The two mermaids dove. They swam just below the waves. Away from the Opafago. Away from Atlantis. Away from Rorrim and the man with no eyes.
Away, just for a night, from all danger.
“UP AND AT ’EM, sleepyhead.”
Serafina opened her eyes. “Morning already?” she asked.
“Yep. I scrounged some breakfast,” Ling said. “Limpets and mussels. Reef olives, too.”
She put down her scarf, which was bulging with her finds.
“Thanks. I’m famished,” Serafina said, yawning.
The sea cave where she and Ling had spent the night was thickly carpeted with seaweed and anemones. Serafina had slept well. She sat up now and stretched.
“How are your battle wounds?” she asked Ling.
“The cut on my face stopped bleeding. And my arm isn’t throbbing anymore. That was some tour we took of Atlantis.”
“We came so close to finding out what all the talismans are,” Sera said, her voice heavy with disappointment.
“We also came close to becoming a meal,” Ling added. “At least we found out what three of the talismans are—a black pearl, a blue diamond, and a moonstone. That’s three more than we had. It’s major.”
“I guess you’re right. We should tell the others. I’ll cast a convoca. See if I can get us all on the same wavelength.”
Serafina tried to cast the songspell, but nothing happened. She tried again. “Ling, aren’t you getting anything from me?” she asked, frustrated.
“Nope. Nothing. Nada. Nihilo. Nichts—”
“Okay, okay, I get it!” Serafina huffed. She slapped her tail fin against the cave wall. “Why can’t I cast this spell?”
“Because you’re tired.”
Serafina arched an eyebrow. “You mean I’m no good at it.”
“No, I don’t mean that. You know, I just tried to talk to an octopus. While I was out looking for our breakfast. I wanted to ask him where I could find some clams. I learned Molluska when I was, like, two years old, but I couldn’t even remember how to say hello.”
“You know what’s weird, though?” Serafina recalled. “Back in Atlantis, I could talk to an eel. And I don’t know Eelish. I think it happened because of the bloodbind. Because I’ve got some of your blood in me now.”
“Huh. I guess that explains why the illuminata I just cast when I was looking for breakfast was the best one I’ve ever done,” Ling said, chewing an olive. “I’ve got some of Neela’s skills now. I’m going to try to summon waterfire later. See if I’ve got some of Becca’s, too. But you know the deal, Sera—magic’s not exact. It depends on a lot of things. Ability. Strength. The moon. The tides…”
“The utter lameness of the songcaster.”
“Try again in a day or two. When you’re stronger. When you haven’t just outswum five hundred death riders, Rorrim Drol, a whole pack of Opafago, and an eyeless gogg.”
A chill ran through Sera at the mention of the terrifying man with the black, empty eyes. He’d first appeared to her in her own mirror. He’d tried to crawl out of it, to come after her, but her nursemaid, Tavia, had scared him off. At the time, Sera had told herself he was only a hallucination. Now she knew he was real. And that he meant her—and her friends—harm.
“Who is he? Why is he after us?” she asked.
“I wish I knew,” Ling said, pulling a limpet from its shell. “Promise me something, though.”
“What?”
“When we go our separate ways, stay out of mirrors and Atlantis. They’re too dangerous.”
“Yeah, sure,” scoffed Serafina. “I’ll just take it easy from now on. Head home to Cerulea, kick back in a war zone for a bit.”
Ling laughed.
“Actually, I might make one slight detour first.”
“Another one? It sounds like you’re trying to avoid Cerulea, not get back to it.”
Sera bristled. Her reluctance to return home had been a bone of contention between them. They’d argued about it on their way to the Iele’s cave—right before Ling was caught in one of Rafe Mfeme’s fishing nets. Sera still blamed herself for the broken wrist Ling had suffered while struggling to escape.
“There’s a reason for the detour. A good one,” she said, a bit defensively. “Remember when I told you and the other merls how Neela and I had been captured by Traho? And that we escaped with the help of the Praedatori? They took us to their headquarters, to a palazzo in Venice owned by a human, Armando Contorini, duca di Venezia. Traho found out and attacked the palazzo. Because of us. I’ve got to go back. I’ve got to make sure the duca is okay.”
