Sea Spell (Waterfire Saga #4)(24)

“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.”





ASTRID 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.