Rogue Wave

by Jennifer Donnelly

  The merman did so.

  There was a string of tiny, twinkling lava lights behind the bar. Sera sang a vortex spell and wound the string around him, binding him to the chair.

  “I can’t let you sell me to Traho,” she said.

  “I would never do that, Principessa. I swear,” he protested. “I only want to help you.”

  Serafina laughed, remembering how, only a few weeks ago, she had trusted a merman named Zeno Piscor and his offer of help. She glanced at the sergeant who’d brought her into the club. He was still out cold.

  “The royal treatment,” she said under her breath. “As if. What you got, lumpsucker, was the royal flush.”

  She put the speargun down on the bar. It was too dangerous to carry. If she was stopped by another death rider, she wouldn’t be able to explain how she got it.

  Moving quickly, she threw open the double doors. “Go, all of you! Get out of here before the soldiers wake up!”

  The stargazer and half a dozen turtles swam by her, struggling against the effects of the potion. They were followed by three octopuses.

  “Thank you, Principessa!” the one who’d helped her called out. “We won’t forget this!”

  Sera was just about to leave when she saw a flag hanging on the wall behind the bar. It was not Miromara’s.

  “Whose banner is that?” she demanded of the barman.

  “The invaders’,” he replied.

  “That can’t be right,” she murmured. The flag was not Ondalina’s—a black and white orca against a red background; it was merely a black circle on a red background. What if Astrid had been telling her the truth back when they were with the Iele? What if the Arctic realm wasn’t behind the invasion of Cerulea?

  It’s probably a regimental flag, Sera thought.

  She tore it off the wall and threw it on the floor. Then she took a bottle of wine from the bar and doused the flag, ruining it. She pulled the lipstick Filomena had given her out of her bag and scrawled Merrovingia regere hic on the wall. She used Latin, the language of history. Because she was determined to make some.

  “When the sea scum come to, translate for them,” she said to the barman. “Tell them what this says: the Merrovingia rule here.”

  And then she was gone, out of the club and down the dark current, swimming fast for the open waters of the Adriatic. For Cerulea.

  For home.

  IT WAS NEARLY MIDNIGHT when Serafina reached the walls of her city—or what was left of them. The route had been difficult to navigate because familiar landmarks had been destroyed or obscured and lava globes had been broken. She’d taken a back current and swum low to avoid detection. She hadn’t seen another soul on the way.

  Only a few globes sputtered weakly above the East Gate now. Sera swam through the archway and stopped dead. She took a few more stumbling strokes then slowly sank through the water until she was sitting in the silt.

  “No,” she said, unable to believe her eyes. “No.”

  Her beloved city was in ruins.

  Serafina had fled when Cerulea first fell under attack. She hadn’t witnessed the full force of the invaders’ destruction. All that remained of the thicket of Devil’s Tail that once floated protectively above the city were stumps where the vines had been hacked away. Huge sections of the wall that surrounded Cerulea had caved in. The ancient stone houses that once lined the Corrente Regina were now piles of rubble. Temples to the sea gods and goddesses had been pulled down. Worst of all, a terrible silence had descended. Serafina knew that the heart of a city was its people, and Cerulea’s were gone.

  Tears threatened, but she held them back. Grief was a luxury she could no longer afford. The sun would be up in only a few hours and the waters would lighten. She remembered the duca’s warning not to be seen, to find a safe house. She had come here to find the locations of the talismans. That’s what would defeat her enemies. That’s what would help her people. Not sitting in the silt, crying.

  She started up the Corrente Regina. There were only a few lava globes left to light her way. In their flickering half-light she could see the broken windows of looted shops and the remains of hippokamps killed in the fighting. Wild dogfish roamed in packs, feasting on carrion, or growling from the shadows.

  Sera swam across a deserted intersection, turned a bend, and saw the royal palace, high on its hill. It was the only building that was still illuminated. Some of the damage inflicted by the Blackclaws had been repaired, but not all of it. A large chunk of the east outer wall was still missing. Sera remembered how the dragons had battered their way through it and into her mother’s stateroom.

