The entire chamber had gone quiet. Thalassa, Miromara’s keeper of magic, was the most powerful songcaster in the realm. No one misbehaved in her presence—ever. Even Isabella sat up straighter when Thalassa entered the room.
“Causing trouble again, Lucia?” she finally said. “Nothing surprising from a Volnero. Do you remember what bad behavior got your ancestor Kalumnus? No? Let me remind you. It got him his head in a basket. Likewise your great-aunt Livilla. I would watch myself if I were you.”
Lucia’s eyes flashed menacingly at the unwelcome reminder of her ancestors’ dark deeds. Kalumnus had tried to assassinate Merrow and rule in her stead. He’d been captured and beheaded, and his family banished. Two thousand years later, Livilla Volnero tried to raise an army against the Merrovingia. She, too, had been executed. Though these events had happened centuries ago, suspicion still shrouded the Volnero like sea mist.
“And you, Bianca,” Thalassa continued. “A true di Remora. Always following the big fish. You might want to reassess your loyalties. The Merrovingia are Miromara and always will be. Alítheia ensures that.” She waved a heavily jeweled hand. “Out. Now,” she ordered. “All of you except the principessa.”
Serafina knew that Thalassa had come to drill her on her songspell. She was her teacher.
“Your Dokimí’s only a few hours away. As of yesterday, that trill in the fifth measure wasn’t where it should be. It should be quick and bright, like dolphins jumping, not lumbering like a whale shark. We have work to do,” Thalassa said.
“Yes, Magistra,” Serafina said.
“From the beginning, please.”
Serafina started to sing…and immediately stumbled.
“Again,” the canta magus demanded. “No mistakes this time. The songspell is supposed to demonstrate excellence, and you are not even showing me competence!”
Serafina started over. This time, she got well into the songspell—and past the difficult trill—without a mistake. Her eyes darted from the wall ahead of her, where she’d focused her gaze, to Thalassa.
“Good, good, but stop biting off your words,” Thalassa chided. “Legato, legato, legato!”
Serafina nodded to show she understood and tried to soften her words, gliding smoothly from phrase to phrase. She was doing more than merely singing now; she was songcasting.
Merrow’s songspell, if sung correctly, told listeners of the origins of the merfolk. Like all principessas before her, Serafina had to cast the original songspell, then compose several movements of her own that illustrated the progression of the merfolk after Merrow’s rule. She had to sing of her place in that progression, and her betrothed’s, and she had to use color, light, and movement to do it. The greater her mastery of magic, the more dazzling her songspell.
She was just conjuring a likeness of Merrow when Thalassa started waving her hands.
“No, no, no! Stop!” she shouted.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Serafina asked.
“The images, they’re far too pale. They have no life!”
“I—I don’t understand, Magistra. I hit all the notes. I had that phrase totally under control.”
“That’s the problem, Serafina—too much control! That’s always your problem. I want emotion and passion. I want the tempest, not the calm. Again!”
Serafina took a deep breath, then picked up where Thalassa had stopped her. As she sang, the canta magus whirled around her, pushing her, challenging her, never letting up. As Serafina began a very tricky section of the songspell, a tribute to her future husband, Thalassa swam closer, propelled by her strong tentacles.
“Expression, Serafina, more expression!” she demanded.
Serafina had conjured a water vortex as part of an effect. She added two more.
“Good, good! Now use the magic to make me feel something! Amaze me!”
Raising the vortices with her voice, Serafina made them taller and spun them faster. She forgot she was inside the palace, forgot to keep the magic small. Her voice grew louder, stronger. She swept a graceful hand out in front of her, curving the vortices. She bent them once, twice, three times, folding the water in on itself, forcing it to refract light.
“Excellent!” Thalassa shouted.
Sera’s voice was soaring. It swooped over arpeggios, ranged up and down octaves effortlessly. She bent the water again and again, and a dozen more times until it cracked and broke into shards and light shot from it in so many directions, it looked like a mountain of diamonds glittering in the chamber. She was now coming to the part where she had to conjure an image of the crown prince.
