And if that was true, well, probably someone had tipped them off. Someone had told the authorities a story that seemed too incredible to be real—but if it did turn out to be true, it would really explain a lot. Who had a better explanation for why so many ships crashed in this area, even in good weather?

Luce didn’t want to believe that the bronze-haired boy had talked about them. But that was clearly irrational, and she knew it. He had every reason to hate the mermaids desperately. As far as he was concerned, mermaids were vermin that had to be eliminated in order to protect human beings, and human beings were the only creatures who counted. When Luce tried to imagine things from his point of view, she knew that he simply couldn’t feel any different. It didn’t matter that she’d broken the timahk for him and carried him to safety, not when her tribe had murdered his family. It would be insane to hope that he could feel any gratitude for what she’d done. Any loyalty . . .

Then why did she feel so betrayed?

Dana was absolutely right, Luce realized. Luce had endangered the mermaids by saving that boy, and that meant it was her responsibility to undo the damage. She’d been a fool to trust him. A sucker, even, for caring what happened to someone who didn’t hesitate to inform on her. As long as he lived he’d keep talking, insisting to anyone who would listen that there were mermaids living right there at the edge of the Bering Sea, that they had to do something . . .

She’d promised herself that she’d never kill a human again. But she was going to have to make an exception, just this once. The prospect of drowning him appalled her, knotted her insides with sorrow and disgust, but there was no alternative. If she didn’t, Miriam’s nightmares might very well come true.

There was no choice. However, there was one enormous problem.

Unlike all the other humans Luce had encountered, the boy had the ability to resist the power of her song.

∗ ∗ ∗