“And let you board a ghost ship alone? No way. We’re both going back. We shouldn’t have even come here. If anyone ever found out that we did…”
But Lucia wasn’t listening; she’d already started for the top deck. She’d come to see Kharis and nothing was going to stop her. Bianca, fretting ever since they’d snuck out of the palace, trailed Lucia, wringing her hands.
Vallerio still hadn’t attacked the Black Fins. Soon, he’d said, when Lucia had asked him why not. I can’t send my troops to the Kargjord right now. I have other tasks for them. He’d refused to tell her what those tasks were, so Lucia had devised her own plan for dealing with Serafina. And Kharis, a servant of the death goddess Morsa, had something for her—something she desperately needed in order to set that plan in motion.
Figures flitted inside the ship. Lucia glimpsed them as she swam past portholes to the aft deck. She heard laughter. Glasses clinking. A piano playing.
The Britannia had been a luxury ocean liner. A storm had taken her down in the Adriatic Sea in the summer of 1926. Nearly a thousand had perished, passengers and crew.
Humans who died under the water became ghosts. Their bodies decomposed, but their souls lived on trapped beneath the waves—restless and hungry. The Britannia pulsed with the force of its ghost passengers’ longing. Lucia could hear it in the mournful groaning of the ship’s hull. She could feel it in the shuddering of its deck.
The Britannia hadn’t broken up as she’d sunk, but had settled in one piece on the seafloor, listing slightly to her port side. Her smokestacks still stood, as did the pilothouse. Lifeboats remained in position.
On the top deck, crabs scuttled over upended deck chairs. Tiny fish darted in and out of a woman’s shoe. Anemones clustered on hats, books, a pair of binoculars.
Other creatures lived on the decks, too, growling deep in their decayed throats, staggering on their tattered legs, swiveling their eyeless heads.
Rotters.
Bianca grabbed Lucia’s arm. “What are they?” she asked, terrified. “They look like dead terragoggs.”
“They are,” Lucia said. “They died in the Britannia’s wreck, too. The priestess uses them for protection. They kill anyone—human or mer—who tries to board the ship.”
Unlike ghosts, rotters possessed no soul. They were merely the decaying bodies of humans who’d died on the surface of the water. Their souls had been released at death, and their bodies had sunk to the seafloor. Practitioners of darksong knew how to reanimate the bodies and make them do their bidding.
The rotters lumbered toward Lucia and Bianca now, their hands swiping at the water. Bianca screamed. She tried to pull Lucia away, but Lucia shook her off.
“I am Lucia, regina of Miromara. Take me to Kharis,” she ordered.
The rotters stopped their attack. Their growls became sullen. They turned and headed for an arched doorway.
“Ghosts shun rotters. They think they’re disgusting,” Lucia said, following them.
“I can’t imagine why,” said Bianca, her voice trembling.
“We need to stay close to them. They’ll keep us safe.”
“How do you know all this?” Bianca asked, hurrying to keep up with her.
“I’ve come here before,” Lucia replied. “Many times.”
“Alone?” Bianca asked, looking at her with a mixture of disbelief and awe.
Lucia nodded. Temples to Morsa, the scavenger goddess of death, were outlawed, but a few still existed—if one knew where to look. A couple of doubloons placed in the right hands bought names and locations. The priestess Kharis had chosen the ghost ship because she knew that fear of its inhabitants would allow her to do her dark work without interference by the authorities.
Lucia knew the way to Kharis’s altar, but she allowed the rotters to lead her. They took her down a grand staircase that led into an enormous ballroom. Gleaming mahogany banisters swept down either side of the staircase, and it was lined with bronze statues of sea nymphs. High above it, electric chandeliers hung from the gilded ceiling.
At the ballroom’s far end, a ghost orchestra played. Revelers danced and laughed. Women with bobbed hair wore sparkly sleeveless dresses. Diamonds dangled from their ears and glinted on their hands. Their cheeks were powdered and pale; their lips painted vermilion.
Men wore tuxedoes. Their short hair was slicked back off their foreheads. They all looked just as they had in the seconds before the storm-tossed sea sent a rogue wave hurtling at their ship.
