Waterfire Saga, Book Four: Sea Spell: Deep Blue Novel, A (6 page)

“He’s waited for this…waited for
you
, his blood, for four thousand years,” Rorrim said. “Go to him now, child. Let him take your fear away.”

Before Astrid could respond, the mirror lord was gone, walking back down the Hall of Sighs. Astrid turned and watched him grow smaller and smaller, until she couldn’t see him at all. Then she faced the looking glass again—and herself.

Once she swam into Shadow Manse, there was no going back. She would take the black pearl from Orfeo or die trying.

Floating before the mirror, Astrid realized that she was about to confront someone who was far more treacherous than the Qanikkaaq, the Williwaw, the infanta, the Okwa Naholo, or the Abyss. If she swam through this mirror, she would come face-to-face with Orfeo.
Orfeo
. One of the Six Who Ruled. The greatest mage in history. And she? Well, she could turn herself purple when she meant to turn green. Sometimes. If she tried really hard.

“This is insanity,” she whispered to the glass.

She thought of the other five who’d been summoned to the Iele’s caves—Sera, Ling, Neela, Ava, and Becca. They were her friends, her sisters, bloodbound forever. They were counting on her. They wouldn’t back away from this, no matter how scared they were. And she knew that she couldn’t, either.

Taking a deep breath, Astrid placed her hands on the glass.

S
HADOW MANSE looked as if it had been sculpted from darkness.

Black walls and floors, made of polished obsidian, reflected the blue waterfire flickering in silver candelabra. Overhead, Gothic arches supported a high, peaked ceiling.

Astrid, her sword drawn, moved warily through what seemed to be the palace’s great hall. Salt water, not the liquid silver of Vadus, swirled around her now. At the hall’s far end, a table, also made of obsidian, was set with sterling platters and bowls, all containing mouthwatering delicacies. A tall chair with carved arms had been placed at the head of the table. Another stood to its right.

Astrid moved toward the table. As she did, she heard footsteps, slow and measured, coming from behind her.

“How unusual,” a voice said. “Most of my guests come bearing gifts, not swords.”

Astrid spun around. It was Orfeo. He was a human, with legs, but he moved through the water smoothly, and breathed it as easily as if he were breathing air.

“You can put your weapon away,” he said, with an amused half smile. “If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t do it here. My servants have just polished the floor.”

Six feet tall, blond, and powerfully built, he was dressed in his customary black suit. His skin was tanned, weathered by sun and sea. Smoke-tinted glasses obscured his eyes. Astrid’s heart raced as she spotted the black pearl hanging at his neck. A suicidal urge to snatch it from him right then and there rose in her, but she fought it down and put her sword back in its scabbard.

Orfeo circled her, his head cocked like that of an osprey eyeing prey, his hands clasped behind his back. He stopped in front of her, then placed his palm against her chest.

“Whoa!” Astrid said. She tried to back away but faltered, overwhelmed by a sudden loud pounding. It filled her ears, her head, the entire hall.

“That’s the sound of your heart,” Orfeo said. “So brave. So powerful.” He laughed, pleased by the thunderous noise. “Blood calls to blood, child. The blood of the greatest mage that ever lived.
My
blood.” He removed his hand and the noise stopped.

“
Don’t
do that again,” Astrid hissed, frightened but trying not to show it.

His touch was repellent, but that’s not what scared her. When he’d placed his hand over her heart, she’d felt something electric and dizzying surge through her veins: power—pure and thrilling.

“You must be tired. Hungry, too,” Orfeo said. “Come, my servants have set a table for us.”

Astrid shook her head. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me why you summoned me, why I’m here,” she said. She was pretty sure she knew, but she wanted to hear it from him.

Orfeo tilted his head again, regarding her. “They are one and the same—the reason I called you, the reason you came. Deep down, you know what that reason is. Deep down, we all know our heart’s truest desire.”

He offered her his hand. When she didn’t take it, he turned and walked away.

Astrid’s fear paralyzed her. She looked at Orfeo, walking away, then at the mirror that led back to Vadus.

“Who are you afraid of?” Orfeo called over his shoulder. “Me? Or yourself?”

With a last, desperate glance at the mirror, Astrid shored up her courage and swam after him.

N
EELA, DISTURBED BY a noise in the barracks, opened her bleary eyes. A tail, pearly beige with patches of brown, was hanging in front of her face.

“Go to
sleep
, Becca,” she grumbled, swatting it away. “It’s not even light out yet!”

Becca was sitting on the bunk above her, getting dressed. “I can’t. There’s too much to do,” she whispered.

“The work crews won’t be up for another two hours. Go. Back. To.
Bed
.”

“I need to get a head start,” Becca said, swimming down from her bunk. “After we search the northwest quadrant for lava, I have to review plans for the new barracks and the school, and then inspect work on the infirmary. After that, the weapons need to be inventoried.”

As Becca spoke, she spied a small tail flopping over the side of a nearby bunk. It belonged to a little mermaid named Coco, who tended to toss in her sleep. Becca gently eased Coco’s tail back into her bed, then smoothed a strand of hair out of her face.

Neela blinked at Becca. “Why are you doing this all yourself? Why aren’t you delegating some of the work?”

“I
am
delegating. I’m just, uh, checking in.”

“Like every ten minutes. Which
isn’t
delegating. You’ve got to ease up, Becs, or you’ll work yourself to death.”

“Hey! Trying to sleep here!” Ling griped. She’d only gone to bed a few hours ago herself. Becca had woken briefly when Ling had come in. She could have sworn Ling was carrying Sycorax’s puzzle ball. Could that be?

