Sea Spell (Waterfire Saga #4)(11)

“!olleh, lleW” it purred.

Astrid whipped around. A man, heavyset and bald, was standing a few feet away. His hands were tucked into the bell-like sleeves of his magenta dressing gown.

Astrid thrust her sword at him, catching his chin with its point. He lifted his head, placed a fat finger on the sword, and gingerly pushed the blade away.

“.rittodsnnifloK dirtsA, emocleW”

“I can’t understand you,” Astrid replied, her sword still raised. She’d deciphered her name—probably because the bloodbind had given her some of Ling’s language ability—but she couldn’t make out the rest of the man’s words.

“Ah! Pardon me,” said the man, in mer this time. “Not everyone speaks Rursus, do they? Welcome to the Hall of Sighs, Astrid Kolfinnsdottir. I’m Rorrim Drol. I’ve been expecting you.”

Astrid stiffened. “How do you know my name?”

“My dear friend Orfeo told me about you. We’ve known each other for years, he and I. We deal in the same”—Rorrim smiled, revealing a mouthful of pointed teeth—“commodities.”

Astrid tightened her grip on her sword. “Orfeo’s here?” she asked warily. “Where is he?”

Rorrim steepled his heavily jeweled fingers. “Let’s just say he’s in the neighborhood.”

“Can you take me to him?”

“For a price.”

“I have currensea,” said Astrid, lowering her sword. “How much do you want?”

Rorrim shook his head. “Trocii, drupes, cowries…they mean nothing to me,” he said. “It’s danklings I want.”

“What are those?”

“Your deepest fears,” Rorrim replied. As he spoke, he moved closer to Astrid. She suddenly felt a liquid chill run down her back, then a tearing pain.

“So strong,” Rorrim said unhappily, his eyes on the dark, squealing creature now pinched between his fingers.

“Did that…that thing come out of me?” Astrid asked, horrified.

“Yes,” Rorrim sighed. “But it’s so small, it’s barely enough for a snack.”

Astrid backed away from him. “Touch me again, and you’ll lose those fingers,” she growled, hefting her sword.

Rorrim popped the small, squealing dankling into his mouth, then swallowed it. “There’s not much you fear, is there?” he asked her, his eyes searching hers. “Only one thing, really, and he can remove it, if you let him.”

“There’s nothing I fear,” Astrid blustered. “Definitely not you and your weird mirror world.”

Rorrim smiled knowingly. “Not true. Not true at all,” he said, wagging a finger at her.

Then he spoke, but not in his voice.

“Who wants a mermaid without magic?” he said, mimicking her father’s voice.

“She’s a freaky freakin’ freak!” That was Tauno, a bully from back home.

And then: “Where are you going, Astrid? To your friends? Do you really think it will be any different with them?” Those words were spoken in Orfeo’s voice. A cold dread gripped Astrid at the sound of them.

“You fear those voices are right, Astrid, though you tell yourself otherwise,” Rorrim said, in his own voice now.

Astrid felt painfully exposed, as if the mirror lord could see deep inside her. “N-no, you’re wrong,” she stammered. “I don’t believe them anymore. I—”

She gasped at a sudden sharp pain in her back. Rorrim, cunning and quick, had gotten behind her and torn another dankling from her spine.

“Oh, this is much better! So plump and juicy!” he said, greedily gobbling it.

Astrid swiped at him with her sword, but he ducked the blade and beetled off down the hallway, still smacking his lips.

“Come along now!” he called over his shoulder. “He doesn’t like to be kept waiting!”

Astrid was furious at Rorrim, and at herself for listening to him, but she sheathed her sword and hurried after him. She had no choice if she wanted to get to Orfeo.

The mirror lord walked for a long time. For a heavy man, he was surprisingly fast, and Astrid had to work to keep up. The Hall of Sighs grew narrower as they moved down it. There were fewer mirrors, and no vitrina. Chandeliers, spaced far apart now, gave off little light. Dark blooms of corrosion and decay mottled the walls.

Just as Astrid was about to ask how much farther they had to go, they came to a dead end. Against the wall stood a single massive mirror. Its glass was pocked, and its heavy silver frame had tarnished to black. A length of sea silk hung over one corner like a shroud.

“This is the entrance to Shadow Manse,” Rorrim said. “Orfeo’s palace.”

Astrid could see her reflection, and Rorrim’s, in the dark glass. She squared her shoulders, trying to work up the nerve to swim through it.

“He’s waited for this…waited for you, his blood, for four thousand years,” Rorrim said. “Go to him now, child. Let him take your fear away.”

Before Astrid could respond, the mirror lord was gone, walking back down the Hall of Sighs. Astrid turned and watched him grow smaller and smaller, until she couldn’t see him at all. Then she faced the looking glass again—and herself.

Once she swam into Shadow Manse, there was no going back. She would take the black pearl from Orfeo or die trying.