, and if he is determined to see this through, then I will offer

myself up to him and finish what was started.”

Never had Maurits wished he had legs more than at that moment, but the transformation to his tale was already complete. If

he had legs, he would run to her, take her into his arms, and never let her go. He wouldn’t let her do something so foolish,

with so little guarantee of success.

He shook his head, vehement, mouthing the word no . He would not have her make an impulsive sacrifice.

At least he was spared having to explains this to her. “We are well past the point of him accepting you as a sacrifice,” Helma

interjected. “As soon as Thade began consolidating power he saw what would be possible if he could take the land.”

“I am not so certain about that,” mused a kabouter with shockingly orange hair and a cape of freckles about their shoulders.

Maurits could have throttled them. “Thade failed to follow through in securing Clara. Letting her slip through his fingers

after the trial makes him look weak and inefficient. It may largely be symbolic, but securing Clara and seeing the end of

the bargain through where his mother did not would send a powerful message.”

“There is no guarantee he would not continue to seek power,” countered an elf.

“Then we will cross that bridge when we get there,” the kabouter said. “Why sharpen weapons if we can avoid a fight?”

“But at the expense of a life!” another elf protested, gesturing to Clara.

“If there is to be a flood the likes of which we have never seen, the elves will not cower away,” they said. “We may be small, but we will fight for both land and air. It is as much ours as the birds or the insects.”

“The girl has a wish in her pocket—why does she not use that?” asked a kabouter.

The freckled kabouter scowled. “And what exactly should she wish for? That Thade simply abandons his ambitions?”

Everyone was talking over each other, going in circles. The widde juvven hummed low and persistent, the moss maidens the only

silent creatures in the entire disaster of a convocation. Maurits pinched the bridge of his nose, suddenly realizing why so

few of these were ever held, and why the different kingdoms seldom worked together.

“I will do it.”

The bickering fell away at once as everyone looked up at Clara. Her voice was quiet but steady. “It is no great thing. I was

supposed to be taken as a child, and I was not. I resolved to stay beneath the water and face the punishment ruled to befall

my parents and my people, only leaving because I thought I could save the lives of those on land. But if my staying here serves

as fodder for Thade’s vengeance even a little, then please, let me go back. I am tired,” she added, her voice finally breaking.

Maurits had never cared for Helma, who was always circling Clara like a sheepdog a lamb. The first time he’d seen Helma in

the kitchen of Wierenslot he’d recognized her for what she was. Now though, as she tutted protectively about Clara, he felt

a surge of gratitude that she was in his beloved’s life and would keep her safe where Maurits could not. Helma would not let

Clara make such a foolish sacrifice.

“If that is your wish, sparrow,” Helma said, tears gathering in her eyes.

No, he was wrong. He hated Helma. She was as bad as the rest. The moss maidens bent their heads in unison, even the kabouters silent in their admiration. Everything was spiraling out of his control too fast.

Desperately, he caught the moss maiden’s attention, his racing thoughts hardly formed before she began translating for him.

“The prince... the prince escorts her,” she told the rest of the creatures. “It is his condition.”

Helma looked as if she wanted to argue, but she gave one look at Clara and her shoulders fell in a slump. “Very well. I may

not trust your kind,” she told him, “but I trust your love for Clara. I give my little sparrow’s heart into your keeping,

and trust that you will do everything in your power to protect her until she chooses to step into her fate.”

It was all he could do to give a tight nod. It wasn’t a satisfactory solution to the problem of Thade. It wasn’t any kind

of solution. But everyone else was apparently satisfied, and so, one by one, the Old Ones left the way they had come. The

widde juvven evaporated back into the mist, the moss maidens into the shadows of the leaves. The elves took flight, floating

up into the canopy, until it was only Helma, Maurits, and Clara in the dusky trees.

