“Murtagh said he tried to tell you this, but you weren’t ready to hear it, weren’t ready to accept it. Will you listen now, Jenny?”

Tears filled her eyes, blurring her vision. “The anger and the grief that swelled the sea and created that storm…They were mine. They came from me.”

“So did the love.”

She obeyed the pressure of his hand and shifted to face him. “I know what I gave to the sea. What I chose to give to the sea. I didn’t choose love.”

“You didn’t have to choose. It’s part of who you are.” He released her shoulder to rub the back of his neck, and his voice ripened with frustration. “I know the sea, and I know you—and I know how the sea feels when you channel your gift through it. Mother’s mercy, we’ve sailed together enough times. How could I not recognize the feel of you in the water?” When she just stared at him, he swore. “Sometimes you can be as stubborn as stone. So tell me this, Jenny. If there wasn’t love in that storm, how do you explain the two children? A sister and brother. They were on the ship the Inquisitors burned. The children’s parents threw them off the ship while it burned and broke up around them. Threw them into the sea, doing the only thing they could to spare their children from burning.

“Those children were too young to survive in the sea. They were too far from land and any help, and they were in that storm with nothing but the sea around them. They should have drowned, Jenny. And yet, when the selkies swam out to look for survivors, they found those two children riding the swells. They said there were currents in that water like they’d never felt before—currents that constantly pushed upward, under those children, keeping them in that place where water meets air. The selkies used those currents, pushing the children to one of the boats that had come out to help. When the children were safely on board, the currents disappeared. The selkies didn’t know what to call it. I do. That was love.