Hæra returned to looking at the sky. Apparently, it was a sky she’d never know for herself. Her one goal, her one dream, lost. Her one hope of returning to her own kind to find welcome among them at last.

And the end of loneliness, once she and Sister Madeleine belonged to one another for all time. That was lost too.

Unwillingly, Hæra thought of the witch of the whirlpool, looking up at her with mad, dark eyes.

You will fail, the witch had said. Fail. Despair. Come back. Bring me your despair.

A bargain was a bargain. The witch had spared Hæra’s life in exchange for her promise—a promise Hæra had believed she’d never have to fulfill. She should have known better. Witches didn’t grant requests for free.

What now? Walk into the water, transform into her true shape, and return to the whirlpool to meet her fate? Hæra had no idea what such a fate could be or what the witch could want from her. Maybe just to eat her. It seemed fitting. Better that than trapped on this island in a false human skin, aging too slowly and drawing everyone’s attention. It was better to meet an honest end in her own shape. And then, when the Last Current took her, Hæra would bravely face the Great Mare and apologize for her failure.

Well. That was that. At least the last five years hadn’t been all bad. At least Hæra had made…a friend.

Damn. She’d have to apologize to Jonathan again before she left. Whatever happened with the witch, she didn’t want things to end between them like this.

Maybe she really had changed.

Time passed. The sun went lower. Hæra stayed at the fence post, looking at the sheep. Then, after some while or another, more footsteps sounded behind her. Softer, lighter, and slower this time.

Hæra’s ears pricked up and her nostrils flared. The wind carried a scent to her—the smell of Sister Madeleine’s body, which had been pressed so perfectly to Hæra’s own. And curse her for a fool, even now her heart leapt at it.

Pure instinct, that was all. She set her jaw against her own weakness and turned around.

Madeleine, no longer Sister, was approaching her. Hæra might have expected hesitation in her step, but there was none. Rather, Madeleine moved with graceful dignity.

The sunlight danced over her dark hair. Her shoulders were proudly set, and when she stopped several feet away from Hæra, she folded her hands in front of herself and lifted her chin. She looked at Hæra without fear—or, apparently, resentment.

Beautiful, Hæra thought, irrelevantly.

“Jonathan told me the truth about you,” Madeleine said.