“Sera, please! I’m sorry! Don’t do this…please!” Sophia shrieked.
Sera forced herself to watch as the guards dragged her friend away. She forced herself to look at the tears in Coco’s eyes. Only cowards turned away from the hard things.
It was quiet in the cave afterward. Sera was the first to break the silence.
“Leave me,” she said.
One by one, her friends filed out. Coco, wide-eyed and trembling, was the first to go. Ling was the last. She swam up to Sera on her way and handed her the puzzle ball.
“Put it away with the others,” Ling said quietly. “Keep it safe. We may need it again.”
Sera held the talisman up and peered through the holes—now perfectly aligned—and into the sphere’s center. There was no arrow, no words. Just a tiny, beautiful carving of a phoenix.
Sera lowered the talisman and looked at Ling, full of admiration for her cleverness. “You made it all up,” she said.
Ling nodded. “Sophia was in a lot of pain, and that pain needed to speak.”
“When did you realize it was her?”
“I didn’t. I thought it might be Becca, as you know. After you made sure it wasn’t, I knew I had to take a gamble. In two weeks, our troops will learn that we’re going to the Southern Sea, not Cerulea. I needed to catch the spy before that happened. If I didn’t, I knew he—or she, as it turned out—would tell Vallerio about your bluff.”
“So you claimed that you’d solved the puzzle,” said Sera.
Ling nodded. “All I knew for certain was that the spy was someone close to you. So I got the inner circle together, and said that the Arrow of Judgment was working. I hoped that would be enough to scare the spy into confessing. And it was.”
“You broke through another silence, Ling. A very dangerous one. Thank you. You saved many lives.”
“And condemned one.”
Ling rested her head against Sera’s, and Sera took comfort knowing that someone else shared her burden. A moment later, Ling squeezed Sera’s arm, then left.
Sera swam to the niche in the cave’s wall where the talismans were kept and stowed the puzzle ball safely away.
Sera had done the right thing; she knew she had—even if it was also a hard thing.
Squaring her shoulders, she started for the cave’s opening, determined to get some work done. What had just happened was horrible, but it was time to move on. A regina could not afford to be idle, not when there was a battle to plan.
Sera took a stroke toward the cave’s doorway, and then another, and then she sat down in the silt, covered her face with her hands, and wept.
ASTRID WAS GONE, lost in the music. Her head was tilted back, her eyes were closed, her arms outstretched. She was songcasting.
Water, hear this binding spell,
And from the inky depths upwell.
Currents strong and vast and deep,
Over banks and shores now leap.
As she sang, water swirled together into a column in the center of the conservatory, directly under the amethyst dome. Her voice rose, full and strong, as she finished the spell.
Tides and waves, hear my command,
Burst your boundaries, flood the land.
Water clear and water blue,
Rise up now, and split in two!
The pillar of water shot upward and parted, curving away from the dome in two graceful, flowing arcs. Astrid held the notes and opened her eyes, watching the water fountain down to the floor, feeling proud, happy, and powerful.
She’d had a fleeting taste of power when Orfeo had allowed her to hold the black pearl, and that taste had sparked a desire for more. She thought of little else now other than how to obtain it.
Her throat was healed, and her voice was growing stronger. She practiced for hours a day, every day, to build it up.
Late at night, she would flop into her bed, exhausted, and fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. When the first rays of the sun slanted through the waters into her window, she would rise and hurry back to the conservatory, her newfound craving driving her to learn more, to excel.
There were moments, as she drifted off to sleep, when a voice deep inside her reminded her of her quest.
When will you take the black pearl? Your friends are waiting.
“I’m not ready,” she would whisper. “I need to learn more spells. I need to become stronger. How else can I defeat Orfeo?” If that didn’t quiet the voice, she would softly songcast, swirling the water around in her room, or making the anemones in her bed glow. She couldn’t hear anything else when she was making magic.
As she was doing now.
Fall back to the banks,
Fall back from the shore,
Radiant water, surge forward no more.
