I dipped my finger in the water and brought it to my lips. Sure enough, it was salty as the waves.

  “Now what will you do?” The innkeeper hovered at my elbow.

  “Give me a moment’s quiet,” I snapped.

  “And room,” Ursula added, imposing herself between him and me.

  Indeed, I was not sure what I could do, but this was no time to show it. Hands suspended above the surface, I prayed in silence, casting my mind back to the sublime moment when the unicorn’s horn of light had seemed to pierce my tainted soul. That same horn, all authorities agreed, has the virtue to purify water. I knew now how it felt to be that water. But was something of the horn still in me?

  I immersed my hands. The water frothed like a boiling pot, yet my hands felt cool. I brought them out coated in salt. “Bring me a dipper and I’ll taste it,” I said. I was about to suggest that they bring a pot to keep the salt, when something crashed into my mind like the wave that had drenched me and Ursula—except this wave was of anger, terror, cold despair. I saw bees swarming over a laborer who blundered into their nest. I saw my grandmother cursing her third husband till his leg withered. I saw my cousins Valdere and Laurent pounding each other’s faces, fighting over a woman who wanted neither of them. Senses reeling, I lowered myself onto the beer-stained floor before I could swoon like a lover in a ballad.

  “Isabeau, what’s the matter?” Ursula supported me with an arm at my back. “Have some water. It’s clear; I tasted it.”

  I drank from the proffered dipper and leaned my head against her till the room stopped spinning. “It seems I can purify water,” I said, “but not without cost.”

  “Then you’ll stay here without cost,” said Loïsette. She brought us a loaf of bread and a hard-cooked egg each, while the innkeeper poured us cups of ale.

  I pushed my cup toward Ursula; I was unsteady enough without it. Ursula can drink like a lord and still keep her head, except where troubadours are involved.

  “What happened to you, Isabeau?” she asked quietly.

  “I—I was lost in memories.”

  “What memories?”

  “Nothing important,” I lied. They were nothing I wanted to talk about, anyway. “This is good bread.”

  Loïsette brightened. “There’ll be soup later, but if you’re hungry from your work, I can bring you cheese.”

  “I’d love some. And afterward, I might have a go at the well.”

  “Are you sure?” Ursula said. “That bucketful of water took a lot out of you.”

  “Says the woman who fought from sun-up to sundown to rescue a horse. I know my strength as well as you do, Ursula.”

  “All right, all right,” Ursula said. “You’d better have the bigger share of the loaf, then.” She pushed it my way, not without regret; it really was good bread, and Ursula has the appetite of a warhorse. Sharp-eyed Loïsette brought us another loaf with the cheese.

  “An enchantress and a lady knight,” Loïsette marveled. “It’s been a rare season for travelers, but you two may be the strangest I’ve seen.”

  “Why is it such a rare season for travelers?” I asked.

  “It’s not so much how many arrive; it’s how few of them leave,” the innkeeper said.

  A weather-beaten guest in the tar-stained smock of a sailor spoke up. “Can we help it? The tides are out of step. The storms offshore are like none I’ve ever seen. Six times we’ve tried to set sail with our cargo, and six times the sea has driven us back.”

  Another man in the same attire added, “Our captain leapt overboard chasing a dream.”

  Loïsette said, “Even the fishermen scarcely dare put out to sea. The price of fish has gone so high, if it weren’t for the oysters in the shallows, it’d be nothing but porridge and bread every night.”

  “The ocean’s at war with the land,” the troubadour said, fingering his lute as if contemplating the song he’d make of it.

  “That’s just poetry,” scoffed a young man in black clerical robes. “It’s a bad year for storms; no need to spin tales about it.”

  Ursula spoke then. “I saw a hand in the waves that tried to snatch my shield away.”

  The cleric laughed, but the innkeeper said, “A few others have seen riders from the sea on the crests of waves, cold-eyed and fierce, bearing weapons of war.”

  “I saw one,” said a sailor, “just before our ship scuttled on the rocks.”

  “If there’s a war for your town’s survival,” Ursula said, “I’ll be your champion.”

  “You? A dry-foot?” a fisherman scoffed. “Can you even swim?”

