“That seems like another kind of suffering to me.” Madeleine thought of her family and the Daughters of Grace. There were a lot of ways to lose people. “Grief is another face of love. I’d rather choose that. And are you so sure you wouldn’t have mourned as an Each-uisge?”

Hæra pushed away from the railing so quickly that Madeleine yanked her arm from her waist. “I don’t know. Let’s go. I hate this place.”

The words put a knot in Madeleine’s stomach. Hæra had longed to return to the sea, and now she spoke of hating it? The words might come from her grief. Hopefully the feeling would pass, and Hæra wouldn’t hate her own origins forever.

Madeleine knew where those feelings led, and it was nowhere good.

This wasn’t the time or place to say so. She nodded at the captain, who returned to the wheel. The motor roared again, and within moments, they were cutting through the waves on their way to the land.

Connor, Jim, and Isla came by to pay their respects after the funeral. They took Hæra and Madeleine to the Kestrel and sat them at a table while they ordered drinks.

At first it was silent, which suited Hæra fine. She felt sick—had it been the rocking of the boat?—and the beer wasn’t helping. She sipped it while Madeleine sat next to her in the booth.

It had been so hard to let him go. That made no sense. It wasn’t Jonathan. It was a package full of something that had burned. The sea had killed him, but fire had claimed him next.

Well. Now the sea had him again. She’d never thought about Jonathan’s funeral rites, but if she had, she’d have thought he’d want to be buried at the farm he’d built with Hæra.

But Connor had said that wasn’t legal anyway. Perhaps that was why Jonathan had chosen Asga…the sea over her.

A couple of days ago, Madeleine had told Hæra that she didn’t believe Asgall had actually killed Jonathan. That he might have been trying to save his life instead. She’d laid out some case based on furrows in the sand, until she noticed that Hæra was about to start screaming, and then she’d taken Hæra’s hand and said, never mind, it didn’t matter right now.

As far as Hæra was concerned, it would never matter. At least she wasn’t on the boat anymore. If she never went out on open water again, it’d be too soon. The sea was no longer her home—if it had ever been.

Someone cleared their throat.