“Yes, it is,” Becca said softly.
“The waters of the world contain millions of species we haven’t even identified yet. Millions. There are plains, mountains, and trenches under the seas we haven’t mapped. And we’re destroying them….”
He shook his head, unable to finish. When he got his emotions under control again, he said, “Elisabetta graduates law school next year. Then she can continue our father’s work—taking marine polluters to court. I graduate in three years—if I can ever get back to school—and then I’ll do my part to document the damage, make people sit up and take notice. Maybe my generation can achieve what my father’s couldn’t. I hope so. It’s the only chance the ocean’s got.”
Becca was moved by Marco’s passion—and surprised by it. She’d had no idea that there were terragoggs who cared so deeply for the seas and their creatures. Nor had she any idea that she could care for a terragogg.
As a friend, she hastily told herself. And why wouldn’t I? He saved my life, and he and Elisabetta have been so kind to me.
The waves had carried them back to the boat. Becca heard footsteps on deck and looked up. Elisabetta was standing in the bow, binoculars raised to her eyes.
“See anything, El?” Marco shouted to her.
“A manta ray and a school of sea bass,” she shouted back.
Marco spotted the ray about twenty yards away.
“Come on, let’s race. Last one to the ray is a rotten squid egg!” Marco said.
They dove. Becca streaked to the manta, certain she’d reach it first, but Marco was right behind her. The ray saw them coming. In no mood for their games, he flipped his tail at them and sped off.
Becca laughed. Then she remembered that Marco was human, not mer, and looked at him, worried that he might need to surface. He understood the concern in her eyes, shook his head, and gave her a thumbs-up.
A movement to her right caught Becca’s attention. Something loomed toward them out of the depths. It looked as if a seamount had broken off from the ocean’s floor and was floating by.
Becca grabbed Marco’s hand. She pointed with her other hand. Marco’s eyes grew huge in his face as he followed her gaze. He grinned from ear to ear.
The blue whale was so magnificent and her song so beautiful, that Becca’s heart swelled. She felt Marco’s hand tighten on hers and knew he felt the same way. She turned to him, but Marco wasn’t looking at the whale anymore, he was looking at her. He was still holding her hand and was floating close to her now.
Becca suddenly felt like she couldn’t breathe, but in a good way. Then she saw that Marco looked like he couldn’t breathe, either—but in a bad way. She sped to the surface, pulling him after her. Their heads broke the water and Marco inhaled a gulp of air.
As soon as he caught his breath, he took both of her hands in his, and said, “Becca, I need to tell you something—”
His eyes had that same intense look they’d had earlier. And Becca once again felt that his gaze held something more than friendship. Her heart started to race. Because she felt something more than friendship, too, but she didn’t want to. She knew that anything more than friendship between a human and a mer was a bad idea. A very bad idea.
“What is it, Marco?” she asked, almost fearfully.
“I think—”
But the rest of his answer was cut off by shouting, urgent and fearful. “Marco! Becca! Back in the boat now!”
Elisabetta was running to the captain’s chair.
“Two speedboats off the starboard bow. Mfeme’s!” she yelled.
“Go, Becca! Hurry!” Marco said, pushing her toward the boat.
Becca dove, swam under the boat, then shot onto the narrow platform hanging down from the hull. She positioned herself just as Marco had taught her to and pressed a green button. The platform was pulled up inside the boat, sealing the hull. Becca slid open another hatch above her, hoisted herself into the saltwater tank, and slid the hatch closed.
“She’s in!” Marco shouted. “Go, El!”
Elisabetta tore off. The seas were choppy and the boat smacked against the waves.
“Marco, it’s me they want,” Becca said. “Open the hatch. I’ll swim out and disappear.”
“No way. That’s exactly what they’re hoping for,” said Marco. “I’d bet any amount of money they have death riders on board their boats ready to swim after you.”
As they spoke, they heard Elisabetta open the throttle.
“She’s trying to outrun them,” Marco said.
Becca crouched down in the tank. Its clear sides allowed her to see the ocean out of a window. The wind had grown stronger and the waves had risen higher.
