That night, she’d slipped away and returned to the chest, pulling it by one of its handles. Her mouth had been sore afterward, tasting of the handle’s metal. She’d hidden the chest by the cliff.

The next day, Asgall had been in a terrible mood. He never admitted why, but she knew he’d returned to the chest he’d supposedly disdained, only to find it missing. He couldn’t accuse Hæra of stealing it, for that would have meant he’d gone back to it. He’d lashed out at her, biting her neck and drawing blood before their mother Beathag separated them, sending Hæra away in the care of another mare while she fussed over her son.

The chest was full of things humans seemed to find valuable but which meant nothing to Hæra. There were loads of gold coins, so old their markings had faded, plus other items in gold and silver: cups and bowls, ornaments that humans put on their bodies, a jeweled dagger with a rusted blade. All items that had been around long enough that Each-uisge knew what they were and what functions they served. Her father had told her that cups and bowls were vessels humans used to feed themselves, since they didn’t eat live prey. That had been interesting, if revolting.

Now the chest held a real treasure. Hæra had placed Sister Madeleine’s string of beads on top of all the junk. There, the beads would serve as a permanent reminder of what it had been like for Hæra to lie atop her smaller body, something to keep after this business was done.

That is, assuming the business would ever be done. Where was her woman?

Maybe Sister Madeleine would have returned sooner if Hæra had told her that she’d bring a gift, something to replace what she’d stolen. Beneath her tongue sat one of the gold coins from the chest. Humans liked these so much; surely Sister Madeleine would come within reach to get one.

After the half moon passed its midpoint, her patience was finally rewarded. Hæra barely managed not to stick her whole head above the water as a human form appeared on the seawall in silhouette, lurching toward the little dock and dinghy. Then the human got close enough for her to see properly, and Hæra’s heart fell.

Curse it to the depths and back! That was a man, not Sister Madeleine. He was no good to her.

Or was he?

It was the man from last night. The one who’d noticed them on the beach and helped Sister Madeleine away afterward. He’d taken her from Hæra’s side, but perhaps he had helped care for the wound on her head.