Clara was standing very still, hands folded in front of her waist, the first rays of moonlight gently caressing the planes

of her cheeks. If he were being honest with himself, none of his reasons for agreeing to accompany her were so noble. But

being honest did not come naturally to him, and he only knew that he needed to be as close to her as possible, for as long

as possible.

After a painful eternity, Helma cleared her throat and looked between them. “Well, I suppose you’ll be wanting me gone now,”

she said, the tremble of her lip belying her flinty tone.

“Oh, Helma.” Clara threw herself at the older woman, wrapping her arms around her. “I never want you gone. If I ever said as much, you must know that I was only being very foolish and spoiled. You are my best friend.”

Maurits made a study of the moonlight through the tree branches while the two women said their goodbyes. He was sure Clara

was too good for Helma, but he would not deny her the chance to say farewell to her friend.

When both of the women’s cheeks were streaked with tears, and they had finally pulled away from each other, Helma marched

up to Maurits, stopping just in front of his tail. “You will take care of that girl.” She leaned in close, dropped her voice

to a sharp whisper. “If there is even one thing that you can do to prevent this transaction, then you must do it. I do not

know what it will take to stop Thade, and I do not believe that he will be satisfied with what he already vowed was not enough.

Clara is a stubborn little mite, and her mind is made up. I cannot ask her to live with the guilt of knowing that she should

have been taken when so many others were.” Helma threw an aching glance at where Clara was still standing, before leaning

in closer and taking Maurits’s hand in her own. “But if you see even the slightest chance of saving her, you take it.”

It did not matter that Maurits had no voice, for even if he did, what could he say to that? Nodding, he tried to withdraw

his hand, only for Helma to tighten her grip. “Even if it means forfeiting your life.”

Her gray eyes bore into him a moment longer, and then she was releasing his hand and striding back to Clara. Helma gave her

one last hug, and then left them alone in the clearing together.

Clara watched her friend leave. When she could no longer make out the white swish of her skirt in the darkness, Clara finally

turned back to where Maurits was still sitting on the rock, his tail swept to the side.

“Did you know that Helma was...” She searched for the right words, still unsure of what had just happened. “Did you know that she could summon the Old Ones?”

Maurits nodded, though his expression gave nothing away about what he thought of this.

“I suppose I should be hurt that she was not truthful with me all these years,” Clara said, toeing a small stone in the grass

with her bare foot. “But then, all the stories she told me... maybe I allowed myself to grow out of the magic, the belief

in them after I was a child. Maybe I would not have believed her, in any case.”

Loneliness crept in. Maurits made no move to come to her. If he had the power to shift his shape, he was not using it. It

was too painful to admit to herself that she had been hoping for something more from their reunion, that after all the false

starts and deceits that they would have some sort of perfect understanding when they finally saw each other again. “I am ready,”

she told him, her voice flat.

Maurits slid off the rock, easily pushing himself up with his arms and slipping into the water. Color touched his cheeks,

and he did not meet her eye until he was in the safety of the canal.

She swept her gaze over the clearing, committing to memory the sensation of the night breeze against her skin, the subtle

smell of damp earth and distant woodsmoke. Even the knot of hunger in her belly was a reminder that she was human, that she

was alive.

When she had finished bidding the land goodbye, she allowed Maurits to give her breath for the water. She crouched by the

edge of the canal, and he tenderly lifted her in by her waist, bringing her down to him. His touch ignited her despite the

cool bite of the water.

Her pulse fluttered beneath his fingers as cupped her jaw.

He knew that he had been found out, and that Clara would not tolerate his breath in the form of a kiss again.

But the warmth in her eyes gave him hope that his touch was not altogether abhorrent to her.

Without breaking her gaze, he slowly trailed his finger down the elegant line of her throat, stopping just above her collarbone in the delicate hollow where Thade had put a charm, but which now sat empty.

And then they were plunging below in a spray of bubbles and sparkling water as he took her back to the place he had vowed

to save her from, and to the fate that awaited them both.