Bianca stopped at the top of the stairs as the rotters lurched down it. “Look at them all,” she whispered, fearfully eyeing the shipwreck ghosts. “We’ll never get through.”
“Stay here if you like,” Lucia said. She’d inserted herself into the middle of the rotters for safety, and Bianca had no choice but to do the same.
The ghosts sensed the mermaids immediately. The music stopped playing. The revelers stopped dancing. Lucia knew it was the ghosts’ energy that kept the ship alive and the ballroom looking exactly as it had.
As the two mermaids crossed the dance floor, the ghosts strained toward them. Only the rotters, growling and swatting, kept them away. Lucia could feel the ghosts’ hunger. They were greedy for the life that surged in her veins.
The mermaids exited the ballroom and moved down paneled hallways, past lounges with silk wall coverings and electric lamps, through a pair of swinging doors and into the ship’s enormous kitchens, where chefs brandished gleaming cleavers and waiters walked with trays on their shoulders. A maître d’ with a pencil-thin mustache eyed them ravenously.
“How much farther?” Bianca asked weakly as they left the kitchen and swam down another long hallway.
“Just through here,” Lucia replied, pointing ahead.
The rotters pushed open a pair of tall wooden doors and the mermaids emerged in the ship’s theater. Passengers had come here for concerts, plays, and silent movies.
Gold-fringed red velvet curtains hung across an elevated stage. On them had been painted an image of Morsa. The goddess had a skull for a face, a woman’s torso, and the lower body of a serpent. A crown of black scorpions, tails poised to strike, adorned her head. Waterfire burned in bronze cauldrons, set on either side of the goddess. In front of her, a mermaid wearing crimson sea-silk robes was chanting. When she finished, she turned around, as if she’d known Lucia and Bianca had entered the room.
Lucia dipped her head. “Greetings, Priestess,” she said.
Kharis, kohl-eyed, her hair moving around her head like dozens of black sea snakes, returned Lucia’s bow. “Your Grace,” she said. “I am honored by your visit. Have you come to admire my work?”
“I have. And to further it,” Lucia replied.
She opened the bag she’d brought with her and pulled out its contents one by one.
“A lock of Mahdi’s hair,” she said, handing Kharis a glossy black twist she’d clipped from his head before leaving the Depth Charge. Next came a small crystal scent bottle filled with a dark crimson liquid. “A vial of his blood,” she said. She’d also thought to capture a bloodsong she’d pulled at the nightclub, knowing well the sort of ingredients Kharis’s magic required. “And finally, a possession of Serafina’s—her jacket.”
“Well done!” Kharis said, taking the objects. “Would you like to see my creation?”
Lucia nodded.
Kharis sang a strange songspell in a minor key that Lucia had never heard before. An instant later, the red curtains parted and a merman swam into the center of the stage.
Lucia caught her breath.
Bianca shook her head. She looked at the figure as if her eyes were playing tricks on her. “Mahdi?” she said uncertainly. “How did you get here?”
LUCIA SWAM AROUND Kharis’s creation. “He’s perfect,” she purred, her eyes sparkling darkly. “Absolutely perfect!”
“Of course he is.” Kharis sniffed. “I made him and the goddess blessed him.”
“Mahdi? Mahdi?” Bianca said, swimming up to the
stage.
“It’s not the real Mahdi. It’s a maligno, my dear,” Kharis said.
Bianca turned to her. “A what?”
“A clay merman. Animated by blood magic and Lucia’s to command as she pleases.”
Bianca’s eyes widened. She backed away from the creature. “To command? Command how?” She looked at her friend. “What are you going to do, Lucia?”
“Kill Serafina,” Lucia replied, her gaze still on the maligno. She shifted it to Kharis. “Why is he still here? Why hasn’t he gone after her?”
“Ah, Your Grace,” Kharis said, her voice low and silky, “the darkest of songspells carries a very high price.”
Lucia spun around. Her eyes hardened. “I’ve given you a great deal of gold already, Kharis,” she said coldly. “What more do you want?”
“It is not what I want, Your Grace, but what the goddess demands,” Kharis said, gesturing to the image of Morsa. “The price of death is death.”