  I informed him, “She swam the icy river that guards the Isle of Sorcery. Many a bold man turned back from its death-cold waters, but she reached the other side.”

  “Maybe,” said the fisherman. “But just because you swam a river, don’t assume you know the wiles of the sea.”

  ~o0o~

  The next morning, I got Loïsette to show me the brackish well. Ursula came along, and the whole complement of inn-guests followed us to gape. In its ring of stones, the water lay about seventy cubits below the rim. “I’ll need some sort of pulley and harness so someone can lower me in.”

  “She’s mad,” said one of the inn-guests.

  “Not a bit,” I said. “If I’m to do anything to the water, I must touch it.”

  “Jeannoc the Mason has pulleys and stout ropes,” Loïsette said, and sent a boy to fetch the mason.

  Jeannoc proved a clever artisan with a practical turn of mind, like the men my grandmother hired to build her stargazing tower. How Grandmother would have valued Jeannoc! He quickly devised a trick to adapt his pulleys into a sort of sling-chair that could lower me smoothly into the well. I put Ursula in charge of playing out the rope. With my embroidered gown in Loïsette’s keeping and my shift belted up to the knees, I breathed a silent prayer and began my descent into the well.

  I’d never been in such a closed place before, so the visceral horror of it took me by surprise. It reminded me of magic lessons with Grandmother and my cousin Vivienne, before Grandmother gave up on Vivienne’s weak talent. Being shut in a small chamber with Vivienne’s envy and Grandmother’s dominating power made me shrink smaller; in the same way, I felt myself shrinking in the narrow space of the well. But I forced myself to think clearly: no one was here to harm me. The harness held me securely, with the rope in trusted hands. I had made a promise, and was honor-bound to continue.

  With all the bravado I could muster, I called up, “About two cubits more!” Soon my feet were immersed. “A little lower,” I said. Slowly the rope lengthened, and I reached down till my fingertips touched the water. “You can stop now,” I called. Then I prayed desperately till I felt the light of the unicorn’s horn flow through my whole body.

  The water rushed up around me angrily. In my mind, jealous Vivienne was shaking me; my grandmother, enraged, pointed her wand at me; a warrior with a spear ran at me. Water covered me. I will die here, I thought.

  But the turmoil must have been visible above, for Ursula hauled me upward at great speed, scraping me over the side of the well in her haste. When I dropped exhausted to the ground, she threw down the rope to seize me in her arms and drag me further away. Waves surged out of the well, groped for me, and receded into the earth.

  “It’s too much,” I gasped. “I’m sorry. It’s too much. It was like wrestling the whole ocean.” I brushed salt off my arms, but it was not enough; I felt it caked over my legs, between my toes, and in less mentionable places. And still, I knew, the well was brackish. “The sea has captured that well.”

  “What did I tell you?” said a clear tenor voice—the troubadour from the inn.

  “It’s as you said,” I admitted. “The ocean’s at war with the land. I felt its vast rage and envy. Maybe also fear.”

  “Well, if there’s a war to be fought, you need a knight. I offer my services,” Ursula said.

  “Don’t you think we tried fighting?” one of the sailors said. “How can you fight something that turns to water in your hands?”

  Ursula shrugged and looked at me. I raised an eyebrow, which she may have mistaken for encouragement. “Isabeau and me, we’ll figure something out.”

  ~o0o~

  Ursula armed herself in her plated leather brigantine, sword at her hip, shield on her arm. I girded myself with a purse full of herbs of a hot and dry temperament; to these provisions, Loïsette contributed a little of her kitchen supply of sage, fennel seed, and garlic. Silently, I wondered whether a lone warrior and a green, young enchantress could prevail against this mysterious wrath from the deep.

  From just above the tide line, Ursula called to the ocean, “Whatever quarrel you have with the town of Muresca, you have with me! Either cease harassing them or send your champion to fight me for the peace of this haven.”

  The waves came in and fell back, and for a brief space, it seemed the sea would give no other reply. Then came a wave greater than all the others. I stepped back, but Ursula stood her ground as the crest resolved itself into a grim-faced, green-eyed warrior mounted on a finned steed of blue surf and white spume. His face was white as foam; the greens and browns and reds of seaweed, the white of storm-churned waves, were in the hair that streamed back as he rode. His spear was the spar of a shattered boat, tipped with the monstrous tooth of some dragon of the deep. “I am the king of this cove. Who dares challenge my dominion?”

