Rogue Wave (Waterfire Saga #2)(43)

Neela leaned back against the rock and closed her eyes. She didn’t know what to do and there was no one here to tell her. No Sera. No Ling. No subassistants with their forms. No grand vizier. No Suma to make everything better with a cup of tea and a plate of bing-bangs. She would have to figure it out herself. But how?

She opened her eyes, then opened her bag, and did what she always did when she was angry or scared—she hunted for a sweet.

There has to be one in here, she thought desperately. Her craving was terrible. She pushed aside makeup, her hairbrush, a little sack of currensea…and then she spotted a shiny green wrapper.

“A zee-zee! Oh, thank gods!” she said.

It was a bit squashed from being at the bottom of her bag, but it was still a zee-zee. Sweets made it all better. Sweets always made it better. She unwrapped the shiny candy with shaking hands and popped it into her mouth, waiting for it to make her feel calmer, happier…but it was so cloying, it made her feel sick instead.

She spat it out.

As she did, she heard a voice speaking from inside her head. Here, just for you. A kanjaywoohoo, it said. Swallow it, darling. Just like you swallow all your fears and frustrations. They leave such a bitter taste, don’t they?

It was Rorrim’s voice. He was right. That’s what she’d always done—swallowed her fears, with the help of a little candy to sweeten them.

She looked at the prison again, and the people in it, and realized that there was no better. Not from a bing-bang. If she wanted things to be better, she would have to make them so.

She got up, brushed the silt off her backside, and slung her bag over her shoulder. “Thanks to the sea-scum guards, we know which direction to swim in, at least,” she said to Ooda, remembering how one of them had hooked his thumb to his right. “If we’re lucky, we’ll make Nzuri Bonde by morning.”





“HI-YAAAAAH!”

The cry—high and terrifying—carried piercingly through the water.

“That’s Kora,” Neela said. “I’d know her voice anywhere. Come on, Ooda. We’re almost there.”

Neela and Ooda had been on the move all night, ever since they’d left the prison camp. Neela was dragging. She was desperately in need of a rest and a good meal, but hearing Kora’s voice gave her new energy.

The morning sun’s soft rays illuminated the waters of Nzuri Bonde. As Neela and Ooda approached it, they saw low houses made of stones mortared with a mixture of silt and crushed shell, and surrounded by lush vegetation. The doorways and windows were bordered by stark, geometric designs in red, white, and yellow. Simple and spare, they were in harmony with their remote, wild surroundings. Outbuildings made from the bones of whales collected from the seafloor held dugongs placidly waiting to be taken out to graze.

Neela thought about how you could see the shining domes and turrets of Matali City long before you were in it. Nzuri Bonde was just the opposite; you were practically in it before you saw it.

There was a large open arena on the outskirts of the village. Kora was there, drilling with the Askari, her personal guard. They lived apart from all others in the ngome ya jeshi, their own compound. They were practicing haraka now, a form of martial arts that was lightning fast. Tall bamboo poles were used for whacking the enemy across his body, or taking his tail out from under him. Neela watched the fighters as she approached the arena. The Askari were lean, fast, and lethal—and none more so than their leader.

Dark-skinned and regal, Kora had high cheekbones, a full mouth, and hazel eyes flecked with gold. Her powerful tail was striped brown and white, like a lionfish’s. Her pectoral fins fanned out at her sides when she was angry, rising in tall, barbed spikes. She wore a turban of red sea silk and a chest plate of cowrie shells and beads. Her armband, made of white coral, was notched for every sea dragon she’d killed.

“Mgeni anakuja!” one of the Askari cried out. They all stopped drilling and looked where she was pointing—at Neela. Ooda, frightened of them, zipped into Neela’s bag.

Neela, who spoke some Kandinian but not a lot, was surprised to find that she understood the guard. He’d just warned Kora that a stranger was approaching. It’s the bloodbind, she thought.

Kora spun around. Her eyes narrowed at first, then widened in recognition.

“Salamu kubwa, Malkia!” Neela called out, bowing her head. Greetings, Great Queen.

“Princess Neela? Can it be?” Kora said, speaking Mermish now. She swam over to her. A smile, broad and beautiful, spread across her face. She took Neela by her shoulders and kissed her cheeks.

“You have a new look! I was not aware that you followed Goa!”

Neela was still in her caballabong outfit.

“I don’t. Even though it looks that way,” Neela said. “I’ve been—”

Swimming all night she was going to say, but Kora cut her off. She playfully tugged one of Neela’s large hoop earrings.

“You are the only mermaid I know who would make such a dangerous trip so well-accessorized!” she said. “Had I known you were coming, I would have had my nails done.”

Kora, who had little interest in fashion, liked to tease Neela about her passion for clothing and jewelry. Neela always played along good-naturedly, but not this time.

“Kora, this isn’t a social call. I’m here because I need your help.”