CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Norhavn unfolded before us like something from a dream, almost too beautiful to trust. The town pressed close to the shore, where the rocky coast softened into gold-streaked beaches.
Wooden marinas stretched out over the water, sun-bleached and worn smooth by salt and time.
Boats rocked gently in the harbor, their sails drawn in tight, the sea breathing beneath them.
The air smelled of brine and warm cedar, and gulls cried overhead as a breeze rolled in off the water, tugging at my hair.
Faded pastel villas clung to the hillside, their shutters thrown open to the wind. Flowers spilled from everywhere, narrow streets twisted up from the docks, winding past spice shops, silversmiths and bakeries.
At the center of it all stood The Grand Spa, a wide timber building wrapped in shaded verandas.
People wandered its terraces in linen robes, skin gleaming with sweat.
It was a place built for indulgence. The sea glittered in the sun, and everything around it seemed to glow with it.
I stood at the edge of it all, and caught myself imagining a life there.
In one of those cliffside homes, with a garden full of herbs and flower beds.
Bread in the oven. Salt drying on my skin after swimming in the ocean.
A simple life. A quiet one. But Norhavn wasn’t what it seemed, I’d learned by then that most things aren’t.
It took us a day to find the gentlemen’s club.
It took us longer to get in. It was a members-only establishment, and the only way through the doors was by invitation, someone already inside had to vouch for you.
Which meant we had to play the part. Swim in the glittering ocean beneath blue skies.
Wander through farmers markets and expensive jewelry shops.
Relax at the spa. Get massages. It might sound like a good time, but I hated every second of it.
Every moment we failed to get in was another moment Licia was still trapped in Hel.
And I was supposed to act like I didn’t care.
I wasn’t good at pretending. I never got close to any of our targets—I think they found me strange. Thankfully, the others had better luck. And after a few days of trying, Aran and Will came back with an invitation.
It was cryptic. A small card, signed off by the man they’d conned.
Personal invitation. No women allowed.
I remember staring at those words. Wondering how a brothel could possibly have a no women allowed policy. And then I understood. The girls inside weren’t women to them, they were products. Entertainment. And the sign wasn’t a rule; it was a warning not to bring anyone they might care about.
No wives. No daughters. No one who matters. Because no one cares about the whores.
While the boys disappeared to the club that night, Kalani and I stayed behind.
We spent the evening at a restaurant by the water, where a quiet inlet of the sea stretched dark and endless beneath the moonlight.
Lanterns hung above the terrace, casting soft golden light over the tables and the air smelled like grilled fish and crushed herbs.
I’d never liked seafood much, but in a town built against the coast, it was all they had on the menu.
It seemed strange that a place called Hel could exist in a town like that. Beautiful. Idyllic. Peaceful. But that was the way of Alevé. They buried their secrets, then planted roses and orchids on top.
Around us, the women of Norhavn gathered, glittering and soft. They sipped their wine delicately, their laughter weaving in and out, almost harmonizing with each other. I was turning my glass between my fingers when a woman leaned toward me. Ilaria.
She was beautiful in the way some women are when they’ve never had to be anything else. Untouched by pain or grief. Her skin was polished, her lips the same blush as her rosé, and her gaze flicked between me and Kalani.
“Where are your husbands tonight, girls?” she asked, her voice sickly sweet.
My hand tensed around the stem of my glass.
“They went to that place down by the water,” I told her. “The gentlemen’s club.”
The shift was immediate.Laughter faded, not all at once, but like a candle snuffed out mid-sentence. Wine glasses paused mid-air, and eyes flicked between faces. A beat too long passed in silence before Ilaria’s lips curled into a brittle little smile, the edge of it sharp.
“Oh, my poor dears.” She murmured.
Something cold slid down my spine, and studied her more closely. Wondered if she knew.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
Another woman leaned in, Eda. She looked young, maybe just a few years older than me, with long blonde curls and a soft, rounded face. She wore a pale yellow sundress and diamond studs that probably cost more than everything I’d ever owned.
Her voice was gentle, almost apologetic. “It might seem harmless,” she said, offering a careful smile, “but that place isn’t what it seems.” She looked down into her wine and swirled it once. “We all know what really happens behind those doors.”
They. All. Knew?
Ilaria sighed and pressed two fingers to her temple.
“My husband came home last month reeking of roses and brandy,” she snarled. “And he had the nerve to show up with a hickey on his neck. A hickey. Like some drunken schoolboy. How dare he make a fool of me.”
