Waterfire Saga, Book Four: Sea Spell: Deep Blue Novel, A (11 page)

S
ERA’S INNER CIRCLE STRAGGLED into the cave one by one. They were in shock and hollowed out by fighting, by seeing their fellow Black Fins wounded or killed. Yazeed had taken an arrow wound to the tail. Des had a cut across his forehead. Neela had a nasty bruise spreading across her cheek.

Sera looked at them and her heart hurt for all they’d been through, and for all that they had yet to face. She was about to make a critical move, and once she did, there’d be no turning back.

She waited until they were all seated, then—without any preliminaries—she spoke.

“Vallerio’s been using his spy to his advantage. Tonight is yet another example of this. The spy told him where Sophia and Totschläger would be and when. I’ve had enough. It’s my turn now.
I’m
going to use his spy to my advantage.”

“How?” Ling asked.

“I’ve decided that we’re going to the Southern Sea first, to kill Abbadon. Des, I respect your position, but I agree with Yazeed’s reasoning. Without the monster, Orfeo can be bested. Without Orfeo, Vallerio can be bested.” Sera paused to let her words sink in, then continued. “So what I want is for all of you to tell the entire camp that we’re going to attack Cerulea. Tell everyone that I was so enraged by my uncle’s ambush, I immediately vowed revenge.”

“Wait,
Cerulea
?” Becca said, confused. “Didn’t you just say that we’re heading to the Southern Sea?”

“Becs, dude…it’s a fake-out move!” Yazeed crowed.

Sera nodded. “Yes, it is.”

Desiderio steepled his fingers. He rested his chin on them and stared at his sister. Sera had gone against his counsel. Would he still support her decision?

“Our uncle’s no fool. What makes you think he’ll buy it?” he said at length.

“Because he thinks
I’m
a fool,” Sera replied. “And this is just the sort of hotheaded move a fool would make.”

“Can’t fault you on
that
logic,” Des said.

“When the spy in our midst tells Vallerio that we’re heading for Cerulea,” Sera said, “Vallerio will order his troops out of the Atlantic and the Southern Sea, and back into the city to guard it.”

Ling sat forward in her chair. “Which clears a path straight to Abbadon,” she said excitedly.

“Exactly,” Sera said. “Any questions?”

“Yeah, a big one,” said Desiderio. “Earlier tonight, you told us you couldn’t send troops into battle knowing lives would be lost. Now you’re about to order your fighters to the Southern Sea. A lot of them won’t make it back. Why the sudden change of heart?”

Sera took a deep breath, Des’s question echoing in her mind. There were other questions there, too. So many, and all of them impossible to answer.

Was love enough? Was it stronger than her uncle’s brutality, his lust for power, his hatred? Was it stronger than fear? Stronger than death?

Sera knew she’d never find the answers if she didn’t make her move.

“Because it’s time, Des,” she finally said.

“Time for what?”

“Time to play my uncle’s game like a queen, not a pawn.”

A
STRID STARED AT the gown. It was the most magnificent garment she’d ever seen. Made of black sea silk, it was trimmed with pieces of polished jet at the neckline and hem. The long sleeves ended in points, the waist was nipped, the skirt long and flowing.

“A gift for you. From the master,” said the servant, as she laid the gown across Astrid’s bed. “He has summoned you to the garden and wishes you to wear it.”

“Maybe another time,” Astrid said. The gown was beautiful but impractical. Her own clothing would serve her better if she needed to fight. Or escape.

“But your things are worn and stained,” the servant said, dismayed by Astrid’s refusal.

“I’m good.”

The servant shook her head. She started toward Astrid. “You can’t possibly accompany the master in such filthy—”

Astrid’s hand went to the hilt of her sword. “I
said
I’m good.”

The servant stopped dead.

“He may be
your
master, but he’s not mine,” Astrid said, a note of warning in her voice. She was not here to make friends.

“Very well,” the servant said stiffly. “This way, please.”

She turned and swam out of the room. Astrid followed her.

She’d eaten a brief meal with Orfeo yesterday, right after she’d arrived at Shadow Manse. During their time together, Astrid had pressed him to tell her why he’d summoned her, but he’d deflected her question.

“All in good time,” he said. “It’s late, and you’ve traveled far. It’s time for you to rest.” At a wave of his hand, a servant had appeared to take Astrid to her room.

There she’d sat up in a chair wary and watchful, alert to every noise, until finally, just before dawn, she’d given in to her body’s need for sleep. When she’d awoken, hours later, she’d immediately realized that someone had been in her room: a breakfast tray was resting on a nearby table and the sea-silk gown had been draped across the bed.

Astrid had jumped out of the chair, furious with herself for letting her guard down. She could’ve been killed in her sleep.

“But you weren’t,” she’d said to herself. “Seems Orfeo doesn’t want you dead. At least, not yet.”

She’d eaten breakfast and then the servant had appeared to take her to Orfeo. This time, she would
make
him tell her why he’d summoned her.

Astrid looked around as she swam, taking in the silent servants, all dressed in ebony sea flax; the midnight-hued draperies billowing in the current; and the twists and turns of the obsidian passageways.

A few minutes later, they arrived at a pair of arched doors. The servant opened them, then swept a hand in front of her. Astrid swam through the doorway and into a walled courtyard. The gardens—formal, extensive, and planted entirely in black—matched the rest of the palace.

Ebony sea roses, feathery tube worms, gorgons, seaweeds, corals, and anemones grew on a foundation of night-dark basalt. As Astrid swam through the gardens, looking for Orfeo, onyx eels darted between rocks. Rays glided overhead, as silent as shadows. A dozen anglerfish, light shining from the thin, fleshy stalks protruding from their heads, looked like living lanterns.

