Waterfire Saga, Book Four: Sea Spell: Deep Blue Novel, A (13 page)

“Who—who are you?” Ava cried, frightened now.

“How very rude of me. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Markus Traho.”

“Y
OU BIG
DUMSKALLE
!” Skrovlig the goblin said, punching her coworker Rök playfully. “I knew you wouldn’t get it.”

Rök, his brow knit in concentration, groaned in frustration.
“Pokkers!”
he swore in his language, before changing to mer. “You’re as much of a
dumskalle
, Skro. You couldn’t get it either.”

“Let
me
have a try,” said Groft, another goblin, taking the puzzle ball from Rök.

The goblins had been building tent frames in preparation for the long journey to the Southern Sea. Ling had swum by just as they were taking a lunch break, her head down, her hands working the spheres of Sycorax’s talisman.

“Hey, Ling, is that the puzzle ball?” Skrovlig had called out. “Let’s have a look at it!”

Ling had swum to the goblin and put the talisman in her hands.

“The whole camp’s talking about this thing,” Groft had said, as she watched Skrovlig try to solve it. “I heard there’s something magical in the center of it. An Arrow of Judgment.”

“That’s what the historians believe,” Ling said, pleased that the rumors she’d started in the HQ cave had spread. As Groft turned and twisted the inner spheres now, Ling explained what the Arrow did. “Can you imagine?” she said. “A device that can tell if a person’s innocent or guilty? How cool is
that
?”

“Super cool,” Skrovlig replied.

Ling kept talking about the Arrow and its legendary powers. Her plan wouldn’t work unless everyone in the camp knew about it. Sera was away; she’d gone to see Guldemar, to ask him for more troops. Ling hoped to have found the spy by the time she returned.

“I’ve got it!” Groft suddenly shouted, grinning. But almost immediately her face fell. “Wait…no, I don’t.” She tried again, scowling the whole time, then looked up. “Hey, I know! Let’s get a hammer and smash it!”

“Um, maybe not,” Ling said, quickly taking the puzzle ball back. “But thanks for your help. If you know any good puzzle solvers, tell them to come and—”

But Ling’s words were cut off.

“Hey, guys? Aren’t you supposed to be working? Those tent frames aren’t going to build themselves.”

The goblins turned in the direction of the brisk, disapproving voice. Ling did, too.

“Hey, Becca,” she said, trying to mask her frustration at being interrupted.

Becca was holding a clipboard. “According to my schedule, the frames should’ve been completed
yesterday
.”

“We had to wait for a shipment of nails to arrive,” Rök said defensively. “They only got here this morning.”

“Fine, but now that you have the nails, I really don’t think you should be goofing off,” Becca admonished.

Groft crossed her arms. “We’re on our lunch break, you know,” she said defiantly. “If we want to help Ling solve this thing instead of eating, that’s our business.”

“It’s my business, too,” Becca insisted. “We’re on a tight schedule, and I’m responsible for getting this project done, and done on time, and I—”

Rök interrupted her. “Look, Becca…I
volunteered
to help with the frames. I don’t need this silt,” he said. Then he stalked off.

“Wait…you’re not leaving, are you? You
can’t
leave!” Becca cried. But that’s exactly what all three of them did. “Great. Just great,” Becca huffed, watching them go. “Goblins! They’re
so
undisciplined.”

“You’re wrong, Becca,” Ling countered. “They
are
disciplined, but they hate being ordered around. Most people do, whether they’re mer or goblin. You’d know that if you took the time to talk with them, instead of
at
them.”

“Ling, you don’t understand. You really don’t,” Becca said frostily.

“You’re right, I don’t. I don’t understand
you.
You’ve changed, Becca,” Ling said, speaking with her usual bluntness. “You’ve become overbearing. And touchy. And kind of closed off.”

Becca blinked at Ling. Color rose in her cheeks. Tears shimmered in her eyes.

“What’s going on?” Ling asked, softening her tone. “The way you’ve been behaving lately…it’s not you. Is something bothering you? Do you want to talk about it?”

Becca brushed at her eyes with the back of her hand. “Wow, Ling. Now you’re the one lecturing me about how
I
should behave—”

“Whoa, there. Hold up,” Ling said. “Nobody’s lecturing anyone.”

“Maybe you should look at yourself,” Becca said. “Everyone in the entire camp is working flat out to get ready to go to the Southern Sea, and you’re playing with the puzzle ball. Which is kind of hard to take when so much needs to get done, you know?”

“I
am
working, Becca,” Ling insisted. “Trust me.”

Becca snorted. “Yeah, right. Did you catch the spy yet?”

“No, not yet, but—”

“Well, don’t strain yourself playing with your toy, okay? If you decide you
do
want to do some work, find me. I’ve got plenty. Later,” Becca said, and then, with an angry flip of her tail, she swam away.

Ling winced. “Ouch.” She sighed. “
That
went well.”

She watched her friend wind her way through the camp, then disappear behind a boulder.

She’s hurting,
Ling thought.
Otherwise, she never would have snapped like that. She’s in pain. I wonder what’s causing it.

And then Ling’s heart lurched. Just days ago she’d told Sera that the
spy
was in pain. And that the spy was someone close to her—very close.

“No, not Becca,” Ling whispered. “It
can’t
be her. Please gods, no.”