She drained her glass in one long pull.
The third woman, Isleen, leaned back, one manicured hand spread over her chest like the entire conversation was too scandalous for her. She wore a sheer rose-colored shawl and coral lipstick that had settled in the fine lines around her mouth.
“My Josha came home last week with a stack of silvers,” she said lightly. “Enough to buy us another cabin down south.”
Another cabin. Those women were richer than I could have imagined. Isleen let out a dainty laugh, like the money made it all okay. Like the rest didn’t matter.
“He doesn’t cheat. He’d never.”
Kalani exhaled beside me, a soft sound. “I trust my husband,” she retorted. And maybe it was the wine, or maybe I was just tired, but for a second, I forgot she meant Aran. Her fake husband. Because we didn’t have husbands. Or cabins down south. We didn’t even have homes.
Ilaria snorted and refilled her glass herself. She didn’t even wait for the server.
“It’s full of whores, that place. Men go there for nothing but vile things.”
My grip tightened around my glass. I didn’t let myself flinch, didn’t let them see. But inside, it felt like a knife, twisting.
Whores. That’s what they thought girls like Licia were. Girls like Kalani.
If only they knew. If they understood what had been done to them, what had been taken.
But they didn’t. They never would. To them, those girls were nothing more than background noise in their husbands’ affairs. Just flesh, to be bought and forgotten. Not daughters. Not friends. Not survivors.
Ilaria just sneered, drained her glass, and poured herself another.
“Foolish girls,” she muttered.
It fucking hurt. I think we both felt it, because Kalani and I got drunk that night.
Stupid drunk.
The kind that hits fast, where the edges of the world blur and everything feels euphoric. Blissful. The kind that makes your cheeks burn and your legs go weak and your mouth say things it shouldn’t.
We left the restaurant giggling, shoes in hand, stumbling barefoot down the beach toward our hotel.
The place we’d been living the past couple of days.
It was a wonder we found our way, remembered where it was, as the sea stretched out beside us, black and endless.
Our skirts clung to our legs from the breeze, and the sand was cold and wet beneath our feet.
“Ow—ow—fucking rocks.” Kalani whined, clutching my arm and limping dramatically as she tried to avoid stepping on sharp stones.
“It’s a beach,” I laughed. “There’s gonna be rocks.”
“It’s so beautiful,” Kalani said, changing the topic entirely. I followed her gaze, to the waves that moved like they were breathing.
“Do you think I could, like, breathe underwater?” she asked. “Like a fish, or a mermaid. Or would I just… disappear?”
My brows drew together. “What?”
“I would be nice, don’t you think? Living beneath the waves,” she said, stepping toward the shoreline. The water lapped at her toes.
“Hey.” I caught her wrist, gentle but firm. “That’s stupid. You’re not a mermaid.”
She smiled, but it was soft and faraway, like she hadn’t heard me at all. Her gaze stayed fixed on the sea, then her eyes turned glassy.
“Do you think they’ll find Licia?”
My chest pulled tight. The wind suddenly felt colder.
“I hope so,” I said.
“I don’t,” she breathed. She didn’t look at me. Just stared out at the dark water, her hair blowing across her face. Then, suddenly, she blinked, like waking from a dream and turned, eyes wide.
“Oh my gods. Kera. Look. It’s a cat.”
“What?”
She took off running down the beach after a little shadow darting between the rocks.
“WAIT!” she yelled, her arms flailing. I stood there for a second, stunned, then burst out laughing.
“Kalani!” I shouted. I could barely keep up with the whiplash of the conversation, and now she was literally running away from me.
“Come back!” she yelled. “I just want to be friends! I’ll name you Sand! Or Salt. Or… Salty! SALTY, COME BACK!”
She tripped, fell to her knees, and stayed there, wheezing with laughter. When I finally caught up, she was lying flat on her back in the sand, arms out, grinning at the stars.
“I don’t think Salty likes you,” I said.
“Oh, shut up,” she groaned.
I helped her up. She brushed sand off her dress and blinked at me.
“Kera… do you ever think… like what if this is all a dream?”
“I’d be pissed. This dream sucks.”
By the time we made it back to the hotel, we were both breathless and flushed. We fumbled our way up the stairs, gripping the railing too tightly, holding back giggles that kept bubbling up anyway.
“Shh,“ she whispered, even though she was the one who couldn’t stop talking.