“I’ve got her!” she heard one of them yell. A silver spear hit the tunnel wall, missing her tail by a hair’s breadth. The death riders were fast, but Sera—strong and lean from weeks on the currents—was faster. A few minutes later, she saw the end of the tunnel. Rays of sun slanted through the water outside. She put on a final burst of speed, shot out into the open daylit waters, and found herself across the current from the Ostrokon. She darted into its ruined entry and down to its dim depths. Heart pounding, lungs heaving, she swam into a listening room and hid under a table.
A few minutes passed. And then a few more. When half an hour had elapsed, Sera finally allowed herself to believe that she’d escaped her pursuers. Her muscles were trembling. Painful cramps knotted her tail. She stretched out and closed her eyes.
“Please,” she whispered. “Please let Cira and Kallista have made it to the safe house. Please let Mahdi be okay.”
She remembered the trust in the little merl’s eyes. And the desperate relief in her mother’s. What if the death riders had split up and searched both forks? What if Cira and Kallista had led them right to the Market Street safe house? Had she endangered scores of people for the sake of two?
A good ruler will never sacrifice the many for the few, her uncle once told her.
She’d tried to argue with him. But Uncle, the few are no less…
Important, she was going to say. Valuable. Beloved.
But Vallerio had cut her off. The few are fewer, Serafina. And in war, numbers are all that matter.
She couldn’t understand that. Not then. Not now. Kallista mattered. And the tiny baby she was carrying. Little Cira mattered. The many and the few.
She’d made the right choice. She’d done the right thing.
As sleep stole over her, Serafina held on to that.
And tried her best to believe it.
“THERE YOU GO, PRIYĀ,” Suma said, helping Neela into a soft sea-silk robe. “A nice scrub makes everything better.”
Neela did not reply. She simply sat down by a window, in the same place she’d been sitting for the better part of three days, and stared out of it.
She had just scrubbed her body with soft white sand. Then she’d rubbed driftnut oil into her hair and brushed it until it gleamed. Suma had brought a tray of her favorite foods for dinner, and a plate of sweets for dessert. Soon she would lie down in her soft bed and sleep. She was safe. She was warm and well fed.
She was furious.
“Is there anything else you require?” asked Suma.
Neela shook her head.
“May I take the nasty black clothing away?”
“You may not.”
“You know what the medica magus said, Princess,” Suma reminded. “The sooner you admit you need help, the sooner he can help you. Promise to behave yourself and get rid of those awful things, and Kiraat will allow you to leave your room. Give them to me. I’ll put them in the incinerator. The lava will make short work of them.”
“Leave them, Suma. And me.”
“And the mirrors? What about the mirrors?” Suma asked.
Neela had draped every single mirror in her room with saris. “Leave those, too,” she said.
Suma shook her head mournfully. She dabbed at her eyes. “Covering your mirrors! Oh, Princess, it’s worse than any of us thought. You have lost your mind! I thought that when you started eating bing-bangs again you were making progress, but I was wrong.”
She bade Neela a tearful good night and left her.
Neela mindlessly unwrapped a sweet and ate it. Boredom and anxiety had driven her back to them. She glanced at the offending garments—her black lace top and skirt, her jacket, her messenger bag. They were draped over a chair. Kiraat had demanded she get rid of them, and she’d refused. He’d declared her dangerously deranged and advised she be confined to her room so she couldn’t do damage to herself or to anyone else. Kiraat and her parents thought they were protecting her. They thought they were helping her come back to her senses, but all they were doing was killing her spirit, bit by bit.
How could she explain to them what her swashbuckler clothes meant to her? When she looked at them, she didn’t see frays and tears, she saw Sera and Ling eating stew in Lena’s kitchen after Ling had almost been captured by Rafe Mfeme. She saw Becca and Ava in the River Olt, fighting off the rusalka. She saw fierce Astrid battling Abbadon in the Incantarium with only her sword.
And she saw herself—being braver and stronger than she’d ever thought she could be.
