Deep Blue (Waterfire Saga, #1)(40)

Serafina couldn’t believe what he was telling her. Her mother broke the rules? That wasn’t possible. He was lying, trying to gain her trust. But then she recalled something she’d overheard when she was outside Isabella’s presence chamber. Conte Orsino had mentioned that the Praedatori had been sighted near a recently raided village, and Isabella had said: The Praedatori take valuables, not people. They’re a small band of robbers. They don’t have the numbers to raid entire villages. At the time, Sera had wondered at her mother’s dimissive tone. Now she understood it: Isabella knew the Praedatori’s leader, and she knew he and his soldiers would never harm the mer.

The duca was telling the truth.

“Do you have any news of my mother?” Serafina asked, fearful of the answer. “My uncle? My brother?”

“Or my family?” Neela asked.

“There are rumors—and I stress they are only rumors—that your uncle escaped, Serafina. And that he’s heading north to Kobold waters.”

“To the goblins? Why?” Sera asked.

“To raise an army. The Kobold are fearsome fighters, and the mer’s only source of weaponry,” the duca said.

His reasoning made sense to Serafina. The mer depended on the goblin tribes to mine and forge metals for them. The goblins made mer weapons and tools, and cast their currency: gold trocus, silver drupe, and copper cowrie coins. Neria had forbidden the ability to shape metal to the merpeople, so as to prevent them from using magic to create wealth.

“We can at least hope these rumors are true,” the duca said. “Eat now. Please. You must both be famished.”

Serafina looked at Neela and saw her own thoughts mirrored in her friend’s eyes. Can we trust him? The food could be poisoned.

“I understand your concern,” the duca said, as if he had read their minds. He rose, crossed the room, and took an ivory conch from a shelf.

“If you listen, you will hear your mother’s voice,” he said, handing the shell to Serafina.

Sera held it to her ear.

Serafina, my darling daughter, if you are listening to this conch, it means you are in the Praesidio, and I am captured or dead. You must put your faith in the duca now. His family’s relationship with our kind goes back for thousands of years. I trust him with my life, Sera, and with yours. Let him help you. He is the only one who can. I love you, my child. Rule wisely and well….

Serafina lowered the conch, blinking back tears. It was hard to hear her mother’s voice, to know that these echoes in a shell might be all she had left of her.

Neela gently took the shell from her and listened to it, too. When she finished, she put it down on the edge of the pool. “Sera, if he wanted to kill us, he would have by now. I doubt the food is poisoned.”

“Quite true,” the duca said. “Poison is too slow. They”—he pointed to the back of the pool—“get the job done much faster.”

Neither mermaid had noticed, but half a dozen dorsal fins were sticking out of the water. The mako sharks to whom they were attached circled lazily at the far end of the pool. Sera knew that makos were keen predators.

The duca leaned down, stuck his hand in the water, and rapped three times against the side of the pool. The sharks immediately swam to him and raised their noses. He scratched the head of the largest one.

“The best possible alarm system,” he said. “Smart, quick, and able to sense the tiniest vibrations in the water.” The shark whose nose he was scratching butted his hand impatiently. “Sì, piccolo. Sì, mio caro. Che è un bravo ragazzo?” the duca crooned. He tossed them sardines from a bucket.

The tenderness that the duca, a human, showed the sharks dispelled Serafina’s last doubts. Anyone who pets a mako and calls it “little one” and “my darling” and “good boy” is for real, she thought.

Ravenous, she swam to the steps and hoisted herself up them. Neela followed her. There were all manner of delicacies on the tray Filomena had brought. Pickled limpets. Walrus milk cheese. A salad of chopped sea cucumber and water apple. Sliced sand melon.

Neela ate a piece of sand melon. And then another. She pressed a hand to her chest, closed her eyes and said, “Positively invincible.”

The duca looked puzzled. “Is that a good thing?” he asked.

“A very good thing,” Serafina said, smiling. “Thank you, Duca Armando,” she added, reaching for a limpet. It was all she could do not to bolt down the entire bowl.

“You are most welcome,” he said, looking at his watch. “It’s nearly five a.m. You must be very tired. I have rooms prepared for you and I hope you will find them comfortable. Before you retire, I wonder if I might ask you one more question…one that is very much puzzling me. Why did the invaders allow you to live?”

“We were wondering the same thing,” Serafina said, helping herself to a piece of cheese.

“Were?” the duca said. “Did something happen to give you answers?”

Serafina and Neela traded uncertain glances.

“Please. You must tell me. Anything and everything. No matter how minor it may seem.”

“It wasn’t minor. Not to Traho,” Serafina said.

The duca sat forward, suddenly alert. “What was it?”

“The Iele,” Serafina said.

The duca blinked. “I beg your pardon?”