Lucia panicked. If he wakes up…she thought. If he realizes what I’m doing…But he didn’t. His eyes closed again. Relief washed over her. The somna potion was strong.
“Oh, my gods, Lucia…don’t!” Bianca said, horrified. “That’s against the law! It’s worse than canta malus—it’s canta sangua—blood magic!”
Lucia ignored her. She knew that pulling someone else’s bloodsongs was wrong, that it was a heinous violation of both body and soul, but she didn’t care.
She swirled her hand through the blood now, avidly watching the images coalesce. She saw Mahdi riding his hippokamp. Talking with Traho. Commanding death riders. None of those memories was what she wanted. Impatiently, she waved the blood away and pulled more.
“Lucia, be careful,” Bianca warned. “You’ll hurt him.”
Lucia paid her no heed. She pulled another skein of blood, and then another. Mahdi’s face turned a pale, sickly shade, but she kept on drawing out his memories until finally she saw what she was after.
She watched Mahdi kiss Sera in a safe house.
She watched him take Sera’s hand in a room in a farmhouse.
She watched him Promise himself to Sera in an official ceremony in the farmhouse’s garden.
And then she could watch no more.
She rose, her hands clenched, her eyes dark with malice. Jealousy shriveled her heart. Rage turned it black. Mahdi was a traitor. He had betrayed Miromara and Matali. Worse, he had betrayed her.
She picked up an empty glass and hurled it against a wall, shattering it. She toppled a table. And then another. Then she remembered the dagger hidden in a pocket of her dress. She pulled it out, trembling with fury, and advanced on the defenseless Mahdi.
Bianca, wide-eyed, swam in front of her. “Lucia, no! Wait!” she frantically pleaded.
Lucia glared at her. “For what?” she asked venomously.
“What if this is all a mistake? What if this isn’t Mahdi? The real Mahdi, I mean.
Lucia’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Sera must’ve enchanted him somehow. So she could use him to advance the Black Fins’ cause.”
Lucia thought about this, then slowly nodded. “You’re right. That’s exactly what happened. That explains everything. Mahdi would never prefer Sera to me.”
“Of course he wouldn’t. How could he?” Bianca said soothingly.
“She used darksong on him to make him believe that he loves her. To make him spy for her. She’ll stop at nothing to take my throne,” Lucia said.
Bianca glanced nervously at the blade Lucia was still clutching. “Put that away,” she said. “You don’t want to cut yourself.”
Lucia looked at the dagger as if she had no idea how it had gotten there. She put it in her pocket, then turned back to Mahdi. “I have to break the songspell,” she said. “I have to free him.”
“How?” Bianca asked. “It’s super hard to undo someone else’s songspell. You have to figure out exactly which spell was used, then invent a counter-melody and—”
“There’s another way,” Lucia said impatiently. “It’s much quicker.”
“What is it?”
Lucia remembered Baco Goga’s report about the location of the Black Fins, and their leader. Her father said he would attack them. He was gathering intelligence. He was making a plan.
He was taking too long.
“Lucia, what’s the other way?” Bianca asked again.
Lucia smiled. “Kill the songcaster.”
ASTRID, HER EYES on Desiderio, flattened herself against the cell door.
His face darkened. “Oh, right, I forgot. I’m an assassin. Don’t worry, I won’t murder you,” he said caustically. “I can’t. See?”
As he started toward her, the heavy chain attached to his collar pulled taut and stopped him. Droplets of blood fell onto his bare chest. The iron collar—designed to prevent both escape and songspells—was biting into his skin.
Astrid’s mind raced. Her parents had told her that Desiderio was a spy, that he’d tried to kill Kolfinn, and that he’d been arrested with his troops near Ondalina. She knew now who was really trying to kill her father, but that didn’t mean that Desiderio wasn’t a spy, and that he wasn’t here on Vallerio’s orders. She would have to proceed cautiously.
“You’re accused of being an assassin,” she said.
“From what I just heard, so are you,” Desiderio shot back. “Something tells me there’s no truth to that claim, either.”