And now they wanted her to go back. Back to pink. Back to smiling until her face hurt. Back to chatting about the tides. Back to never doing anything important, or saying anything honest. Back to the eternal beauty contest.
Neela had tried to get out. She’d tried to pick the lock on her door, just as she’d picked the locks on the iron collars that she, Sera, and Thalassa had been forced to wear when they were Traho’s prisoners. But this lock had been enchanted. It could only be opened by the key Suma carried. Neela’s entire bedchamber had been spellproofed. She couldn’t get the windows open. Or blow them out. She couldn’t cast the tiniest vortex, or throw a weak frag. Even the convoca she’d tried to cast, to inform the others of her predicament, failed. She’d thought about escaping through one of her mirrors, but fear of meeting up with Rorrim had stopped her. In fact, she’d covered all her mirrors to keep him from spying on her.
So Neela sat, staring listlessly out of the window, watching the Matali flags flap in the current. She unwrapped another sweet, wondering who was going to break first. Kiraat? Her parents?
Or her.
SERAFINA WOKE WITH A GASP. For a moment, she panicked. She didn’t know where she was. Then she remembered—the Ostrokon. She’d swum under a table to hide, and passed out from exhaustion. Now she rolled over onto her back and opened her eyes. How long had she been here? She felt as if she’d slept for three days. Her body was numb from the hard floor. Her mind was numb, too—from all the questions still plaguing her, the ones that had no answers.
She thought of Mahdi, Cira, and Kallista. Had they escaped? Maybe she could make her way back to the Market Street safe house and find out.
She recalled the lethal darksong spell she’d cast against the death riders. She’d had no choice; she knew she’d do it again if she had to.
When the Praedatori had killed a prison guard in order to free her from Traho’s camp, Sera had been traumatized by his death. She’d felt sorrow for him. More death riders had died at the Basalt Street safe house. Because of her this time. But she felt no sorrow for them. She felt nothing.
I’m changing, she thought, and not entirely for the better.
There were barnacles on the underside of the table, glowing whitely in the darkness. She pressed her palm against their sharp edges. She wanted the pain. Wanted to know she could still feel something.
Voices drifted through her mind, hers and her mother’s.
Mom, can you just be a mom for once? And forget you’re the regina? Sera had shouted on the morning of her Dokimí
Isabella had smiled sadly. No, Sera, she’d said. I can’t.
Serafina had been so angry at her for that. But now she understood that Isabella had loved her people so fiercely she’d given up many things for them—including time with her family. She now understood that Mahdi loved the seas so much, he was risking his life to defend them.
Sera was beginning to see that love wasn’t pretty words and easy promises. Love was hard. It challenged you and changed you. It filled your heart and sometimes hardened it, too. Love demanded sacrifices. She’d made many over the last few weeks, and knew she would be called upon to make many more.
As she lay on her back, her palm still pressed against the barnacles, her stomach growled. It sounded insanely loud in the large, empty room. Sera was hungry and had no idea what to do about it. She hadn’t eaten anything more than a handful of reef olives and eel berries in days.
I’ll starve to death under this table, she
said to herself. Years from now, someone will find my bones here. They’ll feel so sorry for me.
No, they won’t, a voice said. They’ll think what a total loser you were.
“Ling!” Sera said out loud.
Want a meal with your whine?
“Ha. So funny. Where are you?”
Close to the Abyss. Just thought I’d cast a convoca and check in see how you’re doing. Not so good, I gather.
“That would be the understatement of the century. I was chased by Traho’s soldiers this morning. At least, I think it was this morning. Maybe it was yesterday. Anyway, I also found out that the conchs we need are gone, Cerulea’s been destroyed, and my people—the ones who are left—are suffering badly. And what am I doing? Lying under a table.”
Any good news?
“As a matter of fact, yes. It turns out that I still love the merboy I used to love even though I’m in love with somebody else.”
What?
Sera explained. She told Ling everything that had happened since they had last seen each other.
Wow, Sera. Never a dull moment in Miromara. Seriously, though, the Traho thing sounds scary. You okay?
“I’m fine. It was scary. What about the others? Have you heard from them?”
