Rogue Wave (Waterfire Saga #2)(48)

Serafina felt as if the breath had just been squeezed out of her. The infanta’s request was a death sentence. She knew, as all mer did, that water bound human souls. If a human died on its surface, her soul went free, but if she drowned in its depths, her soul was trapped and became a ghost.

No soul wanted to be bound. It raged against its fate. The strength of that rage determined a ghost’s power. Restless waters, like those of the shore with their ebb and flow of tides, or the rushing tumble of rivers, dissipated rage. Ghosts of those waters, like the rusalka, tended to be weak. They could slap and pinch, but not kill. They could take objects from the living, but couldn’t hold on to them. They ranged freely through the waters where they’d died, more of a nuisance than a threat.

Shipwreck ghosts, however, were strong. A vessel made so well that it could keep an ocean out could also keep a soul in. The fierce life force that flowed out of a human at death was not dissipated on board a ship, but rather concentrated by being trapped within a cabin, galley, or berth. It entwined itself with the ship, wrapping around its wooden beams or burrowing into its metal hull, which is why ghost ships did not rot or rust. Instead, they endured, drawing on the power of the souls onboard. And the souls endured, too, bound forever to their vessels.

Unless a living creature agreed to free them.

“I have been trapped on this ship for four hundred years,” the infanta said. “I pine for the sun, for the blue sky, for the warm winds of Spain. I long for the scent of jasmine and oranges. I want to be free, Principessa. I want to go home.”

If she agreed to the infanta’s request, Serafina would have to take the ghost’s hand and swim with her to Spain. She knew she had little chance of surviving the trip, because a ghost’s touch pulled the life out of the living, little by little, until there was none left.

From stories told of shipwreck ghosts, Sera knew that the living could withstand minutes, even hours, of their touch, but days? No one had ever survived that long.

You have a strong heart, the infanta had said.

Is it strong enough? Serafina wondered.

“Your answer, Principessa?”

“My answer is yes,” Serafina replied.

The diamond was hidden beneath a floorboard in the infanta’s cabin. Serafina swam belowdecks. Using a knife she found in the ship’s galley, she started to pry the boards up, and suddenly there it was, glinting at her—Neria’s Stone. It was a clear, deep blue, and as large as a turtle’s egg. Serafina had seen many jewels—her mother’s vaults were full of them—but she had never seen anything like the goddess’s diamond. As she picked it up, she felt its power radiating into her hand. The sensation was both thrilling and frightening. She quickly dropped it into her bag. Even though she was no longer touching it, she could still feel its power.

“You’ve found it,” the ghost said, when Sera returned to her. “I hope it brings help to you instead of harm.”

Serafina steeled herself. Now she had to uphold her end of the agreement. “Your Grace,” she said, offering her hand.

The infanta took it and Serafina arched her back, gasping. It was as if the ghost had reached inside her and wrapped a cold hand around her heart. The ship groaned and shuddered in protest, as if it knew the infanta was leaving. A long crack split its deck. A piece of a mast broke off and crashed down to the seabed. Sera felt her heart falter; she felt her breath slow. For a few seconds, the world and everything in it went gray.

Fight it, Serafina! she told herself. Fight it!

She thought of her mother, fending off the invaders with her last breath so that, she, Sera, could escape. She thought of Mahdi, risking his life to defeat Traho. She saw her friends bravely taking the bloodbind with her, and Vr?ja staying behind to face the death riders.

And then she summoned all the strength inside her and swam, pulling the infanta away from her ship and into the open, sun-dappled sea.





“ARE YOU SURE ABOUT THIS?” Neela asked Kora.

“Not at all,” Kora replied.

“Wrong answer.”

Kora ignored that. It was the next morning, one day after Neela had arrived in Nzuri Bonde. They had all risen before dawn and had silently swum out of the village. Now Kora was going over the plan one last time with two of her Askari—Khaali and Leylo. Strong and powerfully built, they were not only formidable fighters, Neela had learned, they were also whale riders.

“Tell Ceto I’ll give him my thanks in person when the deed is done,” Kora said when they’d finished talking. She touched her forehead to Khaali’s, then Leylo’s. She sent them on their way, then turned to the others. “Ikraan, you need more green on the back of your neck. Jamal, I can see the tip of your tail fin. Neela…” She shook her head, sighing.

“What?” Neela said defensively. “I camoed! I totally camoed!”

Basra snorted.

“I did! What’s wrong with my camo? Don’t you have anemones in Kandina?”

Kora sang a couplet. The bright purple and blue splotches on Neela’s torso and tail disappeared. Kora sang again and Neela was instantly mottled in five different shades of mud.

Neela inspected her arms. “Uck,” she said.

“You’d prefer to get them chewed off?” Basra asked archly, turning on her tail.

“You’d prefer to get them chewed off?” Neela mimicked.