Calm and untroubled, I ask you to be,
Return to your depths now, from river or sea.
As the last notes of songspell faded, Astrid heard applause coming from the doorway. She turned around, smiling.
It was Orfeo, leaning against the doorjamb. He’d been listening.
“Magnificent!” he said, walking in. “Even better than yesterday. You’re making astonishing progress.”
Astrid blushed, self-conscious, but pleased, too. Her own father had never praised her so lavishly, even when she was younger and had her singing voice. She had been starved of approval for most of her life and now found that she hungered for Orfeo’s.
It unsettled her, to look to him for praise. He was treacherous and cruel, wasn’t he? Not the sort she should be looking to for encouragement. But she reassured herself that there was no harm in it—not if she intended to turn all that she was learning against him. Which she was. In a few days. A few weeks, at most.
“Thank you,” she said shyly. “But it’s the songspell, not me. It’s amazing. It’s from the River Nile and super old.”
Orfeo nodded. “I knew the songcaster who created it: Anuket, goddess of the Nile.”
“Seriously?” Astrid said. It was amazing to her that Orfeo had known a river goddess.
“Seriously,” Orfeo said, smiling. “Anuket used that spell to push the Nile over its banks. The rich silt left behind by the floods made the land fertile, and the Egyptians prosperous. The spell’s a good one to have in your repertoire.”
“I’ll do it again,” Astrid said. “I didn’t sustain that high C in the fifth measure. Watch me, Orfeo. Listen. Tell me if I get it right.”
Orfeo’s smile broadened into a laugh, one full of pleasure and pride. “I will watch you, child, but tomorrow, perhaps. I interrupted you because I have something to give you—something very important. It will further the progress you’re making.”
“You’ve already given me the greatest gift ever: my voice,” Astrid said. “I don’t need anything else.”
“You need an instructor,” Orfeo countered. “You’re teaching yourself songspells, and that’s wonderful, but many of them are meant to be sung only by experienced songcasters. I’m afraid you’ll damage your voice. You need to work on technique and range, and I’ve just the person to help you do it.”
He snapped his fingers and two servants walked through the doorway, escorting a mermaid between them. Astrid had never met her, yet she knew who she was. Every mermaid and merman alive knew who she was.
Thalassa, the legendary canta magus.
THALASSA REGARDED ASTRID, then laughed bitterly.
“The late admiral’s daughter, no?” she said, turning to Orfeo. “And your descendant. She must be; she looks exactly like you. She’s the reason I’m here, isn’t she? The reason you’ve kept me alive all this time.”
“That’s correct, Magistra,” Orfeo replied. “She’s Astrid Kolfinnsdottir, and she will be the greatest student you’ve ever taught.”
“We’ll see about that,” Thalassa said with a sniff. Her voice was dismissive, but her eyes were locked on Astrid.
Astrid’s eyes were locked on her, too. As the shock of seeing someone who was supposed to be dead reced
ed, Astrid remembered how Thalassa had insisted on offering her own life to save Sera’s.
Sera had told her the story. She, Neela, and Thalassa had been captured by Traho, and Traho, in the course of interrogating Thalassa, had cut off one of her thumbs. The Praedatori had managed to rescue the three of them, but as they were heading to the safety of the duca’s palace, Traho and his soldiers had caught up with them—undoubtedly on Orfeo’s orders. Thalassa had battled the death riders, allowing Sera and the others to escape. Sera was certain they’d killed her.
Though she was gaunt, gray-faced, and dressed in the remnants of a once-fine gown, Thalassa’s bearing was proud, her voice imperious. Astrid thought she was more regal in her silt-stained tatters than most mermaids were in silks and jewels.
Orfeo watched Thalassa closely. “Ah, Magistra, your curiosity is piqued,” he said. “It appeals to you, doesn’t it? The thought of instructing a talent so great, it’s second only to my own.”
He swam to her, unlocked her manacles, and handed them to a servant. As the canta magus massaged her raw, red wrists, another servant swam into the conservatory, gripping a very small, very scared mermaid by the arm. She couldn’t have been more than seven years old. He shoved her roughly into a chair.
