“And that I will, my word on it.”

“I get close enough, when she’s softened up some, I pull her into a shift, and when we’re clear, I disconnect. It can work.”

“You’ll be alone,” Annika stated.

“No.” He used her hand to tap his own heart. “Okay, everybody gear up—except for you.” He tipped Annika’s face, kissed her.

They strapped on the equipment Riley and Doyle had carted up from the boathouse—the hard way. And though it still made him wince, he waited while Annika tossed her pink dress aside.

“There may be a little jolt. I’ve never gone from solid ground to underwater.”

“And in 1742,” Riley added.

“Time’s set, just remember it’s a wilder ride than just a location shift. And when”—he deliberately didn’t say if—“Anni has the star, the trip back’s going to be just as wild. Stay close, stay together. The tighter we are, the easier it’ll be. Be ready.”

He put on his mask, adjusted it, slipped in his mouthpiece. With the underwater pistol on one hip, the diving knife in his belt, he took Annika’s hand.

With another look at his friends, Sawyer nodded. Closed his eyes. And activated both compass and watch simultaneously.

It had a kick, bigger than he’d expected. Then again, he’d only traveled simultaneously with one companion before this.

The air whistled, rushing by him, through him, around him as he gripped Annika’s hand, as he kept the connection with the others gripped tight in his mind.

The world turned, or so it seemed, revolving faster, faster, as years whizzed by like the air.

For a moment he thought he heard the song, and the sighs that blended with it. Then water swallowed him, swirled over him, slapped at him.

And dark fell deep.

Night, he thought, and a moonless night at that. Riley hadn’t taken any chances. And he hadn’t considered the lack of light in the cave.

He felt Annika’s hand still in his, and the brush of her tail against his legs. But the others . . .

A light glowed, suspended above Bran’s palm. When Bran waved a hand over it, the glow increased.

Relieved, Sawyer slowed his breathing, tried to orient himself.

Without sun or moon, with no light to reflect, the cave would be dark as a tomb, not that pretty, almost unearthly blue he’d seen in all the pictures.

But he could see Annika smile as she swam around them, as she nudged them all closer together.

And she tapped her ear.

Sawyer started to shake his head, but he did hear it. Faintly, a chorus of sighs, as if the water itself breathed them.

Still smiling, her eyes brilliant and beautiful, she gestured down. With a twist of her body, a liquid swirl of her tail, she swam straight down, and into the dark.

Stunned, he went with instinct, kicked hard after her. But in seconds, even with Bran’s light, he couldn’t see her.

She went deep, and oh, it was heaven to take the depths again. The sighs echoed around her now, and now she understood words hid in them.

We wait. We wait.

And in the songs lived pleas.

Forgive us. Redeem us. Free us. Embrace us.

The deeper she dived, the deeper her eyes. The dark of depths posed no obstacle. She could see the rocks, the statues made by men, and more as she swam, the shapes and shadows of those banished, those who waited, those who pleaded.

With sigh and song.

And she felt them, the brush of fingers as she moved through them. While their sorrows weighed on her, she could only follow the sighs and the faith.

The goddess waited. White in the dark sea, her face lovely and regal, her gown flowing down. She held one hand to her skirts, and the other lifted at her side. But there was nothing in that curved palm.

Help us. See us. Restore us.

I see you, Annika thought. I see you. I hear you.

She laid her hand in the hand of the goddess, looked into those stone eyes. A statue, she thought. And it wasn’t stone and carvings that held the star.

In the water, of the water.

As she said it in her head, all that surrounded her sighed it.

In the water, of the water. As was she.

Annika spread her arms, accepted, embraced. And began to spin.

I am of the water. I am the chosen from my world. I am the guardian. I am the redeemer. I am one who seeks. I am of the water.

She repeated it over and over in her head, spun faster and faster. She felt movement above her—Sawyer, her friends.

Of the water, to bring light to the dark. Redeemer, the Water Star waits. We wait.

I am of the water. The star is of the water. The goddess is of the water. From her hand to my hand.

As she spun, faster, faster, the water brightened, the light began to glow. Soft, soft, blue. Brighter, deeper, bluer.

As she had been born to, she lifted her arms, cupped her hands together. Above them, the water spun, glittered, warmed.

Above them, the star burst bright.

She laughed, pure joy, and around her the sighs filled with tears that echoed the joy.

Arms high, she began to rise, and the songs rang, rejoicing.

He watched her, heart thudding, the image from the portrait, but more brilliant, more stunning. With the star, blazing blue in the vee of her hands.

When she reached them, she seemed to fly, a glorious bird, higher, higher. And then spilling over, came back to them.

Back to him.

She held the star out to him, like an offering.

Gently, Sawyer closed her hands around it.

He slid an arm around her waist, looked to each of his friends. Together, guided by the blue, they surfaced in the cave.