Waterfire Saga, Book One: Deep Blue (A Waterfire Saga Novel) (3 page)

“N
O, NO, NO!
Not the
ruby
hair combs, you tube worm, the
emerald
combs! Go get the right ones!” the hairdresser scolded. Her assistant scuttled off.

“I’m sorry, but you’re
quite
mistaken. Etiquette demands that the Duchessa di Tsarno
precede
the Contessa di Cerulea to the Kolisseo.” That was Lady Giovanna, chatelaine of the chamber, talking to Lady Ottavia, keeper of the wardrobe.

“These sea roses just arrived for the principessa from Principe Bastiaan. Where should I put them?” a maid asked.

A dozen voices could be heard, all talking at once. They spoke Mermish, the common language of the sea people.

Serafina tried to ignore the voices and concentrate on her songspell. “All those octave leaps,” she whispered to herself. “Five high Cs, the trills and arpeggios….Why did Merrow make it so
hard
?”

The songspell for the Dokimí had been composed specifically to test a future ruler’s mastery of magic. It was cast entirely in canta mirus, or special song. Canta mirus was a demanding type of magic that called for a powerful voice and a great deal of ability. It required long hours of practice to master, and Serafina had worked tirelessly to excel at it. Mirus casters could bid light, wind, water, and sound. The best could embellish existing songspells or create new ones.

Most mermaids of Serafina’s age could only cast canta prax—or plainsong—spells. Prax was a practical magic that helped the mer survive. There were camouflage spells to fool predators. Echolocation spells to navigate dark waters. Spells to improve speed or darken an ink cloud. Prax spells were the first kind taught to mer children, and even those with little magical ability could cast them.

Serafina took a deep breath now and started to sing. She sang softly, so no one could hear her, watching herself in a decorative mica panel. She couldn’t rehearse the entire spell—she’d destroy the room—but she could work on bits of it.

“Alítheia? You’ve never seen her? I’ve seen her twice now, my dear, and let me tell you, she’s absolutely terrifying!”

That was the elderly Baronessa Agneta talking to young Lady Cosima. They were sitting in a corner. The gray-haired baronessa was wearing a gown in an alarming shade of purple. Cosima had on a blue tunic; a thick blond braid trailed down her back. Serafina faltered, unnerved by their talk.

“You have no reason to fear her, so don’t,” had always been Isabella’s advice, but from what Sera had heard of Alítheia, that was easier said than done.

“The gods themselves made her. Bellogrim, the smith, forged her, and Neria breathed life into her,” Agneta continued. Loudly, for she was quite deaf.

“Is there kissing during the Dokimí? I heard there’s kissing,” Cosima said, wrinkling her nose.

“A bit at the end. Close your eyes. That’s what I do,” the baronessa said, sipping her sargassa tea. The hot liquid—thick and sweet, like most mer drinks—sat heavily in an exquisite teacup. The cup had been salvaged, as had all of the palace porcelain, from terragogg shipwrecks. “The Dokimí has three parts, child—two tests and a vow.”

“Why?”

“Why?
Quia Merrow decrevit!
That’s Latin. It means—”

“
‘Because Merrow decreed it,
’
” Cosima said.

“Very good.
Dokimí
is Greek for trial, and a trial it is. Alítheia appears in the first test—the blooding—to ensure each principessa is a true daughter of the blood.”

“Why?” Cosima asked.

“Quia Merrow decrevit,”
the Baronessa replied. She paused to put her cup down. “The second test is the casting. It consists of a diabolically difficult songspell. A strong ruler must have a strong voice, for, as you know, a mermaid’s magic is
in
her voice.”

“Why is that?” Cosima asked. “I’ve always wondered. Why can’t we just wave a wand? It would be
sooo
much easier.”

“Because the goddess Neria, who gave us our magic, knew that songspells carry better in water than wandspells. Danger is everywhere in the sea, child. Death swims on a fast fin.”

