Waterfire Saga, Book One: Deep Blue (A Waterfire Saga Novel) Read online

  “You have no reason to fear her, so don’t,” had always been Isabella’s advice, but from what Sera had heard of Alítheia, that was easier said than done.

  “The gods themselves made her. Bellogrim, the smith, forged her, and Neria breathed life into her,” Agneta continued. Loudly, for she was quite deaf.

  “Is there kissing during the Dokimí? I heard there’s kissing,” Cosima said, wrinkling her nose.

  “A bit at the end. Close your eyes. That’s what I do,” the baronessa said, sipping her sargassa tea. The hot liquid—thick and sweet, like most mer drinks—sat heavily in an exquisite teacup. The cup had been salvaged, as had all of the palace porcelain, from terragogg shipwrecks. “The Dokimí has three parts, child—two tests and a vow.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? Quia Merrow decrevit! That’s Latin. It means—”

  “‘Because Merrow decreed it,’” Cosima said.

  “Very good. Dokimí is Greek for trial, and a trial it is. Alítheia appears in the first test—the blooding—to ensure each principessa is a true daughter of the blood.”

  “Why?” Cosima asked.

  “Quia Merrow decrevit,” the Baronessa replied. She paused to put her cup down. “The second test is the casting. It consists of a diabolically difficult songspell. A strong ruler must have a strong voice, for, as you know, a mermaid’s magic is in her voice.”

  “Why is that?” Cosima asked. “I’ve always wondered. Why can’t we just wave a wand? It would be sooo much easier.”

  “Because the goddess Neria, who gave us our magic, knew that songspells carry better in water than wandspells. Danger is everywhere in the sea, child. Death swims on a fast fin.”

  “But why do we sing our spells, Baronessa? Why can’t we just speak them?”

  The baronessa sighed. “Do they actually teach you anything in school nowadays?” she asked. “We sing because song enhances magic. Why, song is magic! Cantare. More Latin. It means…”

  “…to sing.”

  “Yes. And from cantare come both chant and enchantment, canto and incantation, music and magic. Think of the sounds of the sea, child…whalesong, the cries of gulls, the whispering of the waves. They are so beautiful and so powerful that all the creatures in the world hear the magic in them, even the tone-deaf terragoggs.”

  The baronessa picked up a sea urchin from a plate, cracked its shell with her teeth, and slurped it down. “If, and only if, the principessa passes both tests,” she said, “she will then undertake the last part of the Dokimí—the promising. This is where she makes her betrothal vows and promises her people that she will marry the merman chosen for her and give the realm a daughter of the blood, just as her mother did. And her grandmother. And so on, all the way back to Merrow.”

  “But why, Baronessa?” Cosima asked.

  “Good gods! Another why? Quia Merrow decrevit! That’s why!” the baronessa said impatiently.

  “But what if Serafina doesn’t want to marry and rule Miromara and give the realm a daughter? What if she wants to, like, open a café and sell bubble tea?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course she wants to rule Miromara. The things you come up with!”

  Agneta reached for another urchin. Cosima frowned. And Serafina smiled ruefully. For as long as she could remember, she’d been asking the same questions, and had been given the same answer: Quia Merrow decrevit. Like many rules of the adult world, a lot of Merrow’s inscrutable decrees made no sense to her. They still had to be followed, though, whether she liked it or not.

  Of course she wants to rule Miromara! the baronessa had said. But the truth was, sometimes she didn’t. She wondered, for a few rebellious seconds, what would happen if she refused to sing her songspell tonight and swam off to sell bubble tea instead?

  Then Tavia arrived with her breakfast and started to chatter, and all such foolish thoughts disappeared.

  “Here you are, my darling,” she said, setting a silver tray down on a table. “Water apples, eel berries, pickled sponge…your favorites.” She slapped a green tentacle away. “Sylvestre, keep out of it!”

  “Thank you, Tavia,” Serafina said, ignoring the tray. She wasn’t hungry. She took a deep breath, preparing to practice her songspell again, but Tavia wasn’t finished.

  “I didn’t get a chance to tell you this yet,” she said, pressing a blue pincer to her chest, “but Empress Ahadi’s personal maid was in the kitchens this morning, getting tea for her mistress. I happen to know that she’s very fond of Corsican keel worms, so I made sure she got plenty. After her second bowl, she told me that the emperor is in good health and the empress is as bossy as ever.”