  Scores of soldiers rode in and out of the west wing of the palace on hippokamps. They must be using it as their base, she thought. Her eyes followed the riders. She wondered if her own hippokamp, Clio, now belonged to them. And her pet octopus, Sylvestre—had he survived the attack?

  Staying in the shadows, she continued up the current until she reached the Ostrokon. Its large, ornate pediment had fallen to the sea floor, and its entrance was filled with debris. She thought about Fossegrim, the elderly liber magus, the keeper of knowledge. He would never have willingly allowed the invaders to enter this place of learning and peace. The death riders had surely killed him.

  Sera peered up and down the current, then shot across it. She skimmed over the rubble, darted inside the Ostrokon, and hid behind a pillar, hoping no one had seen her. Much of the first level was still intact. The front desk was undamaged. A pair of eyeglasses still rested upon it, as if its owner had just swum away for a minute. Here and there, broken conchs littered the floor.

  Like all ostrokons, Cerulea’s was modeled on the nautilus shell. It had twelve levels, in honor of the twelve full moons of the year and their importance to the seas. While the nautilus’s chambers were sealed off from one another, those of the Ostrokon opened off a tall central hallway, and it was this hallway Serafina swam down now. She knew where she needed to go—to Level Six, where the collection of conchs on early Merrovingian history were kept.

  The water became inky as she descended, so she grabbed a lava torch off a wall. The spiraling hallway, usually so familiar to her, felt eerie now. Doorways loomed at the left and right like giant, gaping mouths. Schools of thick-lipped blennies and bright orange wrasses—usually shooed out by the ostroki—swam silently through them.

  As she rounded the bend to the fifth level, a movement startled her. She whipped out her dagger.

  “Who’s there?” she called out.

  There was no answer.

  “I’m not afraid to use this!” she shouted.

  A low growl rose. Serafina slowly raised her torch, holding it—and her knife—out in front of her. She saw sleek gray bodies flash by, black eyes, sharp teeth. It was a pack of dogfish. She didn’t know what they were doing in here. Or why they were so aggressive. And then the stench told her. She lowered her torch to illuminate the floor and saw the dead merman they’d been eating.

  “Easy, pups,” she said with a shiver, moving on. “I’m not here to steal your dinner.”

  Finally she arrived at Level Six. She hurried inside and swam to the shelves where the conchs on Merrow’s Progress were stored. When she reached them, she held up her torch, ready to grab a conch and start listening.

  But she couldn’t, because there weren’t any. The shelves were bare.

  Where were they? Could Traho have taken them? But how had he come up with the idea to search for clues to the whereabouts of the talismans in the conchs on Merrow’s Progress? He didn’t know the truth about Atlantis. Vrăja hadn’t shown him Merrow’s bloodsong. How could it be that he was always one stroke ahead of her?

  Serafina was crushed. Everything depended on those conchs. She had come all this way only to find herself back at square one.

  A group of sea bass swam by, heading for an unlit corner of the room. Sera knew that they were nocturnal feeders. If they were seeking darker waters, it meant that dawn was coming. It was time for her to find
the safe house, while she still could. With a heavy heart, she swam back to the first level and returned the lava torch to its bracket on the wall. She was just about to swim out of the Ostrokon when light played over the rubble in front of the building. Voices shouted orders.

  Oh, no! she thought. Death riders. It’s a patrol!

  Her hands went to her bag, where she’d put the transparensea pebbles from Vrăja, but it was too late. There was no way to cast them without being heard. She quickly crouched down behind a broken stone pillar. Her hiding place wasn’t great. If the soldiers searched the entry thoroughly, she was done for. A group of six passed by and swept into the first level. Sera heard their voices and saw their lava lanterns bobbing around inside. After a few minutes, they came back out.

  “All clear?” a voice shouted. It belonged to an officer. He was inside the entry. Serafina hadn’t seen him. She prayed that he hadn’t seen her, either.

  “First level’s clear, sir!” one of the searchers shouted back. “Should we sweep the sublevels?”

  The officer, closer now, told him not to bother. “I doubt the rebels are down there studying. Move out,” he ordered. His voice sounded familiar to Serafina. It was muffled by the column, but still, she was certain she’d heard it before.