The duchi de Venezia, of which Duca Armando was the most recent, had been created by Merrow herself to defend the seas and their creatures from the terragoggs. They had fighters for their cause in the water—the Praedatori—and on land—the Wave Warriors.
At first Serafina had not understood why the duca had involved himself and his fighters in the attack on Cerulea. After all, she’d thought, no terragoggs had been involved in the invasion, only mer. But the duca had taught her otherwise. Traho had been aided by a human named Rafe Iaoro Mfeme. Mfeme, a cruel and brutal man who owned a fleet of trawlers and dredgers, had transported troops for Traho. In return, Traho had revealed the hiding places of tuna, swordfish, and other valuable sea creatures.
Sera remembered the night Mfeme had broken into the duca’s palazzo and hurled him into a wall. And how Traho’s mermen, invading from the waters below the palazzo, had fired their spearguns at the Praedatori. One of them had hit Blu. The last image Sera had of him was his body twisting violently as he tried to cut the line from the gun to the spear. Grigio, another of the Praedatori, had rushed Sera and Neela into Sera’s bedroom during the attack and had locked the door.
When Traho’s soldiers had started battering on that door, both mermaids escaped through a mirror. Sera had been worried about the duca and his brave fighters ever since. She desperately hoped they were all right. Though she hadn’t told anyone, and could barely admit it to herself, she had fallen for the mysterious Blu. He was everything Mahdi—the merman who’d broken her heart—was not.
“Just be careful,” Ling said now. “I followed you to Atlantis, but I can’t follow you to Cerulea.”
“Where are you headed?” asked Sera.
“Back to my village. I want to talk with my great-grandmother about all this. She’s very wise. If there are any legends about Merrow visiting our waters, she’ll know them. There might be a clue in a Qin fable or folksong. But I’m going to make a detour, too. To the Great Abyss.”
Sera gave her a long look. “And you think Atlantis is dangerous?”
“I know, I know,” Ling said. “But it’s the last place my father went before he disappeared. I feel close to him there, as if he never died.”
Ling had told Sera and Neela about her father’s death. It had happened a year ago, while he was exploring the Abyss. His body was never recovered.
“I miss my father, too. We used to ride together all the time,” Sera said. “If I could, I’d go back to the palace stables. I know I’d feel his spirit there. But I don’t even know if our hippokamps are still around, or if the stables are still standing.” She laughed bitterly. “I don’t even know if the palace is.”
Sera could still see the Blackclaw dragon as it tore through the palace’s walls. And her father’s lifeless body falling through the water. She could see the arrow as it sank into her mother’s chest. And the soldiers descending from above. She knew that these images would never leave her, nor would the sorrow they made her feel. But she also knew now that she had to face her losses—as hard as that would be. Vrăja had been right when she’d told her that she needed to go home.
Someone else had been right, too, and Sera hadn’t acknowledged it. If she didn’t do it now, she might never get the chance again.
“Hey, Ling?”
“Mmm?” Ling said, chewing a limpet.
“Before we head out, there’s something I need to say?
??.I’m sorry for not listening to you. Back near the Dunărea. When you said I had to face the fact that my mother might not be alive.”
“Forget it, Sera. You already apologized for that.”
“No, I didn’t. I apologized for going shoaling, not for refusing to listen to you. You tried to make me see what I needed to do. You said that omnivoxas had a responsibility to speak not only words, but the truth. You never backed down from that responsibility, even when I was being angry and stupid. I just want you to know that I think that’s really brave.”
Ling shrugged. “I used to get picked on a lot. Back home. I had to develop guts early on. You need them to take on your enemies.”
“And your friends,” Sera said ruefully.
Ling laughed. The two mermaids finished eating, and then it was time to leave.
“Gotta go save the world,” Ling said, picking up her bag.
“Take care of yourself,” Serafina said, hugging her tightly.
“You too,” said Ling, hugging her back.
As Sera swam away, she glanced back at Ling. Her friend looked so small in the distance, so alone.
