Chapter 8: The Ninety-Nine

Ilsa watched her sister stand in the rain with her slippers ruined.

She felt something she had not expected, which was a small sharp pity.

"Ask Mother about Grandmother," she said.

"Ask her about her aunt too."

"Why?" said Tuva.

"Because I'd like to know too."

Tuva stared at her.

Then she gathered the wet silk of her gown in her fists and walked away down the pier.

She did not look back once.

Oren stood beside Ilsa until the lanterns on the boats went dark one by one.

"Come with me," he said.

"Where?"

"The sea."

He took her hand and led her down the stone stairs at the end of the pier.

The tide was high and black, and he walked into it without slowing.

Water reached his knees, his waist, his chest.

"Oren," she said.

"Trust me."

She did.

The sea closed over her head and did not drown her.

It folded around her face in a soft round pocket of air.

She could see through the dark water as clearly as through glass.

Silver fish turned in the lantern-colored shadows, and tall green weed swayed from the pilings.

Oren swam beside her with his hand locked in hers.

He moved.

He took her under the pier and along the sea wall to a place she had never seen.

A low crack in the rock opened into a cave with a ledge of dry stone.

Warm green light came up from the water.

She climbed onto the ledge, laughing, with her hair streaming.

"You're showing off."

"I am," said Oren.

"It has been a long time since I had anyone to show off to."

He came up out of the water with his shirt clinging to him, and the laughter went out of both of them.

He knelt in front of her and put his hands on her knees.

"I am going to touch you now," he said, low.

"And you are not going to be quiet."

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