“Here at Shadow Manse, black is the new black,” Astrid said under her breath.

She found Orfeo stooped by a thatch of seaweed, clipping off fronds. A marshgrass basket was at his feet. His back was to her.

How do you greet a psycho killer?
she wondered, then decided on the standard approach. “Good morning, Orfeo.”

Orfeo turned, smiling. “Ah, Astrid! Good morning!” he said, straightening. “I trust you slept well?”

“Well enough,” Astrid said guardedly.

“Sargassum fusiforme,”
he said, holding up a cutting. “Helpful in combating fin rot. One of my bull sharks has a nasty case of it.”

Astrid was about to ask why he kept bull sharks, one of the ocean’s fiercest predators, then realized she probably didn’t want to know.

Orfeo tucked the cutting into his basket. “I was a healer once,” he explained. “A long time ago. I set bones. Drew infections from wounds. Cooled fevers. Cured all kinds of diseases. Yet I couldn’t save the one person who meant everything to me.”

“Orfeo, I need to know why you brought me here.”

Astrid expected him to try to evade the question again, but he surprised her.

“Because I want to heal
you
,” he replied.

Astrid felt both frightened and compelled by the prospect. “Heal me? How?”

Orfeo placed his shears in the basket. “Tell me about your voice. Your singing voice. What happened to it?”

Astrid was surprised again. She hadn’t expected a question in response to her own. “I—I lost it when I was little. Right after Månenhonnør.”

“What were you doing?”

“The usual things, I guess. Playing with friends. Dancing. Eating Månenkager,” Astrid replied.

She realized that Orfeo might not know what those were. “They’re little round, iced cakes,” she explained. “They look like the full moon. The baker drops a silver drupe into the batter, then pours the batter into the molds. Whoever gets the coin in her cake has good luck for the coming year.”

Orfeo was listening raptly. “Did you get the coin?”

“No. And I didn’t get any luck, either. Unless you count bad luck,” Astrid said wryly.

“Did
anyone
get the coin? Any of the other children you were playing with?” Orfeo pressed.

Astrid thought back to the festival. She pictured her brother, Ragnar. Her merlfriends. That lumpsucker Tauno.

“Oddly enough, no,” she finally said. “At least not that I can remember. And I think I
would
remember. Anyone who gets a coin always makes a big deal out of it.” She wondered why she’d never thought about this before.

“May I feel your throat?” Orfeo asked. His eyes were hidden, as usual, behind his glasses, but the rest of his face had taken on an intense look.

“Why do you want to heal me? What do you want in return?” Astrid asked warily. “Maybe you
don’t
want to heal me. Maybe you want to choke the life out of me instead. Is
that
the reason I’m here? So you can kill me? Then there will be only five of us left, and your plan to unleash your pet monster will be that much easier.” Her words were blunt. The time for beating around the coral was over.

As she spoke, a look of pain sliced across Orfeo’s face. “I would never hurt you, Astrid.
Never
,” he said. “I only want to help you. Can’t you see that, you foolish mermaid?”

For a few seconds, Astrid’s defenses slipped. The longing to sing again was so deep, so desperate, that she pushed her fears aside and with a quick nod, gave her assent. A second later, she felt Orfeo’s hands on her throat. She tried not to flinch as his fingers probed the soft area under her jaw, then worked their way down her neck. She felt him press along the right side of her larynx, then the left. She gasped.

“Painful?” Orfeo asked.

“Very,” Astrid rasped.

“Here?” He gently pressed again.

“Yes!” Astrid cried out, slapping his hand away. She coughed, and a metallic taste filled her mouth.

“Astrid, listen to me. You need to be very brave, and very still. Can you do that?”

“Why?”

“So I can give you your magic back.”

Astrid looked at him uncertainly.

“Trust me, child. You have to
trust
me.”

Trust you? Are you out of your mind?
she was about to shout.

But the words died in her throat, because she found, bewilderingly, that she
did
trust him. Maybe it was the blood they shared. Maybe it was instinct.
Something
was telling her that Orfeo meant what he was saying—that he would heal her, if she would let him.

“Okay,” she said in a quavery voice.

Orfeo placed his thumbs on either side of her voice box. He took a steadying breath, then squeezed in and up at the same time.

Astrid screamed. Her body went rigid. She tried to get her breath but couldn’t.

“Cough, Astrid!” Orfeo commanded.

But Astrid barely heard him.

Wrong, I was wrong…oh, gods…he’s killing me!
her mind shrieked.

“Cough, Astrid.
Now
!” Orfeo shouted.

Astrid brought up a thick, choking mass, and spat it out.

“Again!” Orfeo ordered.

Blood filled Astrid’s mouth. She spat it out, but more came. Orfeo was still shouting, but she couldn’t hear him. She was conscious of nothing but pain.

It was a trick. Orfeo
had
lured her here to kill her. She was his enemy, a mermaid who’d vowed to destroy Abbadon, his creation. Why would he ever want to help her?

Astrid tried to swim away, but she faltered and fell forward. Ebony anemones loomed up at her. Tiny lights bobbed before her eyes. Her hands sank into the soft, deep sea silt.

The dark waters of Orfeo’s garden swirled around her, closing in.

And then the world, and everything in it, went black.

“
M
EU DEUS
, does it ever
stink
in this swamp!” Ava whispered.

Baby growled his agreement. He was a few feet ahead of her. Ava could always tell where he was by the noises he made.