He swam unsteadily to a narrow cot pushed against the far wall. He sat down, leaned back, and closed his eyes. Another drop of blood fell onto his chest.
He’s seriously hungry, Astrid thought. And probably in pain, too. Torture? Starvation? This is not how Ondalina treats its prisoners. She put down the key ring, took off her pack, and started digging through it. “What happened with you and your troops outside the Citadel?” she asked.
“Does it matter?” Desiderio replied wearily.
“Yeah, it does.”
She found what she was after—a packet wrapped in kelp leaves. It was a little crushed, but she doubted Desiderio would mind. She was about to toss it to him when they heard the sound of tapping, iron on ice.
Desiderio’s eyes flew open. “The guards,” he whispered. “They swim by every hour until midnight and tap their nightsticks on the doors. You have to show yourself. Get back up above the door. Hurry!”
Astrid scrambled up. She got herself to the ceiling just as the guard tapped on Desiderio’s door. He rose to attention. The guard peered in through the barred window, then moved on.
Astrid sank back down to the floor. He could have turned her in just then. Or earlier, when Rylka was in his cell. Many prisoners would have, to gain favor.
“Here,” she said, tossing him the packet.
Desiderio caught it and looked at her.
“Squid eggs.” She’d bought them a few leagues outside of Ondalina.
“Thank you,” Desiderio said, tearing the packet open.
Its contents were gone in seconds. When he finished eating, he folded the kelp-leaf wrapper and tucked it under his mattress.
A soldier’s trick, Astrid thought admiringly. Kelp leaves weren’t the tastiest things—they were used mostly for parchment and wrapping material—but they were edible in a pinch.
Desiderio had a bit more energy now. “You wanted my story,” he said. “So here it is: I was sent with four regiments to defend Miromara’s western border. This was months ago. My mother and uncle were worried about an attack. With good cause, it turned out. We were ambushed a week after we arrived.”
“By whom?”
“Ondalinians.”
Anger flared in Astrid again at learning that Rylka was using her father’s soldiers to attack without cause.
“They came at night,” Desiderio continued. “It was wholesale slaughter. I lost two-thirds of my troops. The survivors were rounded up. Our hippokamps and weapons were confiscated and we were forced to swim north. More soldiers died along the way. As we neared the Citadel, Rylka rode out to meet us. She accused me of conspiring to attack the Citadel and of trying to assassinate Kolfinn. I said I’d done no such thing, that we—my soldiers and I—had been attacked. A merman came at me then…with three orca teeth on his uniform—”
“Tauno,” Astrid said.
“He hit me in the face with the butt of his crossbow. I blacked out. When I woke up, I was in here.”
Astrid studied his face, looking for a twitch, listening for a false note in his voice, anything that might indicate that he was lying. She saw nothing.
Desiderio studied hers in return. “I’m telling you the truth,” he said. “I’ll prove it.”
He rose from his cot, touched his fingers to the place over his heart, and drew a bloodsong. Blood was impervious to magic; it could not be altered. He could pull bloodsongs even though he wore an iron collar.
Desiderio winced in pain as the crimson skeins plumed through the water. Ol
d memories were the easiest to pull. Ripened by time, they could be plucked like heavy fruit. New memories were more resistant. Their sharp edges snagged.
Astrid watched as sounds and images coalesced inside the bloodsong. She saw Desiderio’s border encampment with its tents and lava fires burning brightly in the darkness. Then she heard the sound of hippokamps charging. There were shouts and screams. And later, as the rays of the morning sun penetrated the waters, there were bodies. So many of them. She watched the rest of the bloodsong with a mixture of sorrow and anger. It was all exactly as Desiderio had said.
“I’m sorry,” Astrid said as the bloodsong faded. “Sorry that this happened. Sorry for being suspicious of you.”
“Why did she do it?” he asked, his voice ragged. Pulling bloodsongs had weakened him even more. “Why did she accuse me of plotting to attack Ondalina, when Ondalinian soldiers attacked me?”
