Deep Blue (Waterfire Saga, #1)(41)
“The Iele,” Neela repeated. “As in: scary river witches.”
“Yes, I’m familiar with them. The stuff of myth,” he said. “Simple stories our ancestors invented to explain what thunderstorms were, or comets. Traho obviously isn’t interested in make-believe witches. The word must be code for something, though it hasn’t come up in any intelligence.”
Serafina hesitated, then said, “It’s not code. We had a dream, Neela and I. A nightmare, actually. It was the same, though neither of us knew the other had had it until we were in Traho’s camp. The Iele were in the dream. They were chanting to us. And Traho knew about it. He knew the exact words to the chant. He wanted more information and thought we had it.”
The duca nodded knowingly.
“You are so not believing us,” Neela said.
“I believe that in times of duress, the brain—human or mer—does what it must to survive. You may think you had the same dream, because your violent and terrifying captor said you did and going along with him saved your lives. His suggestion became your reality. I’ve seen it happen before to Praedatori who’ve been taken.”
“Duca Armando, signorine bisogno di dormire!” Filomena said sharply. She’d bustled back into the room to retrieve her tray.
“Sì, sì,” the duca said to her. He turned to the mermaids. “Filomena is right. Young ladies do need their sleep. You’ve both suffered terribly. You must rest now. We shall talk more tomorrow. I shall call for Anna—she’s the housekeeper for the water quarters of the palazzo—to show you to your rooms.”
“Thank you again, Duca Armando,” Serafina said. “For the meal, for freeing us, and for giving us a place to stay. We’re very grateful to you.”
The duca waved away her thanks. “I shall see you both later in the day. While you’re resting, I’ll send messengers to the leaders of Atlantica, Qin, the Freshwaters—and to your father, Princess Neela, who rules Matali now in the absence of the emperor and crown prince—advising them of Kolfinn’s treachery. I know they’ll come to your aid. Sleep well, my children. Know that you are safe. The doors through which you entered have been locked and barred. The Praedatori are here to guard you. Your ordeal is over. Nothing can harm you here.”
“THIS WAY, PLEASE, Your Graces,” Anna said, smiling.
Serafina and Neela followed her. They passed the canal-side doors through which they had entered the duca’s home and swam down a dimly lit hallway.
The underwater walls of the ancient palazzo were shaggy with algae. Fleshy orange starfish and spiky blue urchins—their bright colors a warning—clustered on the ceiling. Tube sponges dotted the floor, their bloated fingers brushing against the mermaids’ tails. Twining ribbon worms and tiny baglike salps, frightened by the bright light of Anna’s torch, wriggled into cracks and seams. Feather stars and sea whips—things with mouths but no eyes—strained toward the mermaids as they passed, drawn by their movements.
Serafina was so desperately tired, she could’ve slept on the floor. Her stomach was full, but her mind was foggy, and her body was bruised and sore. “Is the duca right?” she asked Neela as they swam. “Do we only think we had the same dream?”
“I don’t know, Sera. I’m so exhausted I can’t think at all. We’ll figure it out later. We’re safe. We’re alive. For now, that’s enough.”
“My quarters are just down the hall, should you need anything in the night,” Anna said, as she opened the door to Serafina’s room. “The Praedatori are also nearby. Sleep well. Princess Neela, your room is here. Just across the hallway.”
Serafina thanked Anna, then hugged Neela hard. Neela hugged her back. Neither mermaid let go of the other for quite some time. “Love you, merl,” she said. “Would never have made it here without you.”
“Love you, too,” said Neela.
Serafina entered her room, then closed the door. A canopied bed, carved from yellow amber and lined with blue anemones, greeted her. It looked so lush and inviting that it was all she could do not to flop down in it right away, but she didn’t. She wanted to find the grotto first and scrub herself clean. As she crossed the room, she glimpsed walls painted with colored squid inks, a gilt bamboo desk and chair, a tall looking glass in a corner, and a blue sea-silk dress hanging from a stand. A note on a table near the dress informed her that it was for her. She couldn’t believe how thoughtful the duca was.
The doorway to the grotto was on the far side of the room. Serafina swam through it. It was tiled in shimmering, ocean-hued mosaics. An ivory robe hung from a hook. On a marble table were glass jars filled with sand for scrubbing skin and scales. Serafina saw black sand from the shores of Hawaii, white from Bora Bora, and pink from the Seychelles. It seemed almost too much to ask for after all she’d been through—a good, long scrub and a soft robe to wear.
As she was about to undress, a movement in the grotto’s mirror caught her eye. She glanced at it and saw a figure looking back at her, wraithlike and haggard. A vitrina, she thought. But no. She swam closer and realized that she was looking at herself.
The left side of her face was mottled purple and black, thanks to Traho. Her hair was a tangled mess, her skin and scales filthy. Her once-beautiful gown was torn and bloodstained. As she stared at the blood, she started to shake. The images started coming at her, one after another. The arrow piercing her mother’s side. Her father’s body falling through the water. Dragons attacking the palace. Traho. The dying guard. Thalassa singing her last songspell. The refugee mother and her children.