Deep Blue (Waterfire Saga, #1)(11)

Serafina started over. This time, she got well into the songspell—and past the difficult trill—without a mistake. Her eyes darted from the wall ahead of her, where she’d focused her gaze, to Thalassa.

“Good, good, but stop biting off your words,” Thalassa chided. “Legato, legato, legato!”

Serafina nodded to show she understood and tried to soften her words, gliding smoothly from phrase to phrase. She was doing more than merely singing now; she was songcasting.

Merrow’s songspell, if sung correctly, told listeners of the origins of the merfolk. Like all principessas before her, Serafina had to cast the original songspell, then compose several movements of her own that illustrated the progression of the merfolk after Merrow’s rule. She had to sing of her place in that progression, and her betrothed’s, and she had to use color, light, and movement to do it. The greater her mastery of magic, the more dazzling her songspell.

She was just conjuring a likeness of Merrow when Thalassa started waving her hands.

“No, no, no! Stop!” she shouted.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Serafina asked.

“The images, they’re far too pale. They have no life!”

“I—I don’t understand, Magistra. I hit all the notes. I had that phrase totally under control.”

“That’s the problem, Serafina—too much control! That’s always your problem. I want emotion and passion. I want the tempest, not the calm. Again!”

Serafina took a deep breath, then picked up where Thalassa had stopped her. As she sang, the canta magus whirled around her, pushing her, challenging her, never letting up. As Serafina began a very tricky section of the songspell, a tribute to her future husband, Thalassa swam closer, propelled by her strong tentacles.

“Expression, Serafina, more expression!” she demanded.

Serafina had conjured a water vortex as part of an effect. She added two more.

“Good, good! Now use the magic to make me feel something! Amaze me!”

Raising the vortices with her voice, Serafina made them taller and spun them faster. She forgot she was inside the palace, forgot to keep the magic small. Her voice grew louder, stronger. She swept a graceful hand out in front of her, curving the vortices. She bent them once, twice, three times, folding the water in on itself, forcing it to refract light.

“Excellent!” Thalassa shouted.

Sera’s voice was soaring. It swooped over arpeggios, ranged up and down octaves effortlessly. She bent the water again and again, and a dozen more times until it cracked and broke into shards and light shot from it in so many directions, it looked like a mountain of diamonds glittering in the chamber. She was now coming to the part where she had to conjure an image of the crown prince.

She tried to make the most beautiful image she could imagine, but as soon as she saw Mahdi’s face shimmering before her, her voice broke. All she could think about was Lucia telling her that he had a merlfriend. What if she was right?

All at once, her emotion boiled over. She lost control of her songspell. The vortices spun apart violently and splashed to the floor, knocking over a table, smashing a chair, and cracking two windows.

“I can’t do it!” she shouted angrily, slapping the water with her tail. “It’s an impossible songspell!” She turned to Thalassa, her composure entirely gone. “Tell my mother the Dokimí’s off. Tell her I’m not good enough! Not good enough for her! Not good enough to cast this rotten songspell! And not good enough for the crown prince!”





Thalassa pressed a hand to her chest. “What is this outburst?” she asked. “This isn’t like you, child. You know the songspell inside and out. All you have to do is cast it!”

“Yes. Right. That’s all,” Serafina said hotly. “Just cast it. In front of the entire court. And the Matalis. And oh, I don’t know, ten thousand Miromarans! It’s too hard. I won’t be able to pull it off. I’ll bungle that trill. My voice isn’t strong enough. It’s not as beautiful as other voices are. It’s not as beautiful as…as…”

Thalassa raised an eyebrow. “As Lucia’s?”

Serafina nodded unhappily. To her surprise, Thalassa didn’t lecture or scold. Instead, she laughed.

“Tell me, where does the voice come from?” she asked.

Serafina rolled her eyes. “From the throat. Obviously,” she said.

“That’s true for many,” Thalassa said. “And it’s certainly true for Lucia. But it’s not true for you. Your voice comes from here.” She touched the place over Serafina’s heart. “It’s a beautiful voice. I know. I’ve heard it. All you have to do is let it out. Show me your heart, Serafina. That’s where the truest magic comes from.”

Serafina laughed bitterly. “Show my heart? Here at court? Why? So Lucia Volnero can stick a knife in it?”

“I heard what Lucia said. Ignore her. She wishes she were principessa. She wants the power, the palace, and the handsome crown prince,” Thalassa said.

Worry darkened Serafina’s eyes at the words crown prince. She blinked it away so quickly that anyone else would have missed it. But Thalassa was not anyone else.

“Ah,” she said sagely. “So that’s what’s behind all this.” She sat down on a settee and patted the place next to her. “Tell me, does he love you?”