She tried to make the most beautiful image she could imagine, but as soon as she saw Mahdi’s face shimmering before her, her voice broke. All she could think about was Lucia telling her that he had a merlfriend. What if she was right?
All at once, her emotion boiled over. She lost control of her songspell. The vortices spun apart violently and splashed to the floor, knocking over a table, smashing a chair, and cracking two windows.
“I can’t do it!” she shouted angrily, slapping the water with her tail. “It’s an impossible songspell!” She turned to Thalassa, her composure entirely gone. “Tell my mother the Dokimí’s off. Tell her I’m not good enough! Not good enough for her! Not good enough to cast this rotten songspell! And not good enough for the crown prince!”
THALASSA PRESSED a hand to her chest. “What is this outburst?” she asked. “This isn’t like you, child. You know the songspell inside and out. All you have to do is cast it!”
“Yes. Right. That’s all,” Serafina said hotly. “Just cast it. In front of the entire court. And the Matalis. And oh, I don’t know, ten thousand Miromarans! It’s too hard. I won’t be able to pull it off. I’ll bungle that trill. My voice isn’t strong enough. It’s not as beautiful as other voices are. It’s not as beautiful as…as…”
Thalassa raised an eyebrow. “As Lucia’s?”
Serafina nodded unhappily. To her surprise, Thalassa didn’t lecture or scold. Instead, she laughed.
“Tell me, where does the voice come from?” she asked.
Serafina rolled her eyes. “From the throat. Obviously,” she said.
“That’s true for many,” Thalassa said. “And it’s certainly true for Lucia. But it’s not true for you. Your voice comes from here.” She touched the place over Serafina’s heart. “It’s a beautiful voice. I know. I’ve heard it. All you have to do is let it out. Show me your heart, Serafina. That’s where the truest magic comes from.”
Serafina laughed bitterly. “Show my heart? Here at court? Why? So Lucia Volnero can stick a knife in it?”
“I heard what Lucia said. Ignore her. She wishes she were principessa. She wants the power, the palace, and the handsome crown prince,” Thalassa said.
Worry darkened Serafina’s eyes at the words crown prince. She blinked it away so quickly that anyone else would have missed it. But Thalassa was not anyone else.
“Ah,” she said sagely. “So that’s what’s behind all this.” She sat down on a settee and patted the place next to her. “Tell me, does he love you?”
“Yes. No. Oh, I don’t know, Magistra!” Serafina said tearfully. “I think so. I thought so. But now I’m not sure. Not after what Lucia said.” She sat down next to her teacher.
“Oh, Serafina,” Thalassa said, putting an arm around her. “Have you told anyone how you feel? Your mother? Tavia? What do they say?”
Serafina shook her head. “I haven’t told them. I haven’t told anyone. I won’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’ll get out somehow. The courtiers will find out and then it won’t be mine anymore. It’ll be theirs. You don’t understand, Magistra. My whole life is public. I can’t go anywhere alone. I can’t do anything by myself. Every movement, every word, every look is talked about and picked apart. I wanted this, this one thing, for myself alone.”
Thalassa took Serafina’s hand. “You’re wrong, you know. I do understand. I know somethi
ng of a life lived in public. I am the canta magus, after all.”
Serafina looked at her questioningly.
“My talent was recognized when I was a small child,” Thalassa said. “A voice like mine, my teacher said, came along once in a millennia. I could fold water, throw light, and whirl wind by the time I was four. I was taken from my parents and given over to the Kolegio at six. By eight I was songcasting for your grandmother Artemesia and her court.”
“How did you cope with it all, Magistra?” Serafina asked.
Thalassa laughed. “Poorly. When I was little, I took joy in my music. I cast my songspells simply because I loved to do so. But as I grew older and started songcasting for the court, I began to listen to what others said. I heard their remarks—some spiteful and cruel—and I believed them. I let their voices get inside of me, into my heart.”
Thalassa released Serafina’s hand. She touched her fingers to her chest, to the place over her heart, then pulled them away, wincing as they drew fine skeins of blood. The crimson swirled through the water like smoke in the air, then coalesced into images. As it did, Serafina saw the bloodsong—the memories that lived in her teacher’s heart. She saw nobles from her grandmother’s court whispering to each other behind their hands.