“A small reminder for you to do your best, Thalassa,” Orfeo said. “Your very best. Anything less”—he nodded at the child—“and she pays the price.”
The child’s eyes widened, a whimper escaped her.
“Oh, I’ll do my best, Orfeo,” Thalassa hissed. “Touch one hair on that child’s head and I’ll do my best to destroy this godsforsaken palace and everyone in it.”
This is who he is, Astrid thought, unable to look away from the frightened child. He’s vicious and cruel, and he’ll stop at nothing to get what he wants.
Yes, that’s who he is, said the voice inside her. But who are you, Astrid? His creature now, or your own?
Thalassa turned her back on Orfeo and circled Astrid, her eyes shrewd and appraising. A second later, a tiny bubble popped in Astrid’s ear. As it did, she heard Thalassa’s voice whispering to her. “You are the last hope of all the waters in the world, child, and of every living thing in them. Remember that.”
Aloud, Thalassa said, “I heard you working on an old Egyptian songspell as I was coming down the hallway. Your voice is very good. It has the potential to be excellent, but you must learn nuance and expression. We shall start with the breath. It’s all wrong.”
Astrid tore her eyes away from the child and regarded Thalassa. “I’m breathing wrong?” she said skeptically.
“Entirely,” Thalassa replied. She turned her head and gave Orfeo a withering look. “You’re excused. Have tea brought,” she said to him, as if he were nothing more than a kitchen boy.
Then she placed a hand on Astrid’s chest. “Right now, your breath is here.” She tapped the top of her rib cage. “Good songcasters breathe from here,” she added, patting Astrid’s belly.
Orfeo chuckled. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist,” he said. “You love a good voice even more than you hate me.”
Then he left the conservatory, barking at his servants to fetch the magistra tea.
Astrid watched him go. Thalassa was talking to her, but she barely heard the canta magus.
It was the other voice she heard, the one deep inside, whose words were echoing in her head.
Who are you, Astrid?
Who are you?
“HOLD STILL, WILL YOU?” Neela mumbled crossly through a mouthful of pins.
“Aren’t you done yet?” Sera asked, huffing with impatience. “It’s only a uniform.”
She’d been floating in the same place for over an hour now in the headquarters cave, while Neela fitted a new jacket and a long, flowing skirt on her, endlessly nipping, tucking, and pinning the fabric.
Neela took the pins out of her mouth. “It’s not only a uniform; it’s your uniform. Need I remind you that you’re the leader of the Black Fin resistance, and that you need to inspire twenty thousand troops tomorrow morning? It would help if you didn’t look like a skavvener.”
Desiderio, seated at the big stone table cleaning his crossbow, snorted with laughter.
Sera scowled, not at all happy to be compared to the ragged, bony sea elves.
“Thanks a lot, Neels,” she said. “I didn’t realize I did look like a skavvener.”
“You’ve been wearing a borrowed jacket ever since your own disappeared. The cuffs are frayed. The collar, too.” She swam back a few strokes. “Turn, please,” she said.
Sera did as she was told.
Hands on her hips, Neela appraised her work, then gave a nod. “Totally invincible. If I do say so myself.”
“Done?” Sera asked.
“Done,” Neela said, helping her out of the garments.
“I can’t believe it’s tomorrow,” Sera said, putting the borrowed jacket back on over her tunic. “We’re heading for the Southern Sea tomorrow.”
The soldiers had all been provided with uniforms and weapons. Wagons carrying ammunition, food, and medicine had been packed. The refugees who were too young, too old, or too frail to fight would stay safely behind. The forge was silent now. Those who could sleep were doing so. Those who couldn’t were gathered around waterfires, cleaning weapons or polishing helmets.
Tomorrow morning, Sera would tell them the truth—that they were going to the Southern Sea, not Cerulea, and why. It was finally happening. She was heading off to fulfill the quest Vrăja had given her. She was about to launch the endgame in her bid to destroy Abbadon.