Lucia had visited Kharis many times, and had never felt afraid—until now. She knew what Kharis was asking, but how could she do it? That’s what others were for—Traho and his soldiers, Baco Goga, her father’s assassins.
Bianca understood what Kharis was asking, too. Her horror was written on her face. She hurried to Lucia.
“Luce, no,” she said, desperation in her voice. “You can’t. It’s murder. The goddess will take her victim’s life, and then she’ll take your soul. We need to get out of here. Please!”
Bianca grabbed her hand, and Lucia—dazed by Kharis’s request—let herself be led away.
“Death for death, Your Grace, or I must return your handsome Mahdi to the bed of clay from which I took him,” Kharis said.
…your handsome Mahdi…
The words echoed in Lucia’s mind. But he wasn’t hers, no matter how much she wanted him to be, because Serafina had tricked Mahdi into Promising himself to her. Promising vows were binding. If anyone who’d been Promised to one mer tried to marry another mer, the notes of his or her marriage songspell would fall flat.
Lucia knew that as long as Sera was alive, Mahdi would never be hers.
“Your Grace…” Kharis said.
Lucia stopped dead. “No,” she said.
Bianca let out a ragged sigh of relief. “Thank gods you’ve come to your senses. Come on, Luce,” she said, tugging on her hand. “Let’s get back to the palace.”
But Bianca misunderstood.
Lucia stopped. She cocked her head and gazed at her friend. This is what little fish are for, a voice inside her said. To feed big fish.
“Bring me a sacrifice for the goddess, Your Grace,” Kharis demanded. “Before the moon wanes.”
Lucia smiled. She tightened her grip on Bianca’s hand.
“Not to worry, Kharis,” she said, her eyes glittering darkly. “I already have.”
CONSCIOUSNESS CAME SLOWLY. And painfully.
Ling felt as if she was crawling out of a deep, dark pit. Every bone ached; every muscle throbbed. She knew her body was reacting to the sea wasp venom.
Her eyes were badly swollen. It was hard to breathe, too. It felt as if something was sitting on her chest.
Ling tried to raise her hands, gritting her teeth against the pain, but she couldn’t do that, either. Her arms were pinned to the ground.
That’s when she realized that something was on top of her. Something smooth, warm, and very much alive. It was pressing down on her, squeezing the water from her lungs.
“I—I…can’t breathe…Get off…” she moaned, struggling against the weight.
“Get off?! That’s the thanks I get?” an indignant voice asked in RaySay.
Ling stopped struggling. She forced her eyes open. Another pair of eyes, widely spaced and unamused, was looking down at her. Below them, two rows of gills opened and closed rhythmically. Ling realized she was underneath a giant manta ray.
“I saved your life, rude little merl. The least you could do is say thank you.”
“Th-thank you,” Ling rasped. “Where am I?”
“Far too close to the camp from which you tried to escape,” the ray replied.
“But how—” Ling’s words were cut off by a violent bout of coughing. The spasm left her gasping for breath.
“Close your mouth, mermaid, and listen,” the ray said. “Listening is more important than talking.”
Ling did as she was told and the ray continued.
“Last night your father called to me through the sea wasp fence. He begged me to follow the cart, to make sure you were all right. He, unlike you, is gracious and polite. He helped my daughter once, by untangling her from fishing line, so I agreed to help his. I saw you crawl out of the cart and fall to the ground. Luckily, the guard did not. I hid you all night, but we have to go now. It’s nearly dawn and the waters are lightening. I’ll swim down the current and into the hills. You swim directly under me so no one can see you.”
The ray rose slightly as she spoke, giving Ling room to move. Ling tried to swim, but couldn’t. The base of her tail, where the sea wasp had stung her, was twice its normal size. She couldn’t even feel her tail fins.
“I can’t move my tail,” she said, panic rising in her. If the ray swam off, she’d be exposed.
The ray huffed water through her gills, irritated. “Take hold of me, then. I’ll carry you as far as I can,” she said.
With effort, Ling hooked her hands over the tops of the manta’s wings. The ray silently glided off with Ling hanging on underneath. Only a creature with the eyesight of an osprey would have been able to see Ling’s hands, and the guard on duty was no such creature.
The ray swam for what felt like forever to Ling. She stopped when they reached a range of craggy, coral-covered hills.
