“As I—” Finally, Hæra could move. She rushed around the desk to kneel next to Jonathan’s chair, where she looked imploringly up into his weathered face. That face had smiled at her for years. It wasn’t smiling now.

“I dreamed of him, you know,” Jonathan said. “All the time.”

Hæra started.

“It felt like more than just dreams. I saw him, I heard his voice clear as day, and he was always calling me back to the rocks. For so long, I wondered if he was coming for me…if he wanted to find me.”

“I—I didn’t know that,” Hæra stammered. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“The hell’s the point? It hasn’t happened. Nothing’s ever happened in decades.” He pursed his lips, and the white bristles of his mustache rose. “Except for you. Thought that meant something.”

Something? Surely it meant more than something. Was it time to tell him the truth after all? They were friends—he was the only friend Hæra had ever had. Perhaps after all their time together, he wouldn’t hate her if she explained the situation.

Hæra took one of his hands. It was cold, although the house wasn’t. His circulation was bad, the doctor had said. “It does mean something,” she said. “It’s true I’m not human. I can’t help that. But listen…”

“I know you can’t help being what you are.” Jonathan didn’t pull his hand away. He didn’t curl it around Hæra’s either, though. “That’s what worries me now.”

“What do you mean?”

He looked at her, finally. His eyes were hooded, unreadable. “If I thought I’d been wrong about you this whole time…if I thought you meant her harm…”

Her entire body froze. She clutched his hand harder, but he didn’t wince or tug away. Just kept looking at her. So much for telling him the truth.

“I don’t want to hurt her,” she said hoarsely. “Jonathan, I swear it.”

That, at least, was true. Whatever must happen between them in the end, Hæra didn’t want to hurt Madeleine. Not the woman she’d kissed, who’d spoken to her about things that mattered.

Jonathan kept looking into her eyes. All of a sudden, Hæra was back in the whirlpool, staring into the black eyes of the witch who sought her innermost self. Her heart stopped. She’d thought, only hours ago, that the trow was the only one who understood her. Had she been wrong? Jonathan seemed to be looking into the heart of her.

What would he find? Would he see the truth, whatever that was…?

Then he closed his eyes and sighed. When he opened them again, they looked as they always did, and a rueful smile tugged at his mouth. “Sorry, lass. I ought to know better.”