Deep Blue (Waterfire Saga, #1)(7)

Most mermaids of Serafina’s age could only cast canta prax—or plainsong—spells. Prax was a practical magic that helped the mer survive. There were camouflage spells to fool predators. Echolocation spells to navigate dark waters. Spells to improve speed or darken an ink cloud. Prax spells were the first kind taught to mer children, and even those with little magical ability could cast them.

Serafina took a deep breath now and started to sing. She sang softly, so no one could hear her, watching herself in a decorative mica panel. She couldn’t rehearse the entire spell—she’d destroy the room—but she could work on bits of it.

“Alítheia? You’ve never seen her? I’ve seen her twice now, my dear, and let me tell you, she’s absolutely terrifying!”

That was the elderly Baronessa Agneta talking to young Lady Cosima. They were sitting in a corner. The gray-haired baronessa was wearing a gown in an alarming shade of purple. Cosima had on a blue tunic; a thick blond braid trailed down her back. Serafina faltered, unnerved by their talk.

“You have no reason to fear her, so don’t,” had always been Isabella’s advice, but from what Sera had heard of Alítheia, that was easier said than done.

“The gods themselves made her. Bellogrim, the smith, forged her, and Neria breathed life into her,” Agneta continued. Loudly, for she was quite deaf.

“Is there kissing during the Dokimí? I heard there’s kissing,” Cosima said, wrinkling her nose.

“A bit at the end. Close your eyes. That’s what I do,” the baronessa said, sipping her sargassa tea. The hot liquid—thick and sweet, like most mer drinks—sat heavily in an exquisite teacup. The cup had been salvaged, as had all of the palace porcelain, from terragogg shipwrecks. “The Dokimí has three parts, child—two tests and a vow.”

“Why?”

“Why? Quia Merrow decrevit! That’s Latin. It means—”

“‘Because Merrow decreed it,’” Cosima said.

“Very good. Dokimí is Greek for trial, and a trial it is. Alítheia appears in the first test—the blooding—to ensure each principessa is a true daughter of the blood.”

“Why?” Cosima asked.

“Quia Merrow decrevit,” the Baronessa replied. She paused to put her cup down. “The second test is the casting. It consists of a diabolically difficult songspell. A strong ruler must have a strong voice, for, as you know, a mermaid’s magic is in her voice.”

“Why is that?” Cosima asked. “I’ve always wondered. Why can’t we just wave a wand? It would be sooo much easier.”

“Because the goddess Neria, who gave us our magic, knew that songspells carry better in water than wandspells. Danger is everywhere in the sea, child. Death swims on a fast fin.”

“But why do we sing our spells, Baronessa? Why can’t we just speak them?”

The baronessa sighed. “Do they actually teach you anything in school nowadays?” she asked. “We sing because song enhances magic. Why, song is magic! Cantare. More Latin. It means…”

“…to sing.”

“Yes. And from cantare come both chant and enchantment, canto and incantation, music and magic. Think of the sounds of the sea, child…whalesong, the cries of gulls, the whispering of the waves. They are so beautiful and so powerful that all the creatures in the world hear the magic in them, even the tone-deaf terragoggs.”

The baronessa picked up a sea urchin from a plate, cracked its shell with her teeth, and slurped it down. “If, and only if, the principessa passes both tests,” she said, “she will then undertake the last part of the Dokimí—the promising. This is where she makes her betrothal vows and promises her people that she will marry the merman chosen for her and give the realm a daughter of the blood, just as her mother did. And her grandmother. And so on, all the way back to Merrow.”

“But why, Baronessa?” Cosima asked.

“Good gods! Another why? Quia Merrow decrevit! That’s why!” the baronessa said impatiently.

“But what if Serafina doesn’t want to marry and rule Miromara and give the realm a daughter? What if she wants to, like, open a café and sell bubble tea?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course she wants to rule Miromara. The things you come up with!”

Agneta reached for another urchin. Cosima frowned. And Serafina smiled ruefully. For as long as she could remember, she’d been asking the same questions, and had been given the same answer: Quia Merrow decrevit. Like many rules of the adult world, a lot of Merrow’s inscrutable decrees made no sense to her. They still had to be followed, though, whether she liked it or not.

Of course she wants to rule Miromara! the baronessa had said. But the truth was, sometimes she didn’t. She wondered, for a few rebellious seconds, what would happen if she refused to sing her songspell tonight and swam off to sell bubble tea instead?

Then Tavia arrived with her breakfast and started to chatter, and all such foolish thoughts disappeared.

“Here you are, my darling,” she said, setting a silver tray down on a table. “Water apples, eel berries, pickled sponge…your favorites.” She slapped a green tentacle away. “Sylvestre, keep out of it!”

“Thank you, Tavia,” Serafina said, ignoring the tray. She wasn’t hungry. She took a deep breath, preparing to practice her songspell again, but Tavia wasn’t finished.