Deep Blue (Waterfire Saga, #1)(3)

“Indeed you do. Is your songspell ready?” Isabella asked.

“So that’s why you’re here,” Serafina said archly. “Not to wish me well, or to talk about hairstyles, or the crown prince, or anything normal mothers would talk about with their daughters. You came to make sure I don’t mess up my songspell.”

Isabella fixed Serafina with her fierce blue eyes. “Good wishes are irrelevant. So are hairstyles. What is relevant, is your songspell. It has to be perfect, Sera.”

It has to be perfect. Sera worked so hard at everything she did—her studies, her songcasting, her equestrian competitions—but no matter how high she aimed, her mother’s expectations were always higher.

“I don’t need to tell you that the courts of both Miromara and Matali will be watching,” Isabella said. “You can’t afford to put a fin wrong. And you won’t as long as you don’t give in to your nerves. Nerves are the foe. Conquer them or they’ll conquer you. Remember, it’s not a battle, or a deadlock in Parliament; it’s only a Dokimí.”

“Right, Mom. Only a Dokimí,” said Serafina, her fins flaring. “Only the ceremony in which Alítheia declares me of the blood—or kills me. Only the one where I have to songcast as well as a canta magus does. Only the one where I take my betrothal vows and swear to give the realm a daughter someday. It’s nothing to get worked up about. Nothing at all.”

An uncomfortable silence descended. Isabella was the first one to break it. “One time,” she said, “I had a terrible case of nerves myself. It was when my senior ministers were aligned against me on an important trade initiative, and—”

Serafina cut her off angrily. “Mom, can you just be a mom for once? And forget you’re the regina?” she asked.

Isabella smiled sadly. “No, Sera,” she said. “I can’t.”

Her voice, usually brisk, had taken on a sorrowful note.

“Is something wrong?” Serafina asked, suddenly worried. “What is it? Did the Matalis arrive safely?”

She knew that outlaw bands often preyed upon travelers in lonely stretches of water. The worst of them, the Praedatori, was known to steal everything of value: currensea, jewelry, weapons, even the hippokamps the travelers rode.

“The Matalis are perfectly fine,” Isabella said. “They arrived last night. Tavia saw them. She says they’re well, but weary. Who wouldn’t be? It’s a long trip from the Indian Ocean to the Adriatic Sea.”

Serafina was relieved. It wasn’t only the crown prince and his parents, the emperor and empress, who were in the Matalin traveling party, but also Neela, the crown prince’s cousin. Neela was Serafina’s very best friend, and she was longing to see her. Sera spent her day surrounded by people, yet she was always lonely. She could never let her guard down around her court or her servants. Neela was the only one with whom she could really be herself.

“Did Desiderio ride out to welcome them?” she asked.

Isabella hesitated. “Actually, your father went to meet them,” she finally said.

“Why? I thought Des was supposed to go,” said Serafina, confused. She knew her brother had been looking forward to greeting the Matalis. He and Mahdi, the crown prince, were old friends.

“Desiderio has been deployed to the western borders. With four regiments of acqua guerrieri,” Isabella said bluntly.

Serafina was stunned. And frightened for her brother. “What?” she said. “When?”

“Late last night. At your uncle’s command.”

Vallerio, Isabella’s brother, was Miromara’s high commander. His authority was second only to her own.

“Why?” Sera asked, alarmed. A regiment contained three thousand guerrieri. The threat at the western borders must be serious for her uncle to have sent so many soldiers.

“We received word of another raid. On Acqua Bella, a village off the coast of Sardinia,” Isabella said.

“How many were taken?” Serafina asked, afraid of the answer.

“More than two thousand.” Isabella turned away, but not before Serafina saw the unshed tears shimmering in her eyes.

The raids had started a year ago. Six Miromaran villages had been hit so far. No one knew why the villagers were being taken, or where, or who was behind the raids. It was as if they’d simply vanished.

“Were there any witnesses this time?” Serafina asked. “Do you know who did it?”

Isabella, composed now, turned back to her. “We don’t. I wish to the gods we did. Your brother thinks it’s the terragoggs.”

“The humans? It can’t be. We have protective songspells against them. We’ve had them since the mer were created, four thousand years ago. They can’t touch us. They’ve never been able to touch us,” Serafina said.

She shuddered to think of the consequences if humans ever learned how to break songspells. The mer would be hauled out of the oceans by the thousands in brutal nets. They’d be bought and sold. Confined in small tanks for the goggs’ amusement. Their numbers would be decimated like the tunas’ and the cods’. No creature, from land or sea, was greedier than the treacherous terragoggs. Even the vicious Opafago only took what they could eat. The goggs took everything.

“I don’t think it’s the humans,” Isabella said. “I told your brother so. But a large trawler was spotted in waters close to Acqua Bella, and he’s convinced it’s involved. Your uncle believes Ondalina’s behind the raids, and that they’re planning to attack Cerulea as well. So he sent the regiments as a show of strength on our western border.”