Chapter Seventeen
Awakening to the swish-swish-swish of a broom on floor, Serena cracks her eyes open to find Cordelia stealing glances over her shoulder as she works. Serena does not move. Instead, she surveys the otherwise empty room. It still holds cribs, toys, and swaddling blankets—objects that have been waiting for almost seventeen years to be used by a newborn Undine.
Next to the cleaning supplies is a bin of dolls. Cordelia works her way toward it, sweeping as she goes. When she pauses, Serena closes her eyes quickly, feigning sleep.
"Serena?" Cordelia whispers.
Serena doesn't answer.
Satisfied she has privacy, Cordelia picks up a baby Undine doll. She wraps the shiny pink tail in a swaddling blanket and paces back and forth across the room while she rocks the doll in her arms as steady and as soothing as a gentle summer tide.
Cordelia opens her mouth, and begins to sing to the doll. The tune is barely audible but Serena recognizes the rhythm, and the words come to her:
Hush little calfling, don’t say a word,
the sting is short when scales are conjured.
Soon you will be swimming in the seas,
among Undine and anemones.
It is a tune stolen from the Ungainly song Mockingbird, modified to fit Society. Serena wonders which ancestor overheard the song, and if they were ever punished for absconding.
Cordelia kisses the doll on the nose and continues singing:
When you come of age your hair will shine,
No longer will you be a calfling o' mine
Grow your legs to walk ashore one day,
find a mate to take where the moon holds sway.
Cordelia pauses, swallows, and lowers her voice even further:
Even if no newborns can be found,
you'll still be the sweetest calfling in town.
Cordelia continues to rock the doll for a minute more. When she hears footsteps down the hallway, she returns the doll to the bin and the blanket to the folded pile. She leaves the room, and Serena hears a hushed conversation float in from the corridor.
Turning over in her cot, Serena's chest feels more hollow than ever. She isn't allowed to wallow in her species’ misery for long. A few minutes later Rayne walks in, humming a brighter tune.
"Serenita…" she croons. "Time to wake uuuup."
Serena smiles, rubbing a palm down her face. She turns and mumbles, voice still heavy with sleep, "Morning, Mother Rayne."
"Oh, don’t Mother Rayne me. Get out of bed, sleepy head." Rayne pulls the sheet off Serena with one swift motion. "You are far too old for cots and blankets."
Serena stands slowly, stretching out her back. "I don't remember them being so uncomfortable and itchy." Even still, the familiar smells and nostalgia of her childhood home helped her sleep.
"Well you are welcome to sleep here anytime," Rayne says, gathering up all the bedding for washing. "But next time try the nanny's cove."
Serena glances at the small nook carved out in the wall for the nighttime nanny, about the same size as the sleeping cove in her own cave.
"I'd forgotten about that." She looks around the room, empty save for her and Rayne. "Not that I am ungrateful, but why did Ervin bring me here?"
Rayne smiles. "Because I asked him to. You've been through enough and I thought it might help to check in at home."
Home. A small flower of warmth blooms in Serena's belly at the word.
"They've already summoned you to the Great Hall today," Rayne continues, a frown tugging at the corners of her lips.
Almost immediately the flower inside Serena shrivels.
"But first—food. Breakfast is ready, and growing cold." Rayne shuffles Serena out of the room and into the dining area next to the kitchen.
There is a long, rectangular table with benches running down the sides. Old stains spot the worn wood, and the table is pockmarked with divots and cracks, scarred from years and years serving calflings.
Bowls of food sit at one end. There is dried and shredded red seaweed, a giant bowl of noodled kelp, and nori, roasted in small sheets. A wide variety of fish and crustaceans, some raw and some freshly cooked over dried driftwood fires, are spread across the table.
It is a feast, and not just by orphan standards. The last time Serena can remember Rayne making this much food was just before a final exam. It reminds Serena what she has to look forward to today—another punishment? Serena slumps into her seat, her appetite gone.
But Rayne is standing over her, piling different colored sea vegetables on Serena's plate. Sliding the full plate in front of Serena, Rayne sits down across from her, then pushes a bowl of filleted salmon toward Serena. Serena crinkles her nose and shakes her head.
"You always were a picky eater." Rayne sighs. "You can't keep up your strength eating plants all day long."
"My diet contains plenty of nutrients," says Serena, her voice sour as she pushes away the salmon with her fork. Sea vegetables spend their entire lives luxuriating in the world’s largest, oldest, most complete mineral bath. They soak it up and are among the richest sources of calcium, iron, zinc, and potassium, as well as fifty-three other minerals.
"Your diet has given me cause for concern over the years. Not to mention having to make sure there was something on the table you actually would eat," Rayne said, waving her hands as she talked. She always had a way of making up for Ronan's silence. "As if procuring enough food for twenty Undine at once wasn’t enough."
Rayne pauses, glancing down the long, empty table. Serena remembered the chaos of mealtime. As every caste before Serena entered The Choosing, the table became less and less crowded and mealtime grew more and more quiet.
"Spent all my time in the kitchen, I did," says Rayne. It is almost a whisper as she stares at her open hands, idle with the lack of orphans.
Serena picks up her fork, digging into the seaweed. "I miss your cooking," she says, swallowing her first bite and going for more. "Now I mostly eat as I swim, picking at raw plants. There is something to be said for a warm meal." Driftwood is not easy to come by and it takes forever to dry out enough for a fire in the damp caves.
Rayne brightens with a smile. Her hands brush the table, as if they've suddenly found use.
"What's this?" Serena asks, poking at a pile of deep-green plants. "Something new?"
"Wakame. I seasoned it with salt."
Serena tries it, letting the flavors roll around in her mouth. Her eyebrows lift. "It’s good."
"Thank you," says Rayne.
"No—I mean really, really good." Serena takes another bite, talking through a full mouth. "Good enough for any Undine." Serena pauses, arching one eyebrow at Rayne. "Good enough for a king."
Color creeps up Rayne's cheeks and her scales flare a deep green. "Oh, I don't think the king—"
"Trust me," Serena mumbles. "There is a lot we don't know about the king."
Rayne looks at Serena, patting her on the shoulder. "You'll be just fine."
Serena puts her fork down. "Why does everyone keep saying that?"
"Maybe," Rayne stands with new vigor, "because there is some truth to it, Serenita." She winks.
Serena grunts, sounding an awful lot like Ronan, even to herself.
"Morning, Cordelia," Rayne sings out to the new occupant of the dining room. "Want some breakfast?"
"I already ate," Cordelia says in a flat tone, glancing at Serena.
"Well, then." Rayne nods once. "If you're done with the sweeping, I suppose that's all I need for today."
The room grows silent except for the sound of Serena's fork pushing food around her plate. She can feel Cordelia staring. An itch grows on her back between her shoulder blades.
Rayne clears her throat. "Don't you have Assembly to attend today, anyhow?"
"As you say," says Cordelia.
Serena can hear her old caste mate turn and leave the room.
"As do you," Rayne says, glancing at Serena. "As do we all. If you get nervous, just loo
k for me in the crowd. And think of…of…"
"I'll think of your wakame," Serena says. "In fact, maybe we all will. Let's pack up the leftovers."