The moment the waters closed over Beathag’s head, Madeleine’s feet unlocked. She rushed to Hæra, managing not to slip or trip on the rocks.

Before Madeleine could reach her, Hæra listed to the side and collapsed.

Hæra had never been so glad not to be loved.

Not if love was like Beathag had said, like Hæra had once believed: possession at all costs. Beathag had killed Alban to keep him forever. What else had Hæra meant to do to Madeleine? Thank the Great Mare she’d failed.

Madeleine knelt next to her and pulled her back upright. The torch clattered to the ground. “Hæra! Are you all right? Good grief, of course you’re not. What happened to your neck?”

Hæra looked numbly at the patch of beach where Jonathan lay. She touched her neck and winced. It hurt. She was so cold that her skin ached. It was better than feeling…whatever this was, all the rest of it…

Feeling human.

It must have started long ago.

Hæra looked at Madeleine’s hand on her bare shoulder. It started on the night they met, on this beach, when Hæra was as naked as she was now. She’d kissed Sister Madeleine with passion she couldn’t understand. Human desire. How strange, not to understand it until now.

“Hæra.” Madeleine’s grip tightened on her shoulders. “Can you hear me?”

“Yes.” She squinted at Madeleine’s face. Only yesterday she’d have seen it in the dark with perfect clarity. “The witch bit my neck. She said my blood didn’t belong to the sea and she made me into a human. That is, after I…”

When she trailed off, Madeleine said, “After you what?”

“After she showed me you were in danger,” Hæra said slowly. “And I begged to be allowed to protect you, just one more time.”

Even in the dark, she could see the tears glimmering in Madeleine’s eyes, reflecting starlight and sea.

“I ruined everything,” Hæra said. The wind blew; she couldn’t stop shivering. “I would have died for you both. A thousand times. Instead, I lost you, and…” She slammed her fist against her chest. “And I’m weak, and cold, and he’s gone, and you hate me, and I⁠—”

Madeleine hauled Hæra into an embrace. She wrapped her arms around her fiercely and clutched her, as if she wanted to pull Hæra into her own body. And she pressed her nose into Hæra’s wet hair when she said, “Wrong. I don’t hate you. You’re not weak. And if you’re cold…” She squeezed tighter. “I’ll warm you.”

Hæra turned her face against Madeleine’s neck. Madeleine’s skin was cold. Her clothes were damp and covered in mud. And yet she was right. This was possibly the only warm place in the world.