  “I do!” Ursula couched her lance and spurred Fury toward the waves. Her aim held true, straight at the sea-king’s heart—but he flowed around her, leaving her drenched and alone on the beach as the wave retreated into the sea. “Oh, you’re a slippery character. Afraid to meet me head-on? Come at me, or give up the fight!” She faced the sea-king again; this time, her eyes followed not his weapon but the movement of his watery steed. Her blow fell closer to the mark this time, but once again, her efforts were lost in the shifting waves.

  The king from the sea laughed, a free, wild sound like the sea-birds’ cries. Again he charged; again Ursula watched the movements of his mount. This time, instead of striking, she slipped off Fury’s back, grabbed the sea-king’s bridle, and swung herself up onto the foam-white horse from the sea.

  “Ha! You too are a subtle warrior, fair Ursula,” the sea-king said. “Your wit, your strength, and your beauty exceed all the songs I have heard of you, which echo over the waves from the voices of a thousand troubadours, chanting the praise of the matchless Maiden of Révie.

  “For this I have sought you, moved by love boundless as the ocean. For this I teasingly stole your shield, hoping you would follow it and find me. Only you are worthy: join me as queen of my undersea realm. Together we shall ride the white horses of the waves to the wondrous reefs of undiscovered islands. I shall compose love songs to you, radiant Ursula, on a harp strung with the living heartstrings of the ocean.” His voice was resonant as a wave, tuned like a troubadour’s.

  Oh, no, I thought.

  Ursula ceased trying to wrest him from the saddle, but her arms remained tight around him. “How I’ve longed for you, my love,” she said. The white horse turned back toward the sea, taking Ursula away from me.

  “Saint Ursula, help your namesake!” I cried. If I did not act soon, I’d lose sight of her. A splash of green caught my eye: a clump of the simplest seaweed. I grabbed it, twisted a few of the strands together, and plunged into the waves after my friend and the rider from the sea.

  The seaweed was clear, simple, honest, and utterly at home in the waves: a token of Ursula’s spirit. I fought my way through the water till I could catch Ursula around the throat with the twisted strands of green: “Ursula! Maiden of Révie! Knight of the Unicorn! My friend! Remember yourself.”

  I felt rather than saw her flinch away from her would-be seducer. She floundered a moment, then let me pull her back to shore. We collapsed on the sand, soaked and breathless.

  “Oh, what a fool I was! I thought I’d marry him and be queen of the ocean.” Ursula hid her face in her hands.

  “He cast a glamour on you,” I explained. “Very expertly, I must say.”

  “Is that the sort of magic you learned?”

  “It’s what I was trying to do to you when we first met.”

  “I wasn’t taken in then,” Ursula said. “But now I suppose I’ve been as gullible as my brothers, or any of the men you enchanted.”

  “To cast a glamour successfully, you have to know what a person wants and use it to ensnare them,” I explained. “When I first saw you in your armor, I thought you were a boy seeking glory and girls’ admiration. My glamour missed its mark because you were a girl seeking her brothers.”

  “But what did the sea-king know about me?”

  “He knew you were female, for one thing,” I said. “And assuming he heard our conversation on the beach, he knew you love adventure and troubadours—and the ocean. He made the most of everything we said.”

  “Then we know nothing about him, and he knows everything about us,” Ursula lamented.

  “On the contrary,” I said, “he has now revealed himself. Remember how the sailor told us his captain jumped overboard chasing a dream? The sea people make much use of glamour. But glamour has limits. It only catches the unwary; now that you know to expect it, you cannot be caught again.”

  “Then if we tell the sailors to beware of glamour, they can resist it,” Ursula said. “But what about the storms and the brackish water?”

  “The other thing we need to consider is why the sea-king chose glamour as his weapon,” I pointed out. “I think he knew he couldn’t outfight you.”

  She sprang up and ran to the brink of the waves, calling, “Where have you gone, my handsome king from the sea? You looked for me long, you said. Do you give up so easily?”