“Sorry!” Becca whispered to Ling. “Later!” she mouthed to Neela.

As Neela burrowed into the seaweed of her bunk, Becca twisted her red hair up, then pushed a twig of polished coral through the twist to hold it in place. She buttoned her jacket around her neck. It was cold in the Kargjord. Then she picked up her clipboard, which she kept in a small cubby in the barracks’ rock wall, and quietly left.

The waters outside were dark, but Becca cast an illuminata songspell, and whirled some moonbeams together. The light did little to penetrate the murk, but at least it kept her from swimming into the boulders that dotted the Black Fins’ camp. She was on her way to the tool storehouse.

The lack of proper light only reinforced Becca’s determination to find a lava seam—as quickly as possible. Sera was spending a fortune on importing lava globes from Scaghaufen, the Meerteufel goblins’ capital city. If a seam could be located, that money could go toward buying more food or medical supplies. Lava was crucial to the functioning of the camp. It was needed for heating and cooking as well as lighting. Seams ran under the rest of the goblin realms, and Becca was certain they’d find one under the Karg, too.

As she approached the storehouse, a figure loomed out of the darkness—a goblin, armed and armored. Becca recognized her.

“Hey, Mulmig. How’d tonight’s patrol go?” she asked.

“We spotted some skavveners two leagues north of the camp. We gave chase, but they got away.”

“How many?” Becca asked, her brow creased with worry.

“A dozen. Really nasty-looking. They had a lot of loot with them, and what looked like somebody else’s hippokamps.”

“Two leagues is too close,” Becca said grimly.

Skavveners were bad news. Hunched, bony sea elves, they pillaged battlefields and disaster sites. Red-eyed and long-clawed, they wore their stringy hair loose and dressed in their victims’ stolen clothing, often not waiting until they were dead to yank it off them.

Becca knew Sera wouldn’t be happy when she heard about the skavveners. They stalked the feeble, sick, and injured. Sera wouldn’t want Vallerio’s spy to tell him that the elves had been seen near the Black Fins’ camp. He’d take it as a sign of weakness. Which it was.

“And what about you? Are you ending one day, or starting the next?” Mulmig asked.

Becca laughed and told Mulmig her plans for today.

“You’ve got everything under control, Becs. As always,” Mulmig said admiringly when Becca had finished. “But you look tired. You need more sleep. You work too hard.”

Becca shook her head. “I don’t work hard enough. We still don’t have a source of lava, and it’s hurting us. The skavveners sense it. That’s why they’re lurking.”

“I’ll help you hunt for a seam later, but right now I need some sleep,” Mulmig said. “See you.”

As Mulmig headed to her barracks, Becca continued on her way to the storehouse, with the goblin’s words echoing in her ears.
You’ve got everything under control, Becs. As always
. Becca knew that Mulmig meant it as a compliment, but it didn’t make her feel good. It made her feel like a fraud.

Becca took her responsibilities very seriously, but there was another reason she worked herself so hard, though she didn’t like to admit it: a human named Marco. If she filled every minute of every day with work and then fell into an exhausted, dreamless sleep, there was no time left to think about him, and miss him.

Marco and his sister, Elisabetta, had rescued Becca after she’d been attacked by the Williwaw, a vengeful wind spirit from whom Becca had taken a talisman—a gold coin that had belonged to Pyrrha, one of the mages of Atlantis.

Marco was the current duca di Venezia, an ancient title conferred on his ancestor by Merrow, the first leader of the mer. The duca’s duty was to protect the mer, and he fulfilled it with the help of the Praedatori, an ancient brotherhood of mermen, and the Wave Warriors, terragoggs who were dedicated to safeguarding the seas.

Together with Elisabetta, Marco had scooped Becca out of rough waters and taken her to the safety of the Kargjord. They’d stitched up her wounds and helped her recover. The stitches had come out, but scars—some deep—remained. Because during the days she’d spent with Marco and Elisabetta, she’d done a very foolish thing: she’d fallen in love.

Marco was gorgeous, with soulful brown eyes and a warm smile, and he was as dedicated to the defense of the earth’s waters as any mer, but Becca knew that a relationship between them was impossible. Such a love was taboo to the mer, who were distrustful of humans. And even if it wasn’t, Marco couldn’t live in her world, and she couldn’t live in his.

Becca’s head knew this, but her heart wouldn’t listen. These two opposing parts of her lobbed arguments back and forth like a ball at a caballabong match. One minute, she wished she’d told him she loved him—as he’d told her. The next, she was furious at herself for even considering such a reckless action. She worried about what her friends would think of her if they ever discovered her feelings for Marco, then hated herself for caring.

She stopped now, overcome by longing, and looked up through the waters at the moon shining high above. Maybe Marco was looking up at the moon, too, and thinking of her. She hoped so, even if it was stupid and hopeless and totally impossible.

Is he safe?
she wondered. She knew that Orfeo and his thugs were after him, and that the Praedatori were too scattered to protect him. He’d had to leave the college where he was studying, but he couldn’t go home to his family’s palazzo in Venice, because it was being watched.
Is he on the water or on land? Is he happy? Has he found a terragogg girl and forgotten all about me?

“Why?” she whispered, clenching her hands into fists. “Why not Desiderio, or Yazeed, or any one of the other amazing Black Fins? Why a
human
?” Tears stung behind her blue eyes.

This secret love was torture. She wished she could confide in one of her friends. Maybe Neela, Ling, or Sera could help her make sense of her feelings. She’d promised herself she would, a hundred times at least, but she always ended up backing away, too scared that they wouldn’t understand.