“This is where I leave you,” she said. “We’re well away from the camp now and there’s an old eel cave directly below us. You can hole up in there until you’re better. Or dead.”
Rays, Ling knew, were not known for their subtlety. She released the strong, graceful creature. “Thank you,” she said. “You saved my life.”
The ray looked at her with a pitying expression, then glided off. “No food, no currensea, no weapons, and a bad case of venom sickness,” she said, her voice trailing away. “I’m not sure I’d be saying thank you. Good luck, mermaid. You’re going to need it.”
SERA, HER ELBOWS on the makeshift table in the Black Fins’ command cave, massaged her temples. A stocky merman, Antonio, the camp’s cook, floated before her. He was furious.
“The goblins are starting trouble. Again,” he complained. “They’re angry about the flatworm stew. I’ve been serving it for three days straight. I don’t have a choice; it’s all we’ve got. At breakfast, one of them said he’d cut my head off and eat that if I served stew again. You’ve got to do something.”
Sera rued the day she’d agreed to do business with Meerteufel traders. The shipments from Scaghaufen were always late and the quality poor.
“I’ll send out hunting parties, Antonio,” she said. “It will keep the goblins busy, and I’m sure they’ll bag some conger eels. You can cook those.”
Antonio nodded and thanked Sera. After he left, Sera listened to Yazeed detail problems with the plans for the infirmary she wanted built. Then Neela reported that another group of civilians had arrived that morning—refugees from Miromara—but there was nowhere to put them. A goblin came in to tell her there weren’t enough tables in the mess hall.
The Black Fins had arrived in the Kargjord two weeks ago. The goblin fighters Guldemar had promised had begun to report for duty, too. Soon they would begin military drills, and Sera would have to oversee them. Children like the mermaid Coco, and the ones who arrived daily with their refugee parents, needed a school to attend. Many needed medical attention. And then there were the daunting tasks of housing and feeding everyone.
Running a large camp was overwhelming. Before Sera could solve one problem, ten more cropped up. Operating on little food, and even l
ess sleep, she often sent prayers to the twin gods of the tides, Trykel and Spume, asking them to turn their forces in her favor. She wondered now if they ever would.
As Sera was suggesting to the goblin—his name was Garstig—that perhaps he and his fellow soldiers could build some tables, a mermaid appeared in the cave’s entrance, accompanied by a Black Fin. She looked exhausted. Her clothing was covered in silt. She carried a messenger bag slung over her shoulder. She had short brown hair. Her gray eyes darted warily. Her hands, clutching the strap of her bag, looked strong and rough.
“Why is she here?” Yaz asked the Black Fin. His eyes traveled to her bag. “Has she been searched?”
“I went through her bag. Patted her down. She doesn’t have any weapons. She says she has to see Sera. Says it’s life-or-death,” the Black Fin replied.
“I have something for her,” the mermaid said. “From Miromara. My name is Daniella. My cousin is Allegra. She’s a farmer from outside Cerulea.”
“Clear the cave,” Sera ordered.
Yaz raised an eyebrow.
“Just do it,” Sera said.
A minute later the only ones left in the cave were Sera, Yazeed, Neela, Sophia, and Daniella.
“Mahdi sent her,” Sera explained to the others. “Her cousin Allegra delivers her farm’s produce to the palace in Cerulea and receives conchs from him. Allegra has family members in the waters between Miromara and the North Sea. Each one carries the conch part of the way. Daniella was the courier for the last leg of the journey.”
Daniella nodded. “My farm’s just south of Scaghaufen,” she said, pulling a conch from her bag. She handed it to Sera.
“Thank you. You took a huge risk coming here and I’m very grateful,” Sera said. “Please eat something and rest before you return home.”
Daniella nodded and swam out of the cave.
Sera placed the conch on the table, then cast an amplo spell so that everyone could hear the message it contained.
A voice started to speak—a merman’s. He didn’t address anyone by name, nor did he give his. Names were dangerous. They could get someone killed. Sera felt a deep relief upon hearing the voice—because it meant Mahdi was alive—or at least he had been when he’d made the recording. But she felt fearful, too, because his tone was urgent and his message grim.