A Dark and Drowning Tide

One

Sylvia was in the river again. Lorelei didn’t need to see her to be certain of it. Crowds, after all, were the smoke to Sylvia’s fire.

Lorelei stood with her shoulders hunched against the wind, trying and failing to contain her mounting disgust. In the span of an hour, the entire student population of Ruhigburg University had spilled onto the banks of the Vereist. They clamored and shoved and jostled one another as they fought for a better view of the water—­or, perhaps more accurately, the spectacle they’d been promised. Most of them, predictably, were nursing a bottle of wine.

As she approached the edge of the crowds, she saw silver glittering on throats and iron chains jangling on wrists. They wore their jackets inside out and strung horseshoes around their necks. A few—­Sylvia’s most avid devotees, no doubt—­had crowned themselves with rowan branches and braided clover into their hair. They clearly expected blood. Lorelei had never seen so many protective wards in her life.

Utterly ridiculous. If they truly wanted to guard themselves against fairy magic, they should have stayed well away from the river instead of gawping at it like nitwits. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. Good sense tended to flee wherever Sylvia von Wolff went.

Apparently, some poor fool had nearly drowned an hour ago—­lured into the abyssal depths of the river by an errant nixie’s song. It was almost impressive, considering a nixie hadn’t been spotted this close to the city in ten years. She’d overheard a girl regaling her friends with the gruesome details—­and then, nauseatingly starry-­eyed: “Did you hear Sylvia von Wolff has promised to tame the nixie?”

Lorelei had nearly combusted then and there.

Professor Ziegler had asked Lorelei and Sylvia to meet her fifteen minutes ago. Tonight, the king of Brunnestaad himself was hosting a send-­off ball in honor of the expedition, and the three of them were meant to make a grand entrance: the esteemed professor and her two star students. If they made Ziegler late . . . 

No, she could not even think of it.

Lorelei shoved into the crowd. “Move.”

The effect was instantaneous. One man dropped his opera glasses as he leapt out of her path. Another yelped when the hem of her black greatcoat brushed his leg. Another less fortunate soul stumbled forward as Lorelei’s shoulder clipped hers.

As she passed, someone behind her muttered, “Viper.”

If she had any time to spare, she might have risen to the bait. Every now and again, people needed to be reminded of exactly how she’d earned that name.

She elbowed her way to the front of the crowd and scanned the riverbank. Even beneath the pale light of dusk, the waters of the Vereist remained an eerie, lightless black. It cut straight through campus like an ink stain that wouldn’t lift. And there, shrouded in the branches of a weeping willow, was Sylvia.

From this angle, Lorelei couldn’t see her face, but she could see her hair. Even after five years of knowing her, it always shocked her—­the stark, deathlike white of it. She’d knotted the unruly waves at the nape of her neck with a ribbon of blood-­red silk, but a few stubborn strands had managed to escape. In Lorelei’s weaker moments, she imagined that grabbing hold of it would feel like plunging her hands into cold water.

She stalked toward Sylvia, and with as much acid as she could muster in two syllables, she said, “Von Wolff.”

Sylvia gasped, whirling around to face her. As soon as their gazes met, Sylvia’s face paled to the enchanting color of soured milk. Lorelei allowed herself one moment to delight in that glimpse of startled dread before Sylvia’s perfectly pleasant mask slotted back into place. Somehow, after all this time, Sylvia had never grown accustomed to being hated.

And oh, how Lorelei despised her.

“Lorelei!” Her pained smile dimpled the dueling scar slashed across her cheek. “What a pleasant surprise.”

Sylvia sat on the riverbank, her feet dangling in the water and the skirts of her damask gown puddled around her. Her mud-­caked slippers lay abandoned beside her, and she cradled—­of all things—­a guitar in her lap.

The beginnings of a tension headache pounded in Lorelei’s temples. She felt as though she’d suddenly lost her grasp of the Brunnisch language—­or perhaps been transported to some stranger realm where one could reasonably face down one of Brunnestaad’s deadliest creatures in full dress. Then again, Sylvia looked as though she’d gotten ready in a great hurry and then gone traipsing through the woods. She very well might have, if the stray petals tangled in her hair were anything to go by. Cherry blossoms, Lorelei noted absently. Spring had come early this year, but a damp cold lingered like a fever that wouldn’t break.

“You’re late.”

Sylvia had the good sense to wince, but she continued tuning her guitar. “I am sure Ziegler will understand. You’ve heard about the nixie attack, haven’t you? Someone had to do something about it.”

Lorelei felt her entire body seize with murderous intent. “That doesn’t mean it had to be you, you arrogant fool.”

Sylvia reeled back, affronted. “Excuse me? Arrogant?”

Lorelei glanced pointedly at the crowds behind them—­at the hundreds of eyes trained on Sylvia. Lorelei could nearly taste their hunger in the air. Whether they truly wanted to see Sylvia work her strange magic or to watch her blood run into the water, Lorelei did not know. She supposed it didn’t matter. Either way, they’d have gotten what they came for.

“Insatiable, then.” She sneered. “You’ll have a legion of well-­wishers to fend off in a matter of hours, and yet you’re starved for attention.”

Bitterness crept unbidden into her voice. Six months ago, Ziegler promised to name one of her students the co-­leader of the Ruhigburg Expedition, and tonight, she would finally announce her selection at the send-­off ball. Lorelei had never harbored any expectation that she’d be chosen. At twenty-­five years old, Sylvia was one of the most famous and beloved naturalists in the country. And Lorelei was no one, a cobbler’s daughter plucked from the Yevanverte.

Even so, she dreamed.

With that kind of renown, any publisher would leap at the opportunity to print her research. Even better, it would force the king to acknowledge her. Past rulers had only kept Yevani in their court as bankers and financiers, but King Wilhelm surrounded himself with artists and scholars. Lorelei was not beautiful enough to whisper her heart’s desires into the king’s ear and believe he would listen. There was no charm she had, no power she possessed to make her persecutors throw themselves at her feet. All she had was her mind. If she co-­led the expedition he’d commissioned, she’d have the sway to ask him to appoint her a shutzyeva: a Yeva under the direct protection of the king.

She’d learned to survive the viper pit of Ruhigburg University by becoming the worst of them. But outside the university, her reputation meant nothing. As a shutzyeva, she would be granted the full rights of a citizen. She could exist, unbothered and untouchable, outside the walls of the Yevanverte. With a direct line to the king, she could advocate for her people. But her most secret, selfish desire was simple. As a citizen, she could purchase a passport, her ticket to a world she’d only ever read about. It was all she’d ever wanted, the only thing she’d ever allowed herself to want: the freedom to be a real naturalist.

Wilhelm had not appointed any shutzyevan during his brief reign. But it was an exceedingly rare honor—­one she was certain she could earn.

“I am not doing this for attention.” Sylvia looked flustered. “I’m doing this for—­”

“What you’re doing is wasting everyone’s time,” Lorelei said brusquely. She had endured far too many speeches about noblesse oblige over the years to let Sylvia continue uninterrupted. “Mine, Ziegler’s—­and His Majesty’s, for that matter. You’ve spent far too long playing knight-­errant with your own research. It’s high time you took your responsibility to the expedition seriously.”

Sylvia’s face flushed, and her pale eyes filled with fire. It made Lorelei’s blood quicken with anticipation and her mouth go dry. “Accuse me of neglecting my duties to Wilhelm again, and I will pitch you into the Vereist.”