She’ll never become a mage…Her voice isn’t strong enough…It’s too low…It’s too high…Her trills are muddy…She’s too fat…She’s too thin…She’s not pretty…
Thalassa waved the memories away. “I tried to please the voices. I started making music for them, not me, and my songspells suffered,” she said. “Luckily, I saw what the voices were doing to me and I vowed never to let them in again. I guarded my heart fiercely. I closed it off. I allowed no one inside, nothing but my music.”
“I’ll do the same,” Serafina said resolutely.
“No, child. I am telling you these things to convince you not to close your heart.”
“But you just said—”
“What I didn’t say, yet, is this: If you let no one into your heart, you keep out pain, yes, but also love. When I was sixteen, I wanted to be a canta magus. Music and magic were all that mattered to me. You, however, will become a ruler, and a ruler’s greatest power comes from her heart—from the love she bears her subjects, and the love they bear her.”
Serafina thought about Thalassa’s words. She’d longed to share her feelings for Mahdi with someone. She’d longed to open her heart, but she’d been too afraid. Impulsively, she touched her fingers to her chest now and drew a bloodsong. She gasped as she did, for she was much younger than Thalassa and her memories were sharper. It hurt to pull them.
“I’m touched by your trust, child,” Thalassa said. “Are you certain you wish to show this to me?”
Serafina nodded and Thalassa watched as the blood swirled through the water, taking on shape and color, making memory visible. Serafina watched too. It had happened two years ago, but for her it felt like yesterday. It had happened before the raids and disappearances. Before the tensions with Ondalina. Before the waters had grown so treacherous.
It had happened in the ruins of Merrow’s ancient palace.
SERAFINA WAS HIDING.
From her mother, ministers, minions, and Mahdi.
She had stolen away. It drove everyone wild with worry, but she needed a few minutes a day, every day, to be free from the eyes and ears of the court. And she especially needed it today. The match had been decided. The announcement had been made. Serafina had met her future husband—and she didn’t want any part of him.
Mahdi had arrived in Miromara a week earlier, with his parents, the emperor and empress; his cousins, Neela and Yazeed; and their royal entourage, to meet his future wife as custom demanded. He was sixteen—serious, smart, and shy. He didn’t ride. He didn’t fence. He preferred the company of Desiderio—Serafina’s brother, a merboy his own age—and Yazeed to anyone else’s. He barely spoke to Serafina, who was two years younger. He was courteous to her, as he was to everyone, but that was all.
“He’s a goby. I’d rather marry Palomon,” she told Tavia, referring to her mother’s bad-tempered hippokamp.
Their first real conversation came about only by accident. Serafina had been sitting in the gardens of the South Court, listening to a conch shell, when Mahdi and his chaperone, Ambassador Akmal, happened to swim by. They didn’t see her. She’d hidden herself on a coral shelf above them, behind a giant sea fan.
“What do you think of the princess, Your Grace?” she heard the ambassador ask. “She is very lovely, no?”
Serafina knew she shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but she couldn’t help herself. Curious, she leaned against the sea fan.
“Does it matter what I think?” he’d said. “She’s their choice—my parents’, their advisers’—not mine. I have no choice.”
At that very second, the sea fan—old and brittle—cracked under Serafina’s weight. It fell from the coral shelf and toppled heavily to the seafloor, sending up a cloud of silt. When the cloud finally settled, Sera peered over the shelf. Mahdi looked up and saw her.
“Wow. This is awkward,” she said.
“You heard us,” he said.
“I didn’t mean to,” said Serafina. “I was sitting here listening to a conch and then you swam by and…well, I couldn’t help it. Look, I’m sorry. I’ll go.”
“No, don’t go. Please,” Mahdi said. He turned to his ambassador. “Leave us,” he ordered.
“Your Grace, is that wise? There will be talk.”
“Leave us,” Mahdi repeated through gritted teeth.