Sera thought back to the days before the river witch had come to her in her dreams, before her uncle had attacked Cerulea, before her world had been torn apart. It seemed as if a thousand years had passed since then. She was a different person now. Older. Wiser. Harder.
A hundred worries ran through her head now. A hundred details. A hundred questions.
“Are you sure we have enough bandages?” she asked.
“Becca packed an entire wagonful,” Neela replied.
“Tents?”
“Loaded and ready to go,” said Des.
Her deeper worries were written on her face. Des saw them. He stopped cleaning his weapon and said, “What’s really bothering you?”
“Mahdi,” Sera admitted. He was still in Cerulea, still in the palace.
“We’re pulling him out soon,” Des said. “He’ll be safe and sound, and waiting for us at the Straits of Gibraltar, just as we planned.”
Sera nodded and tried to smile, but her gestures didn’t convince her brother.
“What else?” he asked.
“Ava,” Sera said. “Astrid.”
“We would have heard something if Ava had been captured,” Neela assured her. “Vallerio’s thugs would have brought her back to Cerulea. Mahdi would’ve found out and gotten word to us.”
“What if something else happened?” Sera said anxiously. “What if the Okwa Naholo got her? What if she’s…she’s—”
“Dead?” Neela finished. “We’d know. We’re bloodbound. We’d feel it. Same goes for Astrid.”
“You’re right,” Sera said, her worst fears allayed. For now.
“Why don’t you get some sleep?” Neela suggested.
“Good idea,” Sera said. “But what about you?”
“I’ll come in a bit. I’ve still got a little sewing to do.”
Sera swam to her friend and kissed her good night. “Thank you, by the way,” she said. “I love my new uniform. I really do.” She smiled mischievously and said, “You can give my old one to the skavveners.”
“Even they wouldn’t touch it,” Neela said.
“I’ll swim you to the barracks, Sera,” Desiderio said. “I need some shut-eye myself.” He put his cleaning materials back into their seagrass pouch and hoisted his weapon. “Let’s go,” he said.
Brother and sister swam side by side through the camp, just the two of them. With the spy finally caught, Sera had dismissed
her bodyguards. She hated being followed around, and she felt they’d be far more useful by helping with preparations for the journey to the Southern Sea.
“I know you’re worried about Mahdi, but if he survived this long around Vallerio and Lucia, he can last for a few more days.”
“You’re right, Des. It’s just that I can’t stop worrying. I can’t shake this feeling that something’s going to happen. It’s like a shadow I can’t get out from under.”
“It’s just nerves. All this planning and plotting and waiting leaves too much time for dwelling on everything that can go wrong,” Des said. “You’ll feel better tomorrow when we actually get going.” He gave his sister a sidelong glance. “Mahdi means a lot to you, doesn’t he?”
“Yeah, he does,” Sera said softly. “He means everything, Des.”
“I never thought you’d fall for him. You couldn’t stand him when you first met him.”
Sera laughed at the memory. “I thought he was a total goby. He hardly said two words to me. All he wanted to do was play Galleons and Gorgons with you.”
“Yeah, but the whole time we were playing, all he did was ask about you.”
“Really? I didn’t know that,” Sera said, pleased. But her happiness was short-lived. Thinking about Mahdi, talking about him…all it did was bring back all her fears for him. She decided to change the subject.
“How’s your love life?” she asked her brother.
“What love life?” he asked, trying to sound innocent. “I don’t have one.”
“Really, Des?” she teased. “Is that why you’re blushing?”
“I am not,” Des scoffed.
“Now you’re blushing even more,” Sera said, nudging him with her tail. “I saw how she looked at you. And how you looked at her. The night you both arrived here.”
“Who?”
“Ha. So funny,” Sera said, rolling her eyes. “Like there are a hundred mermaids in love with you?”
“At least.”
“Oh, please.”
Des smiled. “It’s that obvious, huh?”
Waterfire Saga, Book Four: Sea Spell: Deep Blue Novel, A Page 14
