Madeleine had read enough folklore to know you should be careful about asking “boons” of supernatural creatures. They always came with a catch. “That’s generous, but no thank you.”

“You should not refuse me until you know what it is.” She sounded amused. “One question he could ask me, about anything at all, and I would answer true.”

An answer? That was the boon? No offer of infinite wealth, absolute power, or worldwide renown?

Just an answer.

In that moment, no prize—not even salvation—had ever seemed greater.

Madeleine grabbed her sweater over her heart. “What question did Jonathan ask you?”

“Nothing. He asked to forget that he had ever seen me.”

Madeleine’s mouth fell open.

“Now.” The Great Mare floated forward, between Madeleine and the moon. The moonlight wavered and grew dim, filtered through her body, as if Madeleine were looking up at it from underwater. “What will you sing and dance for me?”

Those eyes—dark— “I…I don’t dance much. And I’m not…”

“Sing, then. Sing for your answer.” A wave crested down the Great Mare’s back and settled again. “Sing for your life.”

It would be hard to sing; her lips had just gone numb. “My…life? You mean you—you’ll kill me if I don’t?”

“That is not what I said. Do not sing to avoid death. Sing for your life. Sing to the sea, and hear what echoes back to you.” The Great Mare flicked her tail and sent spray backward over the cliffs. “The world is full of wonder. The other human chose smallness. Will you?”

The world was full of wonder. Madeleine’s faith was based on mysteries, and all her life she’d been told some answers would only be revealed in the afterlife. But here—now⁠—

No one ever grew wiser, or more holy, by turning away from revelation.

Madeleine cleared her throat and began to sing. Only one song came to mind. It wasn’t one she’d have wished for, but it’d have to do: “Le Petit Cheval,” the French song she’d sung for Hæra and Jonathan on the night she’d moved into the cottage.

At the time, she’d thought it was fitting: the story of a little horse who went bravely out into a storm. There was never good weather where he lived, but he did his duty joyfully, pulling his cart through the wet fields as he hoped for spring’s arrival.

Her voice trembled as she sang the first, familiar words. “Le petit cheval dans le mauvais temps, qu'il avait donc du courage…”

“Ah yes.” The Great Mare sounded pleased indeed. “I have heard humans sing this one, over warmer waters. Continue.”