“She’s trying to stir up fear of Miromara in my father and brother. So she can convince them to accept Portia Volnero’s deal.”
“Portia Volnero?” Desiderio echoed, confused. “Why is she brokering a deal with Ondalina?”
“Because she and Vallerio are bent on world domination,” Astrid said acidly. “Now that Lucia’s the regina—”
Desiderio stopped her. “Wait…what did you say? Lucia’s not Miromara’s regina, my mother is.”
“No, Lucia is. Ever since Cerulea was attacked and…” Astrid’s words fell away as Desiderio’s confusion deepened. Understanding dawned on her. “Oh, gods. You don’t know,” she said. “No one told you. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
“Tell me, Astrid, please,” Desiderio said, his eyes huge in his face, his voice barely a whisper.
“I will,” Astrid said. Her heart ached for him, and for all the pain she was about to cause him. “But I think you’d better sit down first.”
“STOP IT, DESIDERIO. Stop it!” Astrid begged.
He was pulling against his chain, trying to free himself. Twisting and flailing with all his might.
“Stop. Please.”
If Desiderio heard her, he gave no sign of it.
Astrid had told him everything. He’d crumpled when he learned of his parents’ deaths. His grief had turned to fury when he found out how they died, and that fury only increased when Astrid told him what had happened to Sera, and how she was now leading the resistance.
When Astrid finished talking, Desiderio had started tugging desperately at his chain, trying to rip it out of the wall. He didn’t seem to know her anymore, or himself.
Astrid watched him, looking for her chance. Every few seconds, he would stop thrashing and be still, his chest working to draw breath. She tensed. When he stopped again, she sprang. “Look at me, Desiderio…look at me!” she hissed, grabbing his arms and holding them fast.
His eyes were wild. She could feel him straining to break her grip.
“Desiderio…” She took his face between her hands now. “I said, look. At. Me.”
Their faces were only inches apart now. He raised his eyes to hers. The anguish in their depths was terrible to see.
“I’m not going to tell you it’ll be all right. Because it won’t be,” Astrid said. “Not for a long time. Maybe not ever. But choking yourself to death in a dungeon cell won’t bring your parents back. It won’t help Sera. It won’t stop Vallerio or Rylka. Do you understand?”
Desiderio slowly nodded. The crazed look in his eyes receded.
“Okay. Good,” Astrid said, releasing him. “What we have to do now is get ourselves out of here and get to my father. I have to protect him from Rylka. And he has to protect you from Rylka.”
Desiderio shook his head as if he hadn’t heard her correctly. “Get ourselves out of here?” he repeated. “Have you somehow missed the fact that I’m chained to the wall of a cell in a dungeon?”
Astrid picked up the iron key ring she’d placed on the cell’s floor earlier. “I bet one of these will open your collar,” she said, swimming back to him.
She tried one key after another in the collar’s lock. On her fifth try, it opened. She pulled it off and tossed it aside, wincing at how it had rubbed his skin raw.
“Now one of these other keys will open the gate at the far end of this corridor. I’m sure of it. If we can just get to there, we’re free. I’m betting another key will open the door to this cell.”
“Maybe it will,” Desiderio said. “But that doesn’t help us. The lock’s on the outside.”
Astrid looked at the door and frowned, thwarted. Of course. The door was never meant to be opened from the inside.
“You could pretend you’re ill,” she suggested. “And tell the guard you need a doctor.”
Desiderio shook his head. “That won’t work, either. Rylka told the guards to starve me to death. They won’t open my cell door again until it’s time to carry my body out.”
Astrid knew he was right. “I’ve got to show myself then,” she said. “A guard would definitely open the door if he saw me in here. Rylka’s probably promised a big reward to anyone who captures me. I’ll lure him in—”
“And I’ll attack,” Desiderio started to say, some spirit coming back into his eyes. “I’ll make it look like I’m still shackled—”
“—and grab him when he turns his back,” Astrid finished.
They sat down, tails tucked under them, and hastily sketched a diagram in the silt on the cell floor. Warriors both, they were trained to examine their strategies and look for any weaknesses.
