Deep Blue (Waterfire Saga, #1)(10)

“But, Bianca, would you have me defy our principessa? She wishes me to speak,” Lucia said. She fixed her glittering eyes on Serafina. “I’m so sorry to be the one to tell you. Especially on the day of your Dokimí. I was certain you knew, otherwise I would never have mentioned it. I only meant to compliment you by telling you that your look was a contrast to hers. All she has going for her is blond hair, turquoise scales, and more curves than a whirlpool.”

Lucia, triumphant, dipped her head. Serafina felt humiliated, but was determined not to show it. This was her own fault. She’d stupidly fallen right into Lucia’s trap and now she had to swim out.

“Lucia, thank you so much for telling me,” she said, smiling. “It’s such a relief to know. I hope she’s taught him a few things.”

“I beg your pardon, Your Grace?”

“Look, we all know it—it’s no secret—the last time the crown prince visited, he was a bit of a goby and pretty hopeless with merls,” Serafina said.

“You’re not upset?”

“Not at all! Why would I be? I just hope she’s done a good job with him. Taught him a few dance strokes or how to send a proper love conch. Someone has to. Merboys are like hippokamps, don’t you think? No fun until they’re broken in. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really do need to practice.”

Lucia, thwarted, turned on her tail and swam away, and Serafina, a fake smile still on her face, resumed her songspell. The performance cost her dearly, but no one would have known. Used to the ways of her court, to its sharp teeth and claws, she was an expert at hiding her feelings.

Sylvestre, however, was not.

Crimson with anger, the octopus swam after Lucia. When he got close to her, he siphoned in as much water as he could hold, then shot a fat jet of it at her, hitting her squarely in the back of her head. Her updo collapsed.

Lucia stopped dead. Her hands went to her head. “My hair!” she screeched, whirling around.

“Sylvestre!” Serafina exclaimed, horrified. “Apologize!”

Sylvestre affected a contrite expression, then squirted Lucia again—in the face.

“You little sucker! I’ll gut you!” she sputtered. “Avarus! After him!”

Lucia’s pet scorpion fish zipped after the octopus. Sylvestre darted under the table where Serafina’s breakfast tray was resting. Avarus followed him. The table went over; the tray went flying. Sylvestre grabbed a water apple and fired it at Avarus. Avarus ducked it and charged. He swam up to Sylvestre and stung him. Sylvestre howled, and a few seconds later, Serafina’s antechamber was engulfed by a roiling cloud of black ink.

Serafina could see nothing, but she could hear her ladies coughing and shrieking. They were crashing into tables, chairs, and one another. When the cloud finally cleared, she saw Lucia and Bianca wiping ink off their faces. Giovanna was shaking it out of her hair. Tavia was threatening to hang Sylvestre up by his tentacles.

And then another voice, majestic and fearsome, was heard above the fray: “In olden days, royals had their unruly nobles beheaded. What a pity that custom fell out of use.”





THALASSA, the canta magus, was not amused.

She floated in the doorway of the antechamber, arms crossed over her considerable bosom, tentacles twining beneath her. Her hair, the gray of a hurricane sky, was styled in an elegant twist. A cluster of red anemones bloomed like roses at the nape of her neck. She wore a gown of crimson, and a long cape of black mussel shells. At a snap of her fingers, two cuttlefish removed it.

The entire chamber had gone quiet. Thalassa, Miromara’s keeper of magic, was the most powerful songcaster in the realm. No one misbehaved in her presence—ever. Even Isabella sat up straighter when Thalassa entered the room.

“Causing trouble again, Lucia?” she finally said. “Nothing surprising from a Volnero. Do you remember what bad behavior got your ancestor Kalumnus? No? Let me remind you. It got him his head in a basket. Likewise your great-aunt Livilla. I would watch myself if I were you.”

Lucia’s eyes flashed menacingly at the unwelcome reminder of her ancestors’ dark deeds. Kalumnus had tried to assassinate Merrow and rule in her stead. He’d been captured and beheaded, and his family banished. Two thousand years later, Livilla Volnero tried to raise an army against the Merrovingia. She, too, had been executed. Though these events had happened centuries ago, suspicion still shrouded the Volnero like sea mist.

“And you, Bianca,” Thalassa continued. “A true di Remora. Always following the big fish. You might want to reassess your loyalties. The Merrovingia are Miromara and always will be. Alítheia ensures that.” She waved a heavily jeweled hand. “Out. Now,” she ordered. “All of you except the principessa.”

Serafina knew that Thalassa had come to drill her on her songspell. She was her teacher.

“Your Dokimí’s only a few hours away. As of yesterday, that trill in the fifth measure wasn’t where it should be. It should be quick and bright, like dolphins jumping, not lumbering like a whale shark. We have work to do,” Thalassa said.

“Yes, Magistra,” Serafina said.

“From the beginning, please.”

Serafina started to sing…and immediately stumbled.

“Again,” the canta magus demanded. “No mistakes this time. The songspell is supposed to demonstrate excellence, and you are not even showing me competence!”