  Slowly, carefully, Sera moved her head to the left, trying to identify the speaker.

  “We’ll head to the fabra next,” he announced as he followed his mermen outside. She could see his back now. He was wearing the same black uniform as the others.

  “Sir!” one of his soldiers said. “Sergeant Attamino is outside. He just arrived. His patrol just found two rebels hiding near the South Gate.”

  “Take them to Traho,” the officer said. “He’ll want to question them.”

  He turned around and cast one more glance over the Ostrokon’s entrance. At last, Serafina could see his face.

  Her hands clenched into fists as she recognized it. She bit back a wounded cry.

  The officer was Mahdi.

  SERAFINA DUCKED DOWN, terrified she’d been seen. She waited for the sound of fins coming through the water, for the light of a lava lantern to fall across her.

  “All clear! Let’s go!” Mahdi shouted.

  And then he and his soldiers were gone.

  Sera couldn’t move. She had suffered so many shocks and so many losses already. But this…this defied all understanding. She remembered the duca’s warning—trust no one. But Mahdi? He’d betrayed her with Lucia, yes, but how could he betray her people? And his own? The invaders had probably killed his parents, and now he was on their side?

  She tried to tell herself that she was wrong. That it was all just a trick of the light. But she’d seen him clearly. He was wearing the enemy’s uniform. She had to accept it—Mahdi was a traitor.

  Aching inside, she swam out of the Ostrokon into the current, expecting to run into a patrol at every turn. Basalt Street, where the safe house was, was at the northern edge of the fabra. When she finally reached it, still dazed by Mahdi’s betrayal, she wondered if, in her shock, she’d made a mistake. The house itself—number 16—looked like a wreck. Its top floors were gone. What was left of the facade was cracked and sagging. She peered in through a broken window and saw an empty interior. Hesitantly, she knocked on the door. Nothing happened. She knocked again.

  “Starfish,” she whispered.

  The door was wrenched open. A hand grabbed her and yanked her inside.

  “Who sent you?” growled a burly merman.

  “The duca di Venezia,” Serafina said. “The late duca di Venezia.”

  The merman nodded. He released her. “Find a spot wherever you can. We’re full tonight,” he said.

  “How many others are here?” Serafina asked, following him down a narrow hallway.

  “Forty-three.”

  “Where are they? The house looks empty.”

  “We slapped a big-time illusio on it to fool the patrols,” the merman said. “It’s working. So far.”

  The hall led into what had once been a living room. Now it appeared more like a hospital ward. Sick and wounded merpeople lay on the floor. The able-bodied were doing all they could to take care of them. No one recognized Serafina. No one even glanced at her.

  A tiny mermaid cried out in her sleep. Sera forgot all about her own heartache and instinctively bent down to her. She stroked the child’s head, murmuring soothing words, and the little merl settled back into sleep. Another child moaned that he was cold. Sera adjusted his blankets. Then she swam to the next room—once a dining room. It, too, was full of broken merpeople. So were the upper rooms. Only the kitchen had no beds in it, because it was being used as both mess hall and makeshift surgery.

  I’m their principessa and I don’t have the first clue how to help them, she thought. “What do I do?” she said out loud.

  “Do what you can. Like the rest of us,” came a gruff reply. Sera turned around. An older mermaid, harried and distracted, handed her a cup of tea. “My name’s Gia. I’m in charge here. Take this to Matteo. He’s in the living room near the front wall. Black hair. Blue eyes. Fever.”

  Serafina took the cup. She found Matteo, sat him up, and helped him drink the tea. She held him when a fit of coughing overtook him, then eased him back down on his mattress. After that she went back into the kitchen, looking for more work.

  “Take this to Aldo. He’s the guy on the door. He hasn’t eaten all night,” said a man dishing up stew.

  Serafina dutifully carried the bowl through the house to the front door.

  “Thank you,” Aldo said as she held it out to him. He was just about to take it when there was a knock.

  “Starfish,” a voice on the other side of the door said.

  “Hang on to that a minute, will you?” Aldo said. Sera nodded.