“A lot can go wrong. It’s a risky plan,” Desiderio said when they’d finished.
“You have a better one?” Astrid asked.
Before he could answer, they heard the sound of tapping again. An hour had passed. The guard was back on his rounds.
“Ready?” Astrid whispered.
Desiderio nodded. He picked up the iron collar and closed it around his neck, wincing as he did. He threaded the padlock through the collar’s hasp, so it would look right to the guard, but didn’t close it. Then he lay facedown on the floor and became perfectly still.
Astrid took a deep breath. She arranged her face into an expression of fear. It wasn’t hard to do. The tap, when it came, nearly made her jump out of her skin.
“Prisoner 592, show yourself,” the guard droned, peering into the small window.
Astrid swam into view. “The prisoner’s dead. I killed him,” she said. “I’m Astrid Kolfinnsdottir. You’ve got to help me.”
THE GUARD HESITATED. Astrid could see indecision in his small, unintelligent eyes. He glanced down the corridor.
If he goes for backup, we’re done for, she thought. She and Desiderio could overpower one guard, but not several.
“I’ve got currensea on me,” she said, desperate to sway him. She dug in her backpack and pulled out a sharkskin pouch. “A hundred trocii. It’s yours.”
It was a lie—the pouch contained only a few trocii—but it worked. She could read the guard’s intentions on his face. He would take her money, and then he’d turn her over to Rylka and pocket whatever reward she’d offered, too.
The guard nodded at Desiderio. “How did you kill him?” he asked warily.
Astrid hadn’t anticipated that. She thought fast. “I stabbed him in the chest with a dagger,” she said.
“Hand it over.”
Astrid pulled her bone-handled dagger out of her satchel and pushed it through the bars in the door’s small window. The guard took it.
“Now the money.”
Astrid hadn’t seen that coming, either. He wasn’t going to help her. He was going to take her money, leave her in the cell, and fetch Rylka.
“No,” she said. “You open the door and get me out of here, then you get the money.”
“Don’t make me come in there or you’ll be sorry,” the guard threatened.
“We had a deal,” Astrid said.
“The deal is you give me the money. Or else,” the guard said, brandishing his club.
Astrid
feigned fear. She backed away from the door to Desiderio’s cot. Come on…come on, she silently urged him. Everything depended on getting him inside the cell.
The guard jammed his key into the lock.
Astrid’s pulse quickened. “That’s it,” she said under her breath. “Keep coming, lumpsucker….”
He’d gotten her dagger off her. He believed Desiderio was dead. And he was greedy. With any luck, all those things would blind him to the fact that Desiderio’s chest was moving ever so slightly.
“Give me the money. Now,” the guard said, advancing on Astrid.
Before he even knew what had hit him, Des looped his chain around the guard’s neck and pulled it tight. The guard thrashed his tail. His face turned bright red as he gasped for water.
“Stop struggling or I’ll choke the life out of you,” Desiderio said.
The guard kept fighting. He was bigger than Desiderio, but Des had better leverage. He pulled the chain tighter and the guard’s face deepened to blue.
“Stop,” Des ordered, and finally the guard gave up. “Hands behind your back.”
Working quickly, he unwound the chain, clapped the iron collar around the guard’s neck, and locked it. He used the laces from Astrid’s vest to bind the guard’s hands and the merman’s own belt to gag him.
“Let’s go,” he said to Astrid when he finished.
They hurried out of the cell. Des pulled the door closed behind them and locked it, then they sped to the far end of the corridor and the exit gate. They had to try several keys in the gate’s lock, but soon had it open. They swam through, locked it again, and raced up the tunnel.
“Where does this lead?” Des asked.
“I’m not sure. Back to the hospital, I hope,” Astrid replied.
The tunnel ended at a pair of locked iron doors. Once again they had the right key. Astrid pushed one of the doors open and cautiously peeked out.
She immediately knew where she was. She recognized the antique arms and armor decorating the wall and the quotations from Ondalina’s chief justices incised above the doorways.
“The Hall of Justice,” she said.