Becca’s already crossed the Mid-Atlantic Ridge. Ava’s in the Ceara Abyssal Plain. They’re fine. Baby is too, you’ll be happy to know.
“How could he not be? That monster-on-a-leash bites anyone who looks at him. What about Neela?”
Ling’s voice took on a worried tone. I can’t get through to her, Sera. No matter how many times I cast a convoca, she doesn’t answer. Have you heard from her?
“No, but then again, I haven’t tried to contact her. I haven’t cast a convoca since I failed back in the sea cave. I’ll try when I leave the Ostrokon. You can’t cast in here. The acoustics make songspells fall flat. Fossegrim, our liber magus, wanted it that way. He always said knowledge is its own magic.”
Serafina’s stomach growled again.
You sound like a sick walrus! Look, maybe you can’t overthrow Traho at this particular point in time, but you can get up and find something to eat, so we don’t have to listen to any more disgusting noises.
“How? I’m in an ostrokon!”
Doesn’t it have a TideSide? The ones in Qin do.
“Yes, it does! A little one on Level Four. I totally forgot! Ling, you’re a genius!”
Of course…am…careful, Sera….
“I’m losing you, Ling.”
…hear you…later….
“Yeah, merl. Later,” Sera said as the convoca faded.
Now that Ling was gone, the room seemed twice as large and twice as dark and Sera felt more alone than ever. Sighing, she swam out from under the table.
TideSides were small freestanding snack bars that sold drinks and finger foods. Serafina had visited the one in the Ostrokon whenever she’d stayed late to study, her royal guards trailing discreetly behind her. She swam to one of the listening room’s walls and took a lava torch down. The lava needed to be replaced. It was cooling, giving off only a dull orange light, but it still allowed her to see where she was going. She poked her head out of the doorway and cautiously looked up the spiraling hallway. It was empty and sad. There were no students in it now, no black-robed professors, no ostroki carrying baskets with conchs in them, shushing everyone.
Moving slowly, Serafina made her way up the hall. She paused now and again to listen for voices. She was almost at the fourth level when she felt vibrations in the water. She stuffed the lava globe under her skirt, dousing its light, and ducked into an empty doorway. A few seconds later, a small school of blennies swam by. Her shoulders sagged with relief.
The TideSide was tucked between the geology and biology collections. When Sera reached it, she saw that it was dark and deserted, like the rest of the Ostrokon. She swam to the counter, hoping for a bag of mussel chips or some snail gums, but there was nothing to be had. Not even a salted sandworm.
“Great,” she said out loud. Now she would have to risk a trip outside. She tried to recall if there were any cafés nearby. If so, maybe she could break into one and find some beach plums. Clam puffs. Anything.
That’s when the net went over her head.
Serafina screamed. She dropped her torch. Its globe smashed on the floor. Lava oozed over the stone, hissing and bubbling and sending up steam through the water.
“Let me go!” she shouted, as the net enveloped her. She struggled and tried to swim away, but only succeeded in tangling herself so badly that she could hardly move.
A face, pale and bespectacled, came close to hers. It belonged to a young merman. “She’s one of us, Magistro, not a death rider,” he said. “I think. At least, she hasn’t got a uniform on.”
Serafina recognized him as an ostroko who used to work in the literature section. Another face came into view—an older merman’s. He wore glasses too. His long hair and beard were gray. His broad, magnificent fins were black. He was pointing a spear. At her.
“Magistro Fossegrim?’ she cried. “It’s me, Serafina!”
A third face peered down at her. A child’s. She looked to be about twelve. Serafina had seen her before. If she could only gather her wits, she might remember where.
“It is her, Magistro!” the young mermaid said. “She’s cut her hair off!”
“Good gods! What have we done? Release her!” Fossegrim ordered.
The net was removed. Serafina, who’d sunk to the floor, looked up at her would-be captors—Fossegrim, the young merman, two other mermen, two grown mermaids, and the young one.
“Cosima!” she said, the child’s name finally coming back to her. “Lady Elettra’s little sister. I remember you from the court.”