  Up he rose out of the sea, tall and splendid, his hair flying in the wind, his eyes full of mystery. “Ursula, Ursula! You fled me first, but will you come with me now?”

  “Yes, love. Yes. As handsome as you are, with your ocean eyes and your strong bare limbs, I could not believe you would choose me; doubt overcame me. But if you come back for me, I will ride with you. Come closer. Closer.” She mounted up behind the sea-king, laced her arms around him—then gripped him in a wrestler’s hold. With knees and heels, she urged the white horse out of the sea, up the sloping sand, away from the water. Ursula had always been a skilled horsewoman, but as I watched her take control of her enemy’s mount, I suspected the unicorn must have bestowed an extra measure of that gift on her.

  Fury, who hates to be left behind, ran after the white horse, nipping at its finny tail. I hastened up the beach to where I’d left Cloudmane, mounted, and rode after them.

  Thundering up the cobblestone road toward town, the sea-foam horse shook brine off its coat, changing from an uncanny chimera of hooves and fins to an earthly horse that seemed more and more eager to leave the sea behind. It cantered into the square, where a crowd gathered to stare and shout at the mist-eyed warrior who struggled in Ursula’s grasp.

  He was weakening. His hair hung in clumps like drying seaweed; his breathing grew harsh and labored. Blood-red slits like the gills of a fish gaped on the side of his throat. He turned his ashen face over his shoulder to beg, “Ursula, please.” But she would not meet his gaze.

  His eyes sought me next. “Isabeau, fair enchantress, you understand me better. Pure and lovely damsel, you stand above the crowd like an embodiment of Wisdom, who is always just and true. Your clear eyes penetrate much that is hidden.”

  I stared him down. “I see well enough, Wizard from the Deeps, well enough to pierce your glamour. You’re no match for my earth-sorcery.” In truth, the reason he could not englamour me was that he had misunderstood me: I wanted neither flattery nor a man. But let him think it was my superior power that safeguarded my heart.

  He buried his face in the horse’s mane, sighing. “Ursula, I beg you, have mercy. I dealt mercifully with you; I didn’t drown you when you were in my power. Don’t parch me here on the dusty land.”

  “Weren’t you trying to drown me?”

  “No! I swear it by the Great Leviathan. Look at the breathing charm I strung round your neck, just like the ones I give to my horses. You would have had breath enough to parley with me in my kingdom and safely bring my terms of truce back to the land-folk.”

  I rode to Ursula’s side so I could examine the loop of seaweed hanging around her neck, the kind with the air bladders. The magic of it did indeed feel like breath; as he had claimed, a similar charm was woven into his horse’s bridle. “It’s true,” I said. “He did protect her with an air-charm.”

  “What about my captain?” shouted a sailor. “He never returned after your people lured him into the sea.”

  “That was different,” said the sea-king. “That was war. Your captain was destroying my people. I have the right—the duty—to defend the Kingdom of Albahr. Even if I die defending it.” With that he crumpled forward as if the utterance had depleted him.

  Ursula caught him before he could fall from horseback. “He’s like a dried husk.” Her eyes sought mine, questioning.

  “Salt water,” I said. “Hurry. Fill a tub from the brackish well and stick him in it.”

  “Why should we?” one of the townsmen cried, and one by one, others chimed in, “Let him die!”

  “Why? Fools! If he dies, others will come after you with more fury,” I railed. “Hear what he has to say. He at least showed mercy to someone.”

  “Maybe we should lower him into the well on Jeannoc’s harness,” Ursula suggested.

  “No. He’d escape,” I said. “His people made their way into that well to make it salty; they can reach into it to free him.”

  Without delay, Loïsette pointed to a couple of the young maids who helped her in the inn. “You and you! Fetch water. Now! I’ll get the tin tub. Hurry!” With her apron flapping and her wooden clogs clacking on the stone paths, she ran back to the inn.

  Between them, they managed to set up the wilting sea-king in a bathtub just big enough for him to sit, sloshing water over his sinewy legs and webbed feet. Relays of townsfolk lowered buckets into the well and poured them over him. He looked undignified and far from comfortable, but a glimmer of life came back into his misty eyes.