Marco poked his head out of the hatch and swore. “It’s no good,” he told Becca anxiously, as he returned to the tank. “They’re blocking us. They’re trying to cut us off.”
“Hang on, everyone!” Becca heard Elisabetta yell. “It’s about to get bumpy!”
The engines were roaring now. The Marlin was going much faster than it should in rough seas.
“Marco, what’s happening?” Becca asked fearfully, gripping both sides of the tank. Water was sloshing over them now. “Where are Mfeme’s boats?”
He popped his head out of the hatch again. “Dead ahead and broadside!” he shouted.
“Dead ahead and broadside? But we must be going eighty knots!” Becca exclaimed.
“El’s going to try to jump them. The waves will give us lift. If we make the jump at full speed, we can escape,” Marco yelled.
“And if we don’t make the jump?” Becca yelled back.
Marco didn’t answer right away. Then he turned back to her and said, “We’re dead meat.”
“MARCO, Becca, brace yourselves!” Elisabetta shouted.
Marco sat down sideways in his chair and threw an arm around its back. Becca gripped one side of the tank with both hands. She heard the engines scream as Elisabetta pushed the throttle all the way open.
The Marlin rose straight up the side of a giant roller. The powerful wave caught it, heaved it up its crest, and launched it—straight over Mfeme’s boats. As it crashed back down in the water, its propellors caught and the Marlin shot off.
Marco ran up on the deck. A few seconds later, Becca heard him hooting and laughing.
“Way to go, El!” he whooped.
“What’s happening?” Becca shouted.
Marco jumped back down belowdecks. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes sparkling.
“Mfeme’s two captains tried to follow,” he explained, “but before they could turn themselves around, another roller caught them broadside. It capsized one and flooded the other. They’re sinking!”
Becca went limp with relief. Racing for the boat and then being convinced she was about to die in a fiery wreck had wiped everything from her mind. Now that she could think straight, what Marco had said to her before Elisabetta turned the Marlin into a flying fish came flooding back.
“Marco?”
“Hmm?” he said. He’d walked to the window and was looking out of it now.
“You were going to tell me something earlier. Before Elisabetta shouted for us to get back in the boat. What was it?”
Becca was nervous about what he might say, but she wanted to know. She had to know. If he was feeling what she was feeling, then there was trouble ahead for both of them. Such relationships had been attempted on occasion. They never ended well. Surf and turf, the mer called them. Becca could hear the scornful jokes already.
Marco turned to her. Though he was tanned, Becca saw a flush creep into his cheeks. He ran a hand through his hair. “Earlier? Hmm. I forget,” he said. “Maybe…um…probably that I think we’ll make the Karg soon. Yeah, that was it. In three or four days, tops. Good news, right?” he said, smiling brightly.
Becca nodded. “Very,” she replied, smiling back just as brightly.
She was wrong. Marco didn’t have feelings for her. Thank the gods.
“Well, I…um…I should check on El
. Make sure everything’s okay topside.”
“You probably should,” Becca agreed.
He climbed up the ladder and disappeared.
Becca watched him go, feeling relieved.
And foolishly, maddeningly, sad.
LUCIA TOOK A DEEP BREATH, then pressed the carved dolphin on the mantel in her mother’s sitting room. As she did, a secret door to the left of the lavaplace clicked open.
Silently, she thanked the odious Baco Goga for revealing the door, and the network of tunnels it led to. She’d made very good use of them in her mother’s absence.
Holding a lava torch aloft, she swam into the passageway, closed the door, and started down the tunnel. She carried clothing folded over her arm—Mahdi’s clothing. She’d stolen it from his room just today, while he was out. A few trocii slipped into a maid’s hand had bought her access.
She wished she had company for her journey through the tunnels, but now that Bianca was gone, there was no one she could trust with her secret. Guilt, cold and nauseating, clutched at her at the memory of her friend. Lucia had turned her over to Kharis with barely a backward glance. Sometimes, in her nightmares, she still heard Bianca’s screams.