It would kill Sera if Becca had betrayed them. It would kill
all
of them.

Ling looked down at the talisman resting on her palm, knowing now that it might lead her not only to an enemy, but to a friend. For an instant, her resolution faltered; she felt paralyzed. When the spy was caught, he—or she—would be taken before a military tribunal. If found guilty, he’d be sentenced to death by firing squad.

Could I do it?
Ling asked herself.
Could I turn in a friend knowing she might be executed?

She worked the spheres of the puzzle ball, as if they might give her the answer, but they didn’t.

Vallerio knows we don’t have a lava seam, enough food, or enough troops. If I don’t catch the spy soon, he’ll attack again, and maybe this time he’ll send a thousand death riders instead of a hundred,
she thought.
I have to keep trying to find the spy, even if he or she turns out be one of us.

A noisy group of goblins approached her now.

Ling knew what she had to do. With a heavy heart, she looked up at them.

“Hey!” she called out, pasting a smile on her face. “Are any of you good with puzzles?”

A
STRID FELT as though she were crawling out of a deep pit.

She tried to open her eyes, but the light was blinding. She tried to call for help but couldn’t form the words. And all the while, the terrible pain in her throat clutched at her, trying to drag her back down into unconsciousness.

A voice, low and concerned, pushed at her through the darkness. “Astrid? Can you hear me? Are you in pain?”

“Yes,” she managed to croak.

“I have medicine. Can you sit up? I’ll help you.”

Astrid felt strong arms lifting her body, taking her weight effortlessly. Pillows were plumped behind her, and she was eased back against them. Her head felt so heavy, but she managed to lift it and open her eyes. She saw that she was in her room in Shadow Manse. She was wearing a sea-flax nightgown and lying in a bed filled with soft black anemones.

Orfeo sat on the edge, his brow creased with worry. “Drink this,” he said, handing her a glass containing a heavy, murky green liquid. “I’d advise getting it down all in one go. It tastes terrible.”

Astrid knew she should be wary of the drink; Orfeo was capable of doing great harm. But she was in too much agony to care. She took the glass with trembling hands and swallowed its contents, grimacing as she did. It
was
terrible, but it was also effective. Her pain quickly receded.

As it did, Astrid found she could think again. Images came back to her. She remembered Orfeo’s hands on her throat, the frightening bloody taste in her mouth, and then agony.

“What happened to me?” she rasped, handing him the empty glass. “What did you do?”

Orfeo didn’t answer her right away. Instead, he brushed some hair out of her face and pressed his palm to her forehead, as tenderly as a fond father. When he’d satisfied himself that she was not feverish, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small dark object. He held it up, pinched between his thumb and forefinger, so she could see it.

Astrid peered at the object. It was a silver drupe. “I don’t understand,” she said, looking from the coin to him.

“You coughed this up,” he explained, placing the drupe on her palm. “It’s from the Månenkager you ate when you were little. Remember how you told me that no one got the coin?
You
got it. You swallowed it, and it lodged in your voice box. It was pressed against your vocal cords, preventing them from vibrating in the way that they must for songcasting.”

Astrid was so stunned she couldn’t speak. All these years, all these sad, hard, lonely years, she’d thought that there was something wrong with her.
Everyone
had thought so. And all along, her inability to sing had been caused by a coin from a cake.

A question formed in her heart.
Can I sing again?
she wondered, but she tamped the hope down. She ached to know the answer but was terrified it might not be the one she wanted to hear. Instead, she coolly said, “That changes things.”

Orfeo smiled. He closed her hand around the coin. “It changes
everything
.”

He stood, then walked to a table on the far side of the room. Astrid’s belongings had been unpacked and laid out on top of it. He ran a hand over them—her backpack, her parka, her sword, her dagger…and her whalebone pipe.

As Astrid watched, he picked up the pipe and broke it over his knee.

“Hey!” she croaked, furious. “What are you doing?”

Astrid loved that pipe; it was her most prized possession. Becca had made it for her so she could express her magic even though she couldn’t sing, and now Orfeo had destroyed it.

“A
pipe
?” he said disdainfully. “For a child of Orfeo?”

Astrid continued to protest. She tried to get out of bed, but as she did, her head began to spin.

“Lie back down,” Orfeo ordered. “Sleep now. Your body needs to heal.”

“Can’t sleep…” she murmured, her eyes fluttering closed. “Have to…I have to…”

What? She had to do something, something very important, but what was it?

The medicine was making her drowsy. She shouldn’t have drunk it. The gods only knew what Orfeo had put in it.

She forced her eyes open. They came to rest on him, and the pearl strung around his neck. Morsa’s pearl—
that
was it. She was supposed to get the pearl. That’s why she’d come here.

She lurched forward. She would take it right now. She would snatch the pearl, grab her sword off the table, and escape from Shadow Manse.

But before she could even swing her tail out of her bed, exhaustion overpowered her. Her eyes closed. Her head lolled against her shoulder. She felt hands on her again. Orfeo’s hands, gentle and strong. They eased her back against her pillow.

“Rest, Astrid. Sleep.”

Yes, rest. She would rest first. Get her strength back. And
then
she would take the pearl.

“Soon,” she whispered, as sleep folded its black cloak around her. “I’ll get it, Sera, I promise…
soon
.”