“Yes, we have to save the world, Ling…but who’s going to save us?” she wondered aloud.
And then she turned and began the long journey home.
“YOU ARE NOT the Princess Neela,” sniffed Matali’s subassistant to the third minister of the interior under the oversecretary of the Emperor’s Chamber. “The Princess Neela wouldn’t be caught dead dressed like that. You are an imposter. Obviously disturbed. Possibly dangerous. You must leave the palace right now or I shall call the guards.”
Neela groaned. She’d been arguing with the subassistant, the gatekeeper to the Emperor’s Chamber, for a solid ten minutes. And that was after she’d argued with the executive assistant to the keeper of the portcullis, the senior assistant to the chamberlain of the Emperor’s Courtyard, and the assistant chief steward, twice removed, of the exterior grand foyer.
She’d arrived at the palace an hour ago. After diving into the mirror inside the river witches’ Incantarium, she’d gotten lost in Vadus, and it had taken her a long time to find her way out again. Finally another mirror got her to a Matali dress shop. Luckily, the place was so busy, no one noticed when she’d suddenly appeared in the dressing room. Never had she been so happy to be home. As she’d swum out of the shop, she’d spotted the palace and as always, the very sight of it—with its gleaming golden domes, its soaring rock crystal colonnades, and vaulted archways—had taken her breath away.
The heart of the palace was an enormous white marble octagon, flanked by towers. Matali’s flag—a red banner featuring a Razormouth dragon with a silver-blue egg in its claws—fluttered from each one. The palace had been built by Emperor Ranajit ten centuries ago, on a deepwater rock shelf off the southwestern coast of India. When subsequent emperors ran out of room on the original shelf, they built on nearby outcroppings and connected the old to the new with covered marble bridges. Slender and graceful, the passageways allowed the courtiers and ministers who lived on the outcroppings to travel to and from the palace without having their robes of state rumpled by the currents.
As Neela had drawn near, she’d seen that the palace looked different. Its windows had been shuttered, and its gateways locked. Members of the Pānī Yōd’dhā’ōṁ, Matali’s water warriors, patrolled the perimeter.
“Excuse me, can you tell me what’s going on? Why is the palace surrounded by guards?” she’d asked a passing merman.
“Have you been living under a rock? We’re preparing for war! The emperor and empress have been assassinated. The crown prince is missing. All of Matali is under martial law,” the merman had said. “Ondalina’s behind it all—mark my words.”
Neela was so stunned she’d had to sit down. The man’s words felt like a knife to her heart. During the chaos of the attack on Cerulea, she had become separated from her family. In the days that followed, she’d assumed they’d been taken prisoner, but she never thought the invaders would kill them. Her Uncle Bilaal and Aunt Ahadi…dead. Grief had hit her full on. She’d lowered her head into her hands. Why? Her uncle had been a just ruler, and her aunt kind and good-hearted. And Mahdi…he was missing. That meant her parents were now emperor and empress. Was Yazeed with them? Had he escaped the carnage?
After a few minutes, Neela had picked her head up. Sitting on a bench, she realized, was helping no one. “Get up and do something,” she’d told herself.
She’d fought her way through guards and bureaucrats to get to the Emperor’s Chamber and now she wanted to go inside it. She needed to see her parents and tell them all that had happened. What she didn’t need was to spend one more minute arguing with the subassistant.
“I am the princess! I was in Cerulea when it was invaded. I’ve been on the swim ever since. That’s why I look like this!” she shouted, slapping her tail fin in frustration.
“Ah! You see? More evidence that you are an imposter,” the subassistant said smugly. “The Princess Neela never shouts.”
Neela leaned in close to him. “When my father finds out that I was here and you turned me away, you’ll be guarding the door to the broom closet!”
The subassistant nervously tapped his chin. “I suppose you could fill out a form,” he said. He searched the shelves behind him. “I’m sure I have one somewhere. Ah! Here we are. Official Application for Grant of Consideration of Request for Petition of Possibility of Permission to Enter the Royal Presence.”
Neela, seething, said, “If I fill this out, will you let me in?”
“In six months. Give or take a week.”