  “Did she?” Serafina asked lightly. She knew she must not betray too much eagerness for news of the Matalis, especially the crown prince. Her slightest reaction to any news of him would be noted and commented upon. “And the Princess Neela, how is she? When is she coming to my rooms? I’m dying to see her.”

  “I don’t know, child, but Ahadi’s maid—the one in the kitchens—she told me more things…things about the crown prince,” Tavia said conspiratorially.

  “Isn’t that nice?” Serafina said. She knew that Tavia—a terrible gossip—desperately wanted her to ask what the things about the crown prince were, but she didn’t. Instead, she practiced a trill.

  Tavia waited as long as she possibly could, then the words burst out of her. “Oh, Serafina! Don’t you want to know what else the maid said? She told me that the crown prince’s scales are the deepest shade of blue, and he has an earring, and he wears his hair pulled back in a hippokamp’s tail!”

  “Mahdi has an earring?” Serafina exclaimed, forgetting for a moment that she wasn’t supposed to be interested. “That’s ridiculous. Next you’ll tell me he’s dyed his hair pink and pierced his tail fin. The last time I saw him he was skinny and goofy. A total goby, just like my brother. All he and Desiderio wanted to do was play Galleons and Gorgons.”

  “Principessa!” Tavia scolded. “Crown Prince Mahdi is heir to the Matali kingdom, and Principe Desiderio is a commander of this one, and neither would appreciate being called a goby! I should think you would at least be relieved to know that your future husband has grown into a handsome merman!”

  Serafina shrugged. “I suppose so,” she said.

  “You suppose so?”

  “It makes no difference if he’s handsome or not,” Serafina said. “The crown prince will be my husband even if he looks like a sea slug.”

  “Yes, but it’s easier to fall in love with a good-looking merman than a sea slug!”

  “Love has nothing to do with it, Tavia, and you know it. My marriage is a matter of state, not a matter of the heart. Royal alliances are made to strengthen bonds between realms and advance common interests.”

  “Fine words coming from one who’s never actually been in love,” Tavia sniffed. “You’re your mother’s daughter, that’s for certain. Duty above all.” She scuttled off to chide a chambermaid.

  Serafina smiled, pleased she’d thrown Tavia off the scent. If she only knew.

  But she didn’t. And she wouldn’t. Serafina had kept her secret, and she wasn’t about to reveal it now.

  She took a deep breath again and tried once more to practice her songspell.

  “Coco, stop pestering Baronessa Agneta, and try on your gown!” a voice scolded. This time it was Lady Elettra, Cosima’s older sister, who interrupted her.

  “Gowns are boring,” Cosima said, darting off.

  And then Serafina heard another voice, secretive and hushed. “Is that what you’re wearing to the procession? You shouldn’t try so hard to outshine the princess.”

  There was laughter, throaty and low, and then a voice, beautiful and beguiling: “I don’t have to try. It’s no contest. He’s only going through with the betrothal because he has to. Everyone knows that. He couldn’t care less about it. Or her.”

  The words cut like shark’s teeth. Serafina dropped a note and bungled the measure. She looked straig
ht ahead, into the mica panel. In it she saw Lucia Volnero and Bianca di Remora, two of her ladies-in-waiting. They were at the far end of the chamber, holding up a spectacular gown and whispering. They didn’t know it, but the room’s vaulted ceiling channeled sound. Words spoken on one side of the chamber could be heard on the other, just as the ones speaking them could be seen in the mica panels.

  Bianca continued the conversation. “What everyone knows, mia amica, is that you want him for yourself,” she said. “Better give up that idea!”

  “Why should I?” Lucia said. “A duchessa’s daughter is a catch, too, don’t you think? Especially this duchessa’s daughter. He certainly seems to think so.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “A clutch of us snuck out last night. We went to the Lagoon.”

  Serafina couldn’t believe it. The Lagoon, the waters off the human city of Venice, was not far from Miromara, but it was forbidden to merfolk. It was a treacherous place—labyrinthine, dark, and full of dangerous creatures. It was also full of humans—the most dangerous creatures of all.

  “You did not!” Bianca said.

