Sea Spell (Waterfire Saga #4)(13)

“Hey! Trying to sleep here!” Ling griped. She’d only gone to bed a few hours ago herself. Becca had woken briefly when Ling had come in. She could have sworn Ling was carrying Sycorax’s puzzle ball. Could that be?

“Sorry!” Becca whispered to Ling. “Later!” she mouthed to Neela.

As Neela burrowed into the seaweed of her bunk, Becca twisted her red hair up, then pushed a twig of polished coral through the twist to hold it in place. She buttoned her jacket around her neck. It was cold in the Kargjord. Then she picked up her clipboard, which she kept in a small cubby in the barracks’ rock wall, and quietly left.

The waters outside were dark, but Becca cast an illuminata songspell, and whirled some moonbeams together. The light did little to penetrate the murk, but at least it kept her from swimming into the boulders that dotted the Black Fins’ camp. She was on her way to the tool storehouse.

The lack of proper light only reinforced Becca’s determination to find a lava seam—as quickly as possible. Sera was spending a fortune on importing lava globes from Scaghaufen, the Meerteufel goblins’ capital city. If a seam could be located, that money could go toward buying more food or medical supplies. Lava was crucial to the functioning of the camp. It was needed for heating and cooking as well as lighting. Seams ran under the rest of the goblin realms, and Becca was certain they’d find one under the Karg, too.

As she approached the storehouse, a figure loomed out of the darkness—a goblin, armed and armored. Becca recognized her.

“Hey, Mulmig. How’d tonight’s patrol go?” she asked.

“We spotted some skavveners two leagues north of the camp. We gave chase, but they got away.”

“How many?” Becca asked, her brow creased with worry.

“A dozen. Really nasty-looking. They had a lot of loot with them, and what looked like somebody else’s hippokamps.”

“Two leagues is too close,” Becca said grimly.

Skavveners were bad news. Hunched, bony sea elves, they pillaged battlefields and disaster sites. Red-eyed and long-clawed, they wore their stringy hair loose and dressed in their victims’ stolen clothing, often not waiting until they were dead to yank it off them.

Becca knew Sera wouldn’t be happy when she heard about the skavveners. They stalked the feeble, sick, and injured. Sera wouldn’t want Vallerio’s spy to tell him that the elves had been seen near the Black Fins’ camp. He’d take it as a sign of weakness. Which it was.

“And what about you? Are you ending one day, or starting the next?” Mulmig asked.

Becca laughed and told Mulmig her plans for today.

“You’ve got everything under control, Becs. As always,” Mulmig said admiringly when Becca had finished. “But you look tired. You need more sleep. You work too hard.”

Becca shook her head. “I don’t work hard enough. We still don’t have a source of lava, and it’s hurting us. The skavveners sense it. That’s why they’re lurking.”

“I’ll help you hunt for a seam later, but right now I need some sleep,” Mulmig said. “See you.”

As Mulmig headed to her barracks, Becca continued on her way to the storehouse, with the goblin’s words echoing in her ears. You’ve got everything under control, Becs. As always. Becca knew that Mulmig meant it as a compliment, but it didn’t make her feel good. It made her feel like a fraud.

Becca took her responsibilities very seriously, but there was another reason she worked herself so hard, though she didn’t like to admit it: a human named Marco. If she filled every minute of every day with work and then fell into an exhausted, dreamless sleep, there was no time left to think about him, and miss him.

Marco and his sister, Elisabetta, had rescued Becca after she’d been attacked by the Williwaw, a vengeful wind spirit from whom Becca had taken a talisman—a gold coin that had belonged to Pyrrha, one of the mages of Atlantis.

Marco was the current duca di Venezia, an ancient title conferred on his ancestor by Merrow, the first leader of the mer. The duca’s duty was to protect the mer, and he fulfilled it with the help of the Praedatori, an ancient brotherhood of mermen, and the Wave Warriors, terragoggs who were dedicated to safeguarding the seas.

Together with Elisabetta, Marco had scooped Becca out of rough waters and taken her to the safety of the Kargjord. They’d stitched up her wounds and helped her recover. The stitches had come out, but scars—some deep—remained. Because during the days she’d spent with Marco and Elisabetta, she’d done a very foolish thing: she’d fallen in love.

Marco was gorgeous, with soulful brown eyes and a warm smile, and he was as dedicated to the defense of the earth’s waters as any mer, but Becca knew that a relationship between them was impossible. Such a love was taboo to the mer, who were distrustful of humans. And even if it wasn’t, Marco couldn’t live in her world, and she couldn’t live in his.

Becca’s head knew this, but her heart wouldn’t listen. These two opposing parts of her lobbed arguments back and forth like a ball at a caballabong match. One minute, she wished she’d told him she loved him—as he’d told her. The next, she was furious at herself for even considering such a reckless action. She worried about what her friends would think of her if they ever discovered her feelings for Marco, then hated herself for caring.

She stopped now, overcome by longing, and looked up through the waters at the moon shining high above. Maybe Marco was looking up at the moon, too, and thinking of her. She hoped so, even if it was stupid and hopeless and totally impossible.