The ambassador bowed and left. As soon as he was gone, Mahdi swam up to Sera and helped her over the jagged edges of the broken sea fan. They sat down together on a nearby rock.
“I’m the one who’s sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“You don’t need to apologize. I know how you feel.”
He turned to look at her. “But I thought—”
Serafina laughed. “You thought what? That because I’m a merl, it’s all just fine with me? Getting betrothed at sixteen and married at twenty? To someone chosen for me, not by me? How very enlightened of you, Your Grace. It’s the forty-first century, you know, not the tenth. And to be perfectly honest, I’d much rather pursue a doctorate in ancient Atlantean history than marry you.”
After that, she often felt Mahdi’s eyes on her. They were beautiful eyes—dark, expressive, and fringed with long black lashes. She would look up at a dinner or during a pageant and catch him watching her. He would always look away.
The next time they were alone together, it was because Serafina had found him hiding. She’d had another history conch to listen to and had managed to sneak away from her court to do it. The only problem was that someone had beaten her to her new hiding place. Mahdi was sitting there, in a copse of kelp, with a knife in one hand and a small, ivory-colored object in the other. When he heard her approach, he tried to hide them.
“Can’t you give me one moment’s peace?” he’d asked wearily.
Serafina backed up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you,” she said.
Mahdi’s head snapped up at the sound of her voice. “Oh, no,” he said. “I’m sorry, Serafina. I thought you were Akmal. He never leaves me alone.”
“It’s all right, Mahdi. I’ll find somewhere else to—”
“No, wait, Serafina. Please.” He opened his hand, showing her the object he’d tried to hide. It was a tiny octopus, about three inches long, intricately carved from a piece of bone.
“It looks just like Sylvestre!” she exclaimed, delighted.
“That was the idea,” he said.
“It’s beautiful, Mahdi!”
“Thank you,” he said, smiling shyly. “Nobody knows I carve. I’ve managed to keep it a secret. I don’t even know why I do it.” He looked away. “It’s just…sometimes you want one thing, just one thing—”
“—that’s for yourself alone,” she finished.
It was as if they w
ere seeing each other for the first time.
“I have that with Clio,” she said.
“Clio?”
“My hippokamp. I’m not allowed to ride by myself, being principessa and all. If I want to go out, I have to go with guards. But I always manage to get ahead of them and for a few moments, it’s just Clio and me. All I hear is the sound of her fins beating the water. If a pod of dolphins swims by, I see it alone. If a whale passes by, I hear her song alone.” She smiled ruefully. “Of course, if I fall off Clio and break my neck, I do that alone too.”
When she finished speaking, Mahdi took her hand and placed the little octopus in her palm. “For you,” he said.
A few nights later, she felt him take her hand again—this time in the dark, during a waterlights display in his honor. He’d looked at her, asking her with his dark eyes if it was all right. She’d answered him with hers that it was. And then, one evening while they were playing hide-and-seek with Desiderio, Neela, Yazeed, and the younger members of the court in the reggia, he’d suddenly pulled her deep into the tumbled ruins.
“I found you,” he said, as they floated close together in the water.
“No, Mahdi, that’s not how the game works. Don’t you have hide-and-seek in Matali? It’s not your turn. Desiderio’s it,” she’d said, keeping an eye out for her brother.
“I’m not talking about the game,” he said. “I found you, Serafina. You’re the one thing. The one thing for myself alone.” He’d pulled her to him then and kissed her.
It was so lovely, that kiss. Slow and sweet. Serafina sighed as she relived it—then turned bright red when she remembered Thalassa was watching the bloodsong too.
There were more kisses in the days that followed. Stolen behind pillars. Or in the stables. There were long talks when they could break away, smiles and glances when they couldn’t. And then, as Mahdi was leaving Miromara to return home, he’d given Serafina a ring. It wasn’t gold or some priceless crown jewel taken from the Matalin vaults. It was a simple band with a heart in the middle, carved from a white shell. He’d made it for her, alone in his room at night. As he was saying his official good-byes in front of the court, he’d bent to kiss her hand. While he was holding it, he’d slipped the ring on her finger.