  “Oh, yes we did. It was totally riptide. We were shoaling all night. The Matalis, me, and a few other merls. It was wild,” Lucia said.

  “Did anything happen? With you and the prince?”

  Lucia smiled wickedly. “Well, he really knows how to shoal. He has some fierce moves and…”

  Bianca giggled. “And? And what?”

  Lucia’s reply was drowned out by a group of chattery maids bustling in with gowns.

  Serafina’s cheeks burned; she looked at the floor. She was hurt and furious. She wanted to tell Lucia that she’d heard every rotten word she’d said—but she didn’t. She was royalty, and royalty did not shout. Royalty did not slap their tails. Royalty did not lose control. Ever. Those who would command others must first command themselves, her mother often told her. Usually when she complained about sitting next to a dull ambassador at a state dinner. Or got caught fencing in the Grand Hall with Desiderio.

  She glanced at Lucia again. She’s always causing trouble. Why does she even have to be here? she wondered, but she knew the answer: Lucia was a member of the Volnero—a noble family as old, and nearly as powerful, as her own. The Volnero duchessas had the right to be at court and their daughters had the hereditary privilege of waiting upon the realm’s principessas.

  Lucia, with her sapphire eyes, her silver scales, her night-blue hair swept up off her shoulders. You could bungle a hundred trills if you looked like that, and nobody would even notice, Serafina thought. Not that Lucia would bungle anything. Her voice was gorgeous. It was said the Volnero were descended from sirens.

  Serafina didn’t know if that was true, but she knew that Portia, Lucia’s mother, had once enchanted Serafina’s own uncle Vallerio. Portia and Vallerio had wished to marry, but Artemesia—the reigning regina and Vallerio and Isabella’s mother—had forbidden the match. The Volnero had traitors in the branches of their family coral, and she hadn’t wanted her son to marry into a tainted line.

  Angry, Vallerio had left Cerulea and spent several years in Tsarno, a fortress town in western Miromara. Portia married someone else—Sejanus Adaro, Lucia’s father. Some said she only married him because he looked like Vallerio with his handsome face, silver scales, and black hair. Sejanus died only a year after Lucia’s birth. Vallerio never married, choosing to devote himself to the welfare of the realm instead.

  Portia has taught Lucia her secrets, Serafina thought enviously. She sighed, thinking how her mother taught her the correct form of address for Atlantica’s foreign secretary, or that Parliament must be convened only during a spring tide, never a neap tide. She wished that once, just once, her mother would teach her something merly—like which anemones to kiss to get those pouty, tentacle-stung lips, or how to make her tail fin sparkle.

  Stop it, Serafina, she told herself. Don’t let Lucia get to you. Neela will know if Mahdi went to the Lagoon or not. Just practice your songspell. She comforted herself with the knowledge that her best friend would be here soon. Just seeing her face would make this whole ordeal easier.

  Serafina straightened her back, squared her shoulders, and tried, yet again, to practice her songspell.

  “Your Grace, may I compliment you on your dress?” a voice drawled from behind her. “I hope you’re wearing it tonight.”

  Serafina glanced in the mica. It was Lucia. She was smiling. Like a barracuda.

  “No, I’m not, but thank you,” she said warily. It wasn’t like Lucia to be forthcoming with the compliments.

  “What a pity. You should. It’s so simple and fresh. Totally genius. Contrast is absolutely the way to go in a situation like this,” Lucia said.

  “Contrast?” Serafina said, puzzled. She turned to Lucia.

  “Your look. It’s a fabulous contrast.”

  Serafina looked down at her dress. It was a plain, light-blue sea-silk gown. Nothing special. She’d changed into it hastily, right after she’d swum into the antechamber.

  “My look is all one color—blue. And we’re in the sea, Lucia. So, it really doesn’t contrast with anything.”

  “Ha! That is so funny, Your Grace! Good for you for joking about it. I’m glad it doesn’t bother you. Don’t let it. Merboys will be merboys and, anyway, I’m sure he’s given her up by now.”

  The whole room had gone quiet. Everyone had stopped what she was doing to listen. Blood sport was the court’s favorite game.

  “Lucia, who’s he? Who’s her? What are you talking about?” Serafina asked, confused.