“But why do we
sing
our spells, Baronessa? Why can’t we just speak them?”

The baronessa sighed. “Do they actually
teach
you anything in school nowadays?” she asked. “We sing because song
enhances
magic. Why, song
is
magic!
Cantare
. More Latin. It means…”

“…to sing.”

“Yes. And from
cantare
come both
chant
and
enchantment
,
canto
and
incantation
, music and magic. Think of the sounds of the sea, child…whalesong, the cries of gulls, the whispering of the waves. They are so beautiful and so powerful that all the creatures in the world hear the magic in them, even the tone-deaf terragoggs.”

The baronessa picked up a sea urchin from a plate, cracked its shell with her teeth, and slurped it down. “If, and only if, the principessa passes both tests,” she said, “she will then undertake the last part of the Dokimí—the promising. This is where she makes her betrothal vows and promises her people that she will marry the merman chosen for her and give the realm a daughter of the blood, just as her mother did. And her grandmother. And so on, all the way back to Merrow.”

“But
why
, Baronessa?” Cosima asked.

“Good gods!
Another
why?
Quia Merrow decrevit!
That’s why!” the baronessa said impatiently.

“But what if Serafina doesn’t
want
to marry and rule Miromara and give the realm a daughter? What if she wants to, like, open a café and sell bubble tea?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of
course
she wants to rule Miromara. The things you come up with!”

Agneta reached for another urchin. Cosima frowned. And Serafina smiled ruefully. For as long as she could remember, she’d been asking the same questions, and had been given the same answer:
Quia Merrow decrevit
. Like many rules of the adult world, a lot of Merrow’s inscrutable decrees made no sense to her. They still had to be followed, though, whether she liked it or not.

Of course she wants to rule Miromara!
the baronessa had said. But the truth was, sometimes she didn’t. She wondered, for a few rebellious seconds, what would happen if she refused to sing her songspell tonight and swam off to sell bubble tea instead?

Then Tavia arrived with her breakfast and started to chatter, and all such foolish thoughts disappeared.

“Here you are, my darling,” she said, setting a silver tray down on a table. “Water apples, eel berries, pickled sponge…your favorites.” She slapped a green tentacle away. “Sylvestre, keep out of it!”

“Thank you, Tavia,” Serafina said, ignoring the tray. She wasn’t hungry. She took a deep breath, preparing to practice her songspell again, but Tavia wasn’t finished.

“I didn’t get a chance to tell you this yet,” she said, pressing a blue pincer to her chest, “but Empress Ahadi’s personal maid was in the kitchens this morning, getting tea for her mistress. I happen to know that she’s very fond of Corsican keel worms, so I made sure she got plenty. After her second bowl, she told me that the emperor is in good health and the empress is as bossy as ever.”

“Did she?” Serafina asked lightly. She knew she must not betray too much eagerness for news of the Matalis, especially the crown prince. Her slightest reaction to any news of him would be noted and commented upon. “And the Princess Neela, how is she? When is she coming to my rooms? I’m dying to see her.”

“I don’t know, child, but Ahadi’s maid—the one in the kitchens—
she told me more things…things about the crown prince,” Tavia said conspiratorially.

“Isn’t that nice?” Serafina said. She knew that Tavia—a terrible gossip—desperately wanted her to ask what the
things about the crown prince
were, but she didn’t. Instead, she practiced a trill.

Tavia waited as long as she possibly could, then the words burst out of her. “Oh, Serafina! Don’t you want to know what
else
the maid said? She told me that the crown prince’s scales are the
deepest
shade of blue, and he has an earring, and he wears his hair pulled back in a hippokamp’s tail!”

“Mahdi has an
earring
?” Serafina exclaimed, forgetting for a moment that she wasn’t supposed to be interested. “That’s ridiculous. Next you’ll tell me he’s dyed his hair pink and pierced his tail fin. The last time I saw him he was skinny and goofy. A total goby, just like my brother. All he and Desiderio wanted to do was play Galleons and Gorgons.”