At that moment, the doors to the Emperor’s Chamber opened and three officials exited. Seizing her chance, Neela skirted around them and into the room, sending the subassistant into a tizzy.
“Wait!” he cried. “You must fill out a form! That is the way things are done! That is the way things have always been done!”
The Emperor’s Chamber was incredibly sumptuous, designed to awe both friends and enemies of the realm. Delicate coral screens covered the arched windows. The white marble walls were inlaid with piecework images of Matalin royalty in lapis, malachite, jade, and pearl. Hundreds of lava torches—their glass globes tinted pink—cast a flattering glow. Murti, statues of divine sea spirits, stood in wall niches. The room’s immense domed ceiling was made of faceted pieces of rock crystal that caught the light and cast it down upon the two golden thrones standing on a high dais. On those thrones sat Aran, the new emperor, and Sananda, his empress. Below them was a crowd of courtiers.
Neela caught her breath, taken aback for a second at the sight of her parents in their opulent robes of state. They looked almost engulfed by them, and so remote upon their high thrones. She knew there were rules for approaching the emperor and empress and that even she had to follow them, but joy at seeing her mother and father so overwhelmed her that she forgot about royal protocol and rushed to them.
She also forgot about the palace guards—who were stationed in a tight circle around them. As she approached, they drew their swords, stopping her.
“Who allowed this swashbuckler to come into the royal presence?” Khelefu, the grand vizier, thundered.
Neela was nearly unrecognizable. Her bleached blond hair was coiled up on her head, and she was wearing a jacket held together with fishhooks.
“Khelefu, don’t you know me?” she asked, upset.
The grand vizier, imposing in a blue jacket and gold turban, didn’t even acknowledge her.
“We do not know how she got in, sir,” a guard replied.
“Forms will have to be filled out,” Khelefu said darkly. “Many forms. Remove her at once.”
“No, wait! Khelefu, it’s me, Neela!”
Stunned by the unseemly noise, the court fell silent.
Hearing her daughter’s name, Sananda turned toward the raised voices, a look of hope on her face. When she saw the young mermaid—a scruffy mess—an expression of bitter disappointme
nt took its place.
“Take her away, Khelefu,” she said, waving a heavily jeweled hand.
“Mata-ji! It’s me, your daughter!” Neela cried.
Sananda snorted, a contemptuous look on her face. “My daughter would never—” She stopped speaking. “Neria be praised,” she whispered. She swam to Neela and threw her arms around her. Aran followed, and swept both his wife and daughter into a tight embrace.
After a moment, the three released one another and Sananda took Neela’s face in her hands. “I thought we would never see you again. I—I thought…you were…”
“Hush, Mata-ji. Let us not speak of it,” Aran said, his voice husky. “She is here now.”
Sananda nodded. She kissed Neela again, then let her go.
“Is Yazeed here?” Neela asked hopefully.
“No,” Aran said sadly. “We’ve heard nothing from him. Nothing from Mahdi.”
Neela nodded, swallowing her disappointment. “I was hoping that somehow they’d escaped.”
“We must not give up hope,” Aran said firmly. “Do you know what’s become of Serafina? And Desiderio?”
“Sera’s alive. I don’t know about Des.”
“Where have you been all this time? We’ve all been worried sick!” Sananda said.
Suddenly aware of all the eyes and ears around her, Neela lowered her voice. “The situation is very…difficult. And very urgent. I’ll tell you about it over tea.”
Tea was a light afternoon meal that the royal family took in a private dining room, away from the court. Neela knew she would be able to speak without being overheard there. Her experiences had taught her to be wary. Spies could be anywhere.
“Khelefu, we will have tea now,” said Aran.
“Now, Your Grace? That would be most unusual. It is only three twenty-one, and tea is always served promptly at four fifteen,” Khelefu said.
“Now, Khelefu.”
Khelefu, looking unhappy, bowed his head. “As you wish.”
Before he could act on Aran’s order, however, a minister—anxious and pale—approached him and whispered in his ear. Khelefu listened, nodded gravely, then said, “An emergency meeting of the war cabinet has been called, Your Grace. Your presence has been requested.”