Lucia shook off the guilt. The regina mattered far more than any of her subjects. The ruler’s happiness was of paramount importance to the realm. Surely, in her last moments, Bianca had been glad to know that she’d fulfilled her duty.
“A little fish gone, that’s all. A very little fish. And there are so many more of them in the sea,” Lucia said aloud, pushing all thoughts of Bianca from her mind. She had more important things to focus on now.
The tunnel walls were thickly furred with pale seaweeds, white anemones, and other things that thrived in the dark. They reached for Lucia as she swam by. In one tunnel bones littered the floor—mer bones. Lucia glanced down at a skull and tried not to imagine her own bones moldering here—which could happen if she lost her way. There were no other living souls down here to hear a call for help.
About an hour later, she arrived at her destination—the maze of cave-like rooms under the Kolisseo, a large open-water amphitheater outside the palace walls. As Lucia moved through the labyrinth to the centermost room, creatures slithered and scuttled away from the light of her torch. She heard a deep, heavy groan—as if an entire scrap heap of metal had suddenly come to life, and then what sounded like sledgehammers striking stone.
“Who comesssss to disssturb Alítheia?” a voice hissed. “Your bonessss ssshe will eat, intruder. Your blood ssshe will drink.”
Lucia stopped, paralyzed by the anarachna’s voice. She hated the creature and feared her, but she needed her, too. Alítheia’s den was the only place in all of Cerulea where no one dared to go—no one but Lucia.
Alítheia was a giant bronze spider. Murderously violent, she killed all mer who came near her—except for the Merrovingian reginas. Alítheia had been created by Merrow and the gods to ensure no imposters ever sat on Miromara’s throne. Swallowing her fear, Lucia swam on. “Alítheia, this is Lucia, your regina! I hope you’ve guarded my possession well!”
Lucia heard an ear-splitting roar, and then a pounding, and knew the anarachna was furious. “No bonesss for Alítheia!” the creature howled.
“You’ll have your bones, spider,” Lucia said, entering the den. “My father’s dungeons are full of traitors.”
Alítheia scuttled up to Lucia. She was massive, with tapered legs that ended in dagger-sharp points, eight black eyes, and long, curved fangs. Lucia raised her lava globe high, lest the spider forget herself. The only thing in the world Alítheia feared was lava.
“Where is my maligno?” Lucia demanded.
The anarachna pointed at the back of its den. “No bonesss, no blood in it. No heart, no sssoul in it,” she said contemptuously.
Lucia swam to the maligno, past cocoons spun of bronze filament that were suspended from the ceiling. Most of them dangled motionlessly, but some were still moving.
Kharis had delivered her creation to Lucia three nights ago. Alítheia’s den was the ideal hiding place for it.
“How perfect you are,” Lucia crooned to it now, running a crimson-tipped finger over its cheek. “No one would ever be able to tell the difference between you and the real Mahdi.”
The maligno stared ahead expressionlessly.
“Take these and put them on,” Lucia instructed, handing it the clothing she’d brought.
The maligno nodded, pulled off the tunic Kharis had dressed it in, and donned Mahdi’s white shirt and black jacket.
Lucia buttoned up the jacket, then smiled, satisfied. “Soon now,” she whispered to the maligno. Then she turned to the spider. “Good-bye, Alítheia,” she said. “Continue to guard my possession and I’ll reward you well.”
“When bonesss? When blood?” Alítheia asked sullenly.
“Not much longer,” Lucia replied, swimming out of the cave. “Not long at all.”
THE SMALL VILLAGE of Qīngshuĭ was quiet, deserted. Moonlight shone down on it, illuminating narrow currents and humble dwellings.
Ling could see her home, built high on a soaring rock face like all the others, and she longed to rush to it. But she was well versed now in the ways of the death riders, so she stayed where she was, hidden at the base of the rock for an hour, watching.
When she was certain there were no soldiers waiting to ambush her, she swam up, past the homes of her neighbors, to her own. No lights were glowing in any of the windows. It was after midnight. Everyone was asleep.
