A Dark and Drowning Tide

by Allison Saft

Lorelei slipped back into the cabin of the Prinzessin. An obsession. She wanted to scoff at it. But sometimes she believed she had been doomed to misery, like the victim of some fairy-tale curse. It was a devouring sort of sadness, the kind that did not grow lighter when you shared it. She had scrubbed through her life, searching for the root of it. If she spelled it out in black-and-white like one of her stories, perhaps it would all make sense.

“How did you escape, anyway?” “I offered it coffee.” Sylvia fixed her with a very unusual expression. “I don’t recall ever discussing alps with you.” “No?” Heat crept into her cheeks. “I’m certain you must have some time or another. Or perhaps I read it somewhere.” “You must have, although I’m only aware of one book that discusses alps’ weakness for coffee.” A horrible, self-satisfied smile spread across her face. “Lorelei, have you…read my books?” “Of course not,” she snapped. “I have better things to do with my time.” “You have!” Sylvia clapped her hands together. “Oh! I hardly know what to say. Did you like them?” The truth was, Lorelei had read every word Sylvia had ever published. For the first few months of her tenure at Ruhigburg University, Lorelei had not known her name. She only knew her as the white-haired girl who attended every single visiting scholar’s lecture with a clear intent to argue. Her hand shot up constantly—sometimes her entire body, if she felt compelled to argue her point strongly. It was only after a while that someone interrupted her mid-speech and said, That’s enough, Miss von Wolff.

OK HERE WE GO

That was the moment she decided to hate Sylvia von Wolff. Within a year, Sylvia published her first book. Lorelei had devoured it with a vicious hunger—and all the ones that followed. She refused to be uninformed in her hatred. What could she say about her work? Sylvia sailed in every wind and danced in every stream. It was drivel. And yet it enraptured her. Her tales were charming, and they detailed every adventure Lorelei had yearned to have. Her exuberant, heartfelt sincerity was enough to win over even those most suspicious of her. It only made Lorelei’s resentment burn brighter.

Lorelei’s mouth suddenly felt quite dry. She fumbled to remove her gloves, but they caught on her skin, damp with river water and sweat. Despite the draft stealing in through the window, it had gotten terribly hot in here, and it was making her irritable. She splashed her face with water from the washbasin. As quickly as she could, she changed into a sleeping shirt and slid into bed. The covers were thin and scratchy, and they made her painfully aware of every inch of her skin. For a few moments, she lay stiff beneath the linens with her eyes trained on the ceiling. Footsteps padded lightly against the floorboards. There was a shush of breath, followed by a flood of darkness as the candle went out. The creak of springs as Sylvia climbed into bed. Lorelei lay awake, listening to the wild thrum of her own heart, to the slide of sheets over skin. She’d found Sylvia napping in sunny spots in the library and on campus so many times, she knew the exact cadence of her breath as she slept. She listened for it now, the moment she would surrender. Neither of them slept for several hours.

had come before. As Ludwig forged ahead, Sylvia settled herself in a sunny patch of grass. The thin light played in the waves of her hair and illuminated the broad planes of her face. Even the scar on her cheek gleamed like ice. It was unfair, Lorelei thought miserably, that someone could be so effortlessly beautiful. “You are still in a fine mood, I see.” Lorelei nearly let out an undignified sound of surprise. Sylvia had bitten into one of her pastries, and powdered sugar smudged the tip of her nose. Lorelei focused, perhaps too intently, on the one imperfection she could find in her. After a moment, Sylvia self-consciously ran her thumb along the corner of her mouth, brushing away an invisible crumb. That did not help matters.

Perhaps that last part was uncharitable. Still, her point stood. Humble, Sylvia von Wolff was not. But saintly? In that moment last night—gilded by firelight as she said, Stay close to me—Lorelei might have believed it. No, no, no. Her intervention was nothing more than that hero complex of hers at work again. At any rate, it was far easier to be annoyed with her than to even touch this knot of emotion that had taken up residence inside Lorelei’s chest.

“Allow me,” said Lorelei. Sylvia clutched the comb to her chest as if Lorelei had just asked her to hand over her firstborn. “Why?” “Because this is unspeakably painful to witness. I’m not entirely heartless.” Sylvia reluctantly placed the comb in her outstretched hand. Lorelei knelt behind her, lifted the weight of Sylvia’s hair, and let it fall down her back in a wild spill. It was mercifully still damp; Lorelei did not want to imagine the nightmare of wrestling a comb through it dry. She began to work through the knots from bottom to top. Nothing but the sound of their rasping breaths and metal catching in Sylvia’s hair filled the heavy silence between them. Warmth radiated gently from Sylvia’s back, and her pulse thrummed in the arch of her pale throat. It was exquisite torture. Lorelei had never touched her hair—never but in her dreams—and she’d so desperately wanted to. It was as luxurious as she’d envisioned. With every stroke of the comb, she swore she smelled rose water.