“Principessa!” Tavia scolded. “Crown Prince Mahdi is heir to the Matali kingdom, and Principe Desiderio is a commander of this one, and neither would appreciate being called a
goby
! I should think you would at least be relieved to know that your future husband has grown into a handsome merman!”

Serafina shrugged. “I suppose so,” she said.

“You
suppose
so?”

“It makes no difference if he’s handsome or not,” Serafina said. “The crown prince will be my husband even if he looks like a sea slug.”

“Yes, but it’s easier to fall in love with a good-looking merman than a sea slug!”

“Love has nothing to do with it, Tavia, and you know it. My marriage is a matter of state, not a matter of the heart. Royal alliances are made to strengthen bonds between realms and advance common interests.”

“Fine words coming from one who’s never actually
been
in love,” Tavia sniffed. “You’re your mother’s daughter, that’s for certain. Duty above all.” She scuttled off to chide a chambermaid.

Serafina smiled, pleased she’d thrown Tavia off the scent. If she only knew.

But she didn’t. And she wouldn’t. Serafina had kept her secret, and she wasn’t about to reveal it now.

She took a deep breath again and tried once more to practice her songspell.

“Coco,
stop
pestering Baronessa Agneta, and try on your gown!” a voice scolded. This time it was Lady Elettra, Cosima’s older sister, who interrupted her.

“Gowns are
boring
,” Cosima said, darting off.

And then Serafina heard another voice, secretive and hushed. “Is that what you’re wearing to the procession? You shouldn’t try so hard to outshine the princess.”

There was laughter, throaty and low, and then a voice, beautiful and beguiling: “I don’t
have
to try. It’s no contest. He’s only going through with the betrothal because he has to. Everyone knows that. He couldn’t care less about it. Or her.”

The words cut like shark’s teeth. Serafina dropped a note and bungled the measure. She looked straight ahead, into the mica panel. In it she saw Lucia Volnero and Bianca di Remora, two of her ladies-in-waiting. They were at the far end of the chamber, holding up a spectacular gown and whispering. They didn’t know it, but the room’s vaulted ceiling channeled sound. Words spoken on one side of the chamber could be heard on the other, just as the ones speaking them could be seen in the mica panels.

Bianca continued the conversation. “What everyone knows,
mia amica
, is that you want him for yourself,” she said. “Better give up
that
idea!”

“Why should I?” Lucia said. “A duchessa’s daughter is a catch, too, don’t you think? Especially
this
duchessa’s daughter.
He
certainly seems to think so.”

“What do you mean?”

“A clutch of us snuck out last night. We went to the Lagoon.”

Serafina couldn’t believe it. The Lagoon, the waters off the human city of Venice, was not far from Miromara, but it was forbidden to merfolk. It was a treacherous place—labyrinthine, dark, and full of dangerous creatures. It was also full of humans—the most dangerous creatures of all.

“You did
not
!” Bianca said.

“Oh, yes we did. It was totally riptide. We were shoaling all night. The Matalis, me, and a few other merls. It was
wild
,” Lucia said.

“Did anything happen? With you and the prince?”

Lucia smiled wickedly. “Well, he
really
knows how to shoal. He has some fierce moves
and
…”

Bianca giggled. “And? And
what
?”

Lucia’s reply was drowned out by a group of chattery maids bustling in with gowns.

Serafina’s cheeks burned; she looked at the floor. She was hurt and furious. She wanted to tell Lucia that she’d heard every rotten word she’d said—but she didn’t. She was royalty, and royalty did not shout. Royalty did not slap their tails. Royalty did not lose control. Ever.
Those who would command others must first command themselves,
her mother often told her. Usually when she complained about sitting next to a dull ambassador at a state dinner. Or got caught fencing in the Grand Hall with Desiderio.