  He looked through a small peephole, then opened the door. A merman in black, hunched over, swam inside. Aldo locked the door behind him. The merman straightened.

  Serafina’s eyes widened at the sight of him. She dropped the bowl. “Sea scum!” she shouted. “Traitor!”

  In a flash, her dagger was in her hand. A split second later, it was hurtling through the water.

  Heading straight toward Mahdi.

  “WOW, MAN. You really have a way with the ladies,” Aldo said.

  “Not funny, Al,” Mahdi replied, holding Serafina off with one arm. His other arm was immobilized, because her dagger had pinned his sleeve to the door. “How about some help here?”

  “He has death riders with him!” Serafina cried. “He’s a traitor! Aldo, help me!”

  “Pipe down, merl, before every soldier in Cerulea hears you. That’s no traitor, that’s Mahdi,” Aldo said. He hooked a meaty arm around Serafina’s waist and pulled her off him.

  “Don’t touch me!” Sera shouted. She broke free of Aldo and backed away.

  Mahdi pulled the dagger out of his sleeve. “Hi,” he said to Serafina. “Nice to see you, too.”

  “Are you going to turn me in?” Sera hissed. “Hand me over to your master? You may have Aldo fooled, but I saw you. In the Ostrokon with your soldiers.”

  Anger darkened Mahdi’s features. “You’re kidding, right? If I’d wanted to turn you in, I would have done it then. I saw you too, you know.”

  “You saw me?” Serafina said uncertainly.

  “You were hiding behind a pillar. Thank gods the idiots I was with didn’t see you. I didn’t recognize you at first. That’s quite an outfit you’re wearing,” he said, nodding at her Lagoona getup.

  Sera bristled. “How about your outfit, Mahdi? Decided to join the invaders, I see. The same ones who destroyed Cerulea and murdered its citizens. Ladies love a merman in uniform. Lucia must be beside herself.”

  Aldo, who was picking up Sera’s bowl, looked at Mahdi and blinked.

  “Lucia? Lucia Volnero? Really?”

  “Aldo…” Mahdi said through gritted teeth.

  Aldo looked from Mahdi to Serafina, sensing the anger between them. He qui
ckly invented a reason to get back to the kitchen.

  “Serafina,” Mahdi said as soon as he left, “haven’t you figured it out yet?” He was about to say more, but a child’s wail, coming from within the house, cut him off. He ran a hand through his hair. “This place is overflowing tonight. And there’s probably not enough food. There’s never enough food. Are you here by yourself? Where’s Neela?”

  “None of your business,” Serafina snapped.

  “You still don’t trust me.”

  Serafina snorted. “Haven’t you figured that out yet?”

  Mahdi swam close to her. “Do you have so little faith in me? What kind of merman do you think I am?” he asked, furious now. He grabbed the front of his jacket and ripped it open. His chest was bare underneath it.

  “That move might work on Lucia, but it doesn’t do a lot for me,” Serafina said.

  He held her dagger out. “Take it,” he said. “Go ahead, Serafina—take it!”

  When she didn’t, he took her hand, put the knife in it, and pressed the tip to his heart. It pierced his skin. A thin rivulet of blood floated from his chest.

  “What are you doing? Stop it, Mahdi!” she said. She tried to pull her hand away, but he held it fast.

  “Go ahead. Use it,” he said. “Take me out. You can kill the enemy. If that’s who you really think I am.”

  “Let go of me. Let go!” Serafina said.

  Mahdi released her. She threw the dagger down.

  “I don’t know who you are!” she cried angrily. “Not anymore! All I know is that I saw you with death riders. Rounding up merpeople. My merpeople. So tell me, Mahdi, who are you?”

  “Serafina, you didn’t—” he started to say.

  “Are you actually going to deny it? I saw you!”

  “No, Serafina, you didn’t. You didn’t see me. What you saw was a lie. Like this uniform. Like my earring. Like the Lagoon and Lucia.”

  He took Serafina’s hand again, gently this time. He reached into his pocket, pulled something out of it, and slipped it onto her finger. It was the little shell ring. The one he’d made for her two years ago.