“Fascinating.” She could muster only a half-hearted attempt at derision. “Would you like to share your favorite color as well?” “Must you ruin everything?” Sylvia said crossly, although there was little venom in it. “If you must know, it’s—” “Amethyst. I know.” Sylvia blinked at her. “Oh.” What has come over me? It wasn’t as though there was any reason she’d ferreted away what colors Sylvia favored and which flattered her best. It was impossible not to notice her. She tore through the world like a streak of white lightning.

“Get that smug look off your face,” Lorelei snapped. Fortunately, all it took to eradicate any tender sentiments was spending five minutes in Sylvia’s presence. “I bow down to your power of perception. Besides, I could use your help. You have insight and skills that I don’t.” “Please stop complimenting me. It’s flustering me.” “I shall restrain myself going forward.” Lorelei procured a notebook from Sylvia’s bag and flipped it open to a blank page. No small feat, given half the pages were filled with what seemed to be poetry. Her eyes skirted over a few lines about piercing gazes and capacious black cloaks before she decided she really did not want to know.

Lorelei could tell there was a specific someone behind that anyway. A dark, bilious feeling came over her, and she was immediately disgusted with herself. It shouldn’t matter to her that Sylvia had feelings for someone. Why should anything that Sylvia did matter to her? But right now, in the too-close heat inside the tent, it felt terribly urgent. It felt like it would consume her entirely. My God, she thought with a slow-dawning horror. She was jealous. “Of course,” she said. “No one is good enough for you.”

Lorelei wasn’t entirely convinced she hadn’t dreamed it. But the evidence of it was laid out before her. It was more than that damnable braid. It was the way she found herself strangely…empty. No, not empty, exactly. Some fire within her had certainly gone out, but a new one kindled at the center of her chest, warm and insistent and soft. It was horrible.

Sylvia guided the mara toward Lorelei. When it stood before her, Lorelei stared up at Sylvia with dumbstruck awe. The pale light of the sun haloed her. She was utterly resplendent. She looked like an angel, or perhaps a fairy-tale knight. Neither option was good. As calmly as she could manage, she said, “That is very dangerous.” “I know.” She extended a hand to Lorelei, the picture of gentlewomanly grace. “I’ll keep you safe.” Lorelei’s heart thudded too fast in her chest. For the first time in five years, Sylvia had said something that shocked her beyond words, beyond derision. She didn’t think she’d ever heard those words before in all her life. I’ve clearly lost my senses. Lorelei allowed herself to be

Lorelei raised the waterskin to her lips. She drank as if Lorelei would snatch it away from her at any moment. When she drew back, struggling to catch a breath, a rivulet of water ran down the line of her jaw. Lorelei wanted to dab it away with her handkerchief. She wanted to tend to her wounds, to work the knots from her hair and braid it as she once had on that Albisch mountaintop. She wanted to kiss her again, tenderly first, then with all the hunger she had not yet burned out of herself. She wanted and wanted and wanted, so much and so deeply she feared her greed was boundless when it came to Sylvia von Wolff. And yet, she had ensured she would never have her again. Sometimes, she despised herself. Most of the time, really.

“Live,” she repeated. “I’m not sure I know how anymore.” “For now, just breathe.” Sylvia slid her palms up to cradle her jaw. “Focus on me. Stay with me.” I have for years, she might have said. How could she not?

“Despite everything that has happened, you have made me believe there is beauty to be found. Your infectious joy, your whimsy, your complete and utter lack of self-preservation…You are everything I am not and everything I admire. The thought that I might have you terrified me—the thought I might ruin you even more,” she confessed. “There is absolutely nothing I can offer you, save my devotion. But if you will have me, I…” This was complete and utter foolishness. Here they were, stranded, both of them wounded and disgraced. They were dead women walking. But if not now, when could she possibly tell her? “I am yours,” she concluded.

Her tone was light, almost teasing. Lorelei couldn’t make sense of it. All those letters were for her? She’d never bothered to check. Why would she, considering they’d arrived at her office and not her flat? God. She had been passing those letters along to Wilhelm for months. Why had he not said anything? Knowing Sylvia, they probably contained all manner of…of florid declarations and God knew what else. Now that she thought about it, he had occasionally looked at her with a mysterious little smile on his face or—more inexplicably—recited poetry of uncertain provenance and asked her opinion. Poetry! She wanted to lie down and die.