  Lucia’s eyes widened. She pressed a hand to her chest. “You don’t know? I am such an idiot. I thought you knew. I mean, everyone knows. I—I’m sorry. It’s nothing. I made a mistake.” She started to swim off.

  Lucia never admitted to making a mistake. Serafina saw a chance to best her, to pay her back for the mean things she’d said. And though a voice inside her told her not to, she took that chance.

  “What mistake, Lucia?” she asked.

  Lucia stopped. “Really, Your Grace,” she said, looking deeply embarrassed. “I wouldn’t like to say.”

  “No, tell me.”

  “If you insist,” Lucia replied.

  “I do.”

  As soon as the words left her lips, Serafina realized she was the one who’d made the mistake. Lucia turned around. Her barracuda smile was back. She’d only been feigning embarrassment.

  “I was talking about the crown prince and his merlfriend,” she said. “Well, his latest one.”

  “His…his merlfriend?” Serafina said. She could barely breathe.

  “That’s enough, Lucia! You’re going too far!” Bianca hissed.

  “But, Bianca, would you have me defy our principessa? She wishes me to speak,” Lucia said. She fixed her glittering eyes on Serafina. “I’m so sorry to be the one to tell you. Especially on the day of your Dokimí. I was certain you knew, otherwise I would never have mentioned it. I only meant to compliment you by telling you that your look was a contrast to hers. All she has going for her is blond hair, turquoise scales, and more curves than a whirlpool.”

  Lucia, triumphant, dipped her head. Serafina felt humiliated, but was determined not to show it. This was her own fault. She’d stupidly fallen right into Lucia’s trap and now she had to swim out.

  “Lucia, thank you so much for telling me,” she said, smiling. “It’s such a relief to know. I hope she’s taught him a few things.”

  “I beg your pardon, Your Grace?”

  “Look, we all know it—it’s no secret—the last time the crown prince visited, he was a bit of a goby and pretty hopeless with merls,” Serafina said.

  “You’re not upset?”

  “Not at all! Why would I be? I just hope she’s done a good job with him. Taught him a few dance strokes or how to send a proper love conch. Someone has to. Merboys are like hippokamps, don’t you think? No fun until they’re broken in. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really
do need to practice.”

  Lucia, thwarted, turned on her tail and swam away, and Serafina, a fake smile still on her face, resumed her songspell. The performance cost her dearly, but no one would have known. Used to the ways of her court, to its sharp teeth and claws, she was an expert at hiding her feelings.

  Sylvestre, however, was not.

  Crimson with anger, the octopus swam after Lucia. When he got close to her, he siphoned in as much water as he could hold, then shot a fat jet of it at her, hitting her squarely in the back of her head. Her updo collapsed.

  Lucia stopped dead. Her hands went to her head. “My hair!” she screeched, whirling around.

  “Sylvestre!” Serafina exclaimed, horrified. “Apologize!”

  Sylvestre affected a contrite expression, then squirted Lucia again—in the face.

  “You little sucker! I’ll gut you!” she sputtered. “Avarus! After him!”

  Lucia’s pet scorpion fish zipped after the octopus. Sylvestre darted under the table where Serafina’s breakfast tray was resting. Avarus followed him. The table went over; the tray went flying. Sylvestre grabbed a water apple and fired it at Avarus. Avarus ducked it and charged. He swam up to Sylvestre and stung him. Sylvestre howled, and a few seconds later, Serafina’s antechamber was engulfed by a roiling cloud of black ink.

  Serafina could see nothing, but she could hear her ladies coughing and shrieking. They were crashing into tables, chairs, and one another. When the cloud finally cleared, she saw Lucia and Bianca wiping ink off their faces. Giovanna was shaking it out of her hair. Tavia was threatening to hang Sylvestre up by his tentacles.

  And then another voice, majestic and fearsome, was heard above the fray: “In olden days, royals had their unruly nobles beheaded. What a pity that custom fell out of use.”

  THALASSA, the canta magus, was not amused.

  She floated in the doorway of the antechamber, arms crossed over her considerable bosom, tentacles twining beneath her. Her hair, the gray of a hurricane sky, was styled in an elegant twist. A cluster of red anemones bloomed like roses at the nape of her neck. She wore a gown of crimson, and a long cape of black mussel shells. At a snap of her fingers, two cuttlefish removed it.