Rogue Wave (Waterfire Saga #2)(46)

“I have a plan. It’s very simple. We lead the dragons from their caves to the prison. After they’ve gobbled down every last sea whip, we draw them off again.”

Neela blinked at her. “Wait a minute, Kora, I thought you said it was simple!”

“It is, in theory. The execution is a little trickier. If it works, though, I will free my people and you will get your moonstone.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Neela asked.

“If it doesn’t,” Kora said with a shrug, “we’re dead.”





“DUE SOUTH, the conch said. Not south-southwest, or south-southeast. Due south. It has to be here!” Serafina told herself.

She’d reached the waters off Saintes-Maries four hours ago, after swimming for days, and had been searching for the Demeter ever since.

“Did I read this thing wrong?” she wondered aloud, looking yet again at the compass Fossegrim had loaned her.

According to the instrument, she was in the right place. Unfortunately, the Demeter was not.

A chilling thought gripped her: What if Traho had already found it? What if Mfeme had somehow lifted it aboard one of his massive trawlers? That would explain why it was nowhere to be seen.

As Sera was considering this possibility, she felt vibrations in the water. Only seconds later, something passed overhead. She looked up just in time to see two white bellies flash by.

Sharks. Big ones.

Serafina’s heart lurched. They were tiger sharks, which were known to attack mer. They turned and started back toward her, picking up speed as they did. Hoping to drive them off, she reached for the Moses sole potion that Vr?ja had given her, then remembered it was gone; she’d used it on the death riders. She looked down at the seabed, hoping to spot some cover—a cave, a reef, anything—but all that was there was a thicket of kelp. Could she get to it before the sharks got to her?

Her heart pounding now, Sera dove. The sharks followed her. She could feel them descending, knifing through the water, gaining on her with every second. Ten yards, five yards, three…and then she was in the seaweed, reaching for the seafloor so she could flatten herself against it. But there was no seafloor. There was nothing at all.

Sera found herself hurtling through the seaweed and into a deep black gully. The green fronds were so dense they’d obscured it. She stopped, turned, and looked up. The sharks passed overhead, but didn’t pursue her. A few weak sunrays penetrated the thicket. She wound them into a ball and held it in her hand. Then she looked down into the gully, and nearly dropped it.

The wrecked ship lay tilted on its side below. If the sharks hadn’t chased her into the gully, she never would have found it. It was remarkably well-preserved.

That should have been a warning to Sera, but she was so excited to have found the wreck, the fact that its masts, rigging, and deck were still sound after four centuries didn’t register.

She recognized the vessel as a three-masted caravel, a ship used by the Spanish long ago. It was light, sleek, and about sixty feet long—just the kind of fast, maneuverable ship a princess fearing a pirate attack would use. It had to be the Demeter.

As she swam closer, she saw that the hull was riddled with holes. She peered into one and saw crabs scuttling over wine casks, water barrels, and baskets. Silver goblets and dishes lay on the bottom of the hold. Wooden chests, the sort that goggs from an earlier time used to contain clothing, were tumbled about like building blocks. Could these things have belonged to the infanta? Were her remains still on board the ship? Was Neria’s blue diamond? Sera looked for human bones, but saw none. She would have to go inside and search the rest of the vessel.

The holes in the hull were too small for her to fit through, so she decided to swim topside and enter that way. She looked up, ready to head for the gunwale—and froze.

Someone was standing on the ship’s deck. Watching her. It was a young woman with haunting black eyes. She was beautiful. Pale. And dead.

Serafina knew her instantly from the duca’s painting. Her stomach clenched with fear. It was the infanta. The Demeter was a ghost ship.

Sera was in great danger.





THE GHOST CONTINUED to stare at Serafina, saying nothing.

Sera knew she should swim away. Fast. This was no silly rusalka—this was something far worse. But she couldn’t go; she needed Neria’s diamond. She decided to speak to the ghost, but she would have to be very careful. Shipwreck ghosts were treacherous. They were hungry for life. They longed to feel the beat of a living heart, the rush of blood through the veins. Their touch, if prolonged, could be lethal.

Moving slowly, Sera swam up the ship’s side. When she reached the top, she curtsied deeply. The infanta might be dead, but she was still royal, and Sera knew she must accord her due respect.

“Hail, Maria Theresa, most noble and esteemed infanta of Spain. I am the Principessa Serafina di Miromara, daughter of Regina Isabella,” Sera said, trying to keep her voice steady. “I have come on a matter of state and humbly beg permission to board your vessel.”

“Hail, Serafina, principessa di Miromara,” the infanta said in a voice that sounded like a keening wind. “You may board.”

Sera had addressed the infanta in Spanish, thanks to the bloodbind. She set her light ball down on the gunwale, then swam aboard the ship, careful to give the ghost a wide berth.

“Why have you come alone? Where is your court?” the infanta asked.