Quietly, she entered the back door of her house. The structure was long, narrow, and attached to the rock face like a barnacle. It contained not only her immediate family, but also her two grandmothers and many aunts, uncles, and cousins.
Ling paused in the kitchen for a moment, inhaling the familiar scent of home—her mother’s perfume, the mouthwatering aroma of the pearl cakes her grandmother Wen always made, and Lātà and Zàng, her brothers’ lazy dogfish. They were snoring in a corner of the kitchen now. Each one opened an eye, looked her over, then went back to sleep.
Ling had taken a risk in coming here, but she had no choice. She needed to change her prison tunic for some real clothing, stock up on food and currensea, and get some medicine. She’d left the Abyss two days ago and had not yet regained her magic. The effects of depth sickness were still plaguing her, causing her to swim slowly, and she needed to purge the sea wasp’s poison from her system so she could songcast again.
And there was one more thing she had to do—the most important thing: speak with her sad, silent mother.
Ling made her way to her room, sliding the bamboo door open and closing it again behind her. Her bed looked so soft and inviting, it was all she could do not to flop down on it and sleep for a week. But she couldn’t; she had to get to Sera.
Moving quickly, Ling opened her closet door and pulled a backpack off her shelf. She stuffed a change of clothing and a warm jacket into it. The rest of the space in her pack was for food. She planned to travel back currents—the lonelier, the better. She could not afford to be seen.
Once Orfeo found out she’d escaped from the labor camp, he’d have every death rider in the sea after her. The last thing he’d want would be for her to make it to Sera and tell her who Rafe Mfeme really was.
She changed into fresh clothing, first removing the puzzle ball from the pocket of her horrible prison tunic and placing it in the bottom of her pack. Then she cut her father’s wedding ring out of the tunic’s hem. She almost threw the uniform in the garbage, but thought better of it, instead stashing it in her pack’s outer pocket. As soon as she came across a lava seam, she’d toss it in.
She made her way back to the kitchen, selected foods that would travel well, and loaded them into her backpack. Next she opened her family’s medicine cabinet and searched for something that would heal her. She found creams for cuts and rashes, tonics for fatigue, syrups for coughs and sore throats, but nothing to counteract venom. Moving bottles aside,
she spotted her grandmother Wen’s special elixir. Ling had no idea what was in it—Wen guarded the recipe closely—but it always made her feel better when she was sick. She uncapped the bottle, took a slug, recapped it, and put it in her pack. Leaving her pack on the counter, she swam to her mother’s room, patting her father’s ring in her pocket.
Zhu was sleeping, but she stirred as Ling opened her door.
“Mom? Mom, wake up, it’s me,” she whispered.
Zhu’s eyes opened, then widened. She sat bolt upright in her bed, pulled Ling to her, and held her tightly. Ling could feel her crying. Ling’s anger toward her mother had drained from her heart in the Abyss. There she had experienced what it felt like to be frightened and weak, to have to rely on others. Even the strongest needed help sometimes.
Ling was glad the anger was gone. It made room for other things. Better things.
“It’s okay, Mom,” she said. “I’m here. I’m fine. I wanted to tell you I’m sorry. Sorry for yelling. Sorry for being angry. I didn’t understand, but now I do. I think you stopped talking because no one would listen. I have something for you, Mom.”
Her mother released her and Ling pulled her father’s wedding ring out of her pocket. She placed it in her mother’s hand.
Her mother blinked at it.
“He’s alive, Mom.”
Zhu looked at Ling uncomprehendingly.
“Dad. He’s alive. He’s in a prison camp at the edge of the Abyss.”
Zhu’s eyes grew large with fear.
“Do you know about the death riders?” asked Ling. “Have you seen them?”
Zhu shook her head.
“They’re soldiers, Mom, working for a terrible man. They’re stealing villagers and forcing them to search for a very important object.” Ling lowered her voice instinctively. “Dad found that object and refused to hand it over. When they tried to take it, he chucked it back into the Abyss.”
Ling wasn’t sure, but it sounded as though her mother might have laughed a little.