“Coco, Your Grace,” the merl said, with a quick dip of her head. “I hate Cosima.”
“Coco, Fossegrim, what are you doing here?” Serafina asked.
“This is our headquarters, Your Grace. I’m sorry about the rude welcome. We were only trying to defend it,” Fossegrim replied.
“I don’t understand,” Serafina said. “Whose headquarters?”
Fossegrim pulled himself up to his full height, swept a hand toward his companions, and grandly said, “The Black Fin resistance.”
“PLEASE, PRINCIPESSA, take more snails. Have more worms,” Fossegrim said.
“Thank you, Magistro, they were delicious, but I’m full.”
It was a lie. Serafina was still hungry. But Fossegrim and the others were too. She could tell. They were thin. Their clothing was baggy.
She was sitting with the liber magus in the Ostrokon’s sub-basement. It was nearly ten at night now. The others had gone off on their rounds. Sera had slept for most of a day.
They’d all introduced themselves on Level Four—after Serafina had gotten up off the floor. She already knew Fossegrim and Coco. Then came Niccolo, the young merman with the glasses. The others were Calvino, Domenico, Alessandra, and Sophia.
A handful of ostroki and a child. That was the resistance.
“Cerulea is very lucky to have you fighting for her,” Serafina had said, smiling.
Cerulea is totally doomed, she’d thought.
But that was before they’d taken her through a trapdoor in the floor of the basement. There she’d discovered a clean, warm, fairly large chamber that contained cots, a small lava stove, medical supplies, and a stockpile of food. The walls were covered with maps of the city.
“The war room,” Fossegrim had said proudly. “From here, we’ve managed to cut lava lines to the palace, release a lava flow that destroyed the kitchens, and let crabs loose in the food stores.”
“How did you know to do all these things? Did the acqua guerrieri help you?” Serafina had asked, amazed. She regretted underestimating them. These ostroki were as formidable as the Praedatori.
“Conchs!” Coco had piped.
“We listened to field marshals from the Hundred Years War, Qin’s Yǒnggǎn Dynast
y generals, guerilla fighters from Atlantica’s swamps, and a lot of early Merrovingian commanders. There’s nothing Quintus Ligarius can’t teach you about sabotage!” Niccolo had said cheerfully.
“We’re a large and sharp sea thorn in Traho’s side,” said Fossegrim now as he put the uneaten snails and worms away. “We shall rout him and return Cerulea to the Merrovingia!”
“Magistro, I’m afraid that the battle is much bigger than Cerulea,” Serafina said gently. “I know a way to fight it. But I need your help.”
“Anything, Principessa,” he said. “Say the word.”
“I came here last night to listen to conchs on Merrow’s Progress, but they were gone.”
“Yes, Traho took them. I don’t know why.”
“I do, but I can’t tell you without putting you at even more risk. Are there any other conchs here on the same topic?”
“On what topic?” Coco asked.
She had just returned from her rounds carrying a sack full of sea cucumbers. A gray sand shark, small and quick with sparkling copper eyes, followed her.
“Where did you get those? I told you not leave the Ostrokon, young lady! It’s far too dangerous!” Fossegrim scolded.
Coco ignored him. “What information are you looking for, Principessa?” she asked.
“Conchs on Merrow’s Progress,” Serafina replied, to be polite. She doubted very much that the merl had even heard of the Progress. Sera had studied post-fall Atlantean history extensively and she knew that ten years after Atlantis was destroyed, Merrow, Miromara’s first regina, had made a long journey through the waters of the world. The official story was that she was seeking safe new places for her people to live, as they were thriving and needed space. Sera was certain, however, that there was an unofficial reason for the trip—to hide the six talismans.
“Try Baltazaar, first minister of finance from the start of Merrow’s reign to the year 62,” Coco said matter-of-factly. “He’s a great source, but hardly anyone knows about him. I think it’s because his conchs aren’t shelved on Five in Early Merrovingian History. They’re on Three, with Governmental Records. In the expenditures section for 10 anno Merrow, the year Merrow made her Progress.”