Despite the ocean’s unease, the swim had at least been good for Cordelia physically. Her tension headache was gone, and she finally felt awake, despite her restless sleep. Now she had the energy to wonder why she was being summoned. Atlantea almost never met with her privately; certainly, far less frequently than she did with other courtiers. She tried to tamp down the eager hopefulness that this summons signaled Atlantea’s favor.
Her mother had been one of Atlantea’s favorites for as long as Cordelia could remember. But so far, the only favoritism that had trickled down to Cordelia had been her own placement on the High Court — and that, Cordelia suspected, had been mainly due to Mira’s refusal to serve, and Atlantea’s desire to keep her close.
Her mother tried to spend as little time on Atlantis as possible. Mira was now in an almost self-imposed exile in Brazil, where she claimed to be developing key relationships with the Brazilian fae and the were-jaguar clans for the Atlantics. Since the Brazilian fae had emigrated from Europe before the Iron Age had truly taken hold in South America, the rainforests provided a rich source of power for them. Although they still needed siren intervention to reproduce, Cordelia doubted that her mother really needed to spend so much time in the Amazon for the fae.
She’d tried to understand why her mother kept Atlantea and Atlantis at such a distance, but had finally given up. Marisol opined that it was depression, that Mira couldn’t let go of her past life as a human, and all she had lost. While it was true that transitioned sirens struggled with the biological and cultural changes, her mother had been a siren for longer than she had been human, and Cordelia wished she would just accept it.
While Cordelia had been born a siren, had grown up knowing who and what she was, Mira only transitioned at the moment of Cordelia’s birth. Cordelia’s older siblings were born human, and her mother refused to give any of them up. But at some point, a siren with a human family had to make hard choices. Her mother had made them. Enough.
Atlantea wanted Mira to return to Atlantis, but Mira always had a seemingly reasonable excuse. The thought that her own placement on the High Court was some kind of tacit agreement between Atlantea and her mother undermined any feeling of success her courtier status should have conferred. By asking for Cordelia’s service, it was almost as if Atlantea had sealed a kind of bond with her mother, without forcing Mira to make any oaths directly. It rankled Cordelia that her political success was probably more due to her mother’s stubbornness than her own intrinsic strength.
And Cordelia was strong. The Atlantic adored her, desiring to please her almost as much as it sought to please Atlantea. Even if her powers of compulsion and fertility were relatively weak, those powers were more commonplace, and would be naturally enhanced when her own offspring transitioned. Only a siren beloved by the sea could be a contender for the throne.
So while Atlantea may have wanted to bind Mira to Atlantis through Cordelia, perhaps that wasn’t her only rationale. Maybe Atlantea had requested Cordelia’s service at such a young age to solidify her own loyalty. After all, the queen had more than a century left in her lifespan, and the only thing that worried Atlantea more than a mage war was the prospect of another civil war. Cordelia’s own oath prevented anyone from attempting to seat her as a puppet on Atlantea’s throne.
Cordelia reached the door of her apartment at Atlantis House and walked into her sanctuary. It was small, as befitted her junior status at Court, but Cordelia loved it. The far wall of the front room was covered in a thick tapestry that had been one of the gifts given by Queen Sophia upon Atlantea’s ascendance.
She loved the design, which depicted Aphrodite’s construction of the first sirens, sacrificing herself to give them life. Every time she walked into her room, Cordelia felt a renewed sense of purpose just from looking at her ancient ancestor. Her desk was positioned to face the windows overlooking the sea, and she noted that the ocean’s agitation had only grown since she’d left the shore. For the ocean to be this disturbed, Atlantea herself must be distressed. The rough seas would radiate out from Atlantis all the way to Argentina and Denmark.
Cordelia picked her outfit with care. If Atlantea was this upset, she didn’t want to make any missteps. Her summons had to be related to yesterday’s session, and she was not ready to give up on the Aos Sí. She looked past her red dresses and suits, which might signal her readiness for a mage war, and pulled out a green, kimono-styled wrap suit. The weight of the layered silk jacket felt like armor to her, and she felt prepared to argue that if anything, a looming mage war only increased the urgency of gaining a rapprochement with the Indians at least.
Atlantea had chosen the silver receiving room for their meeting, which was unusual, and Cordelia struggled to make sense of it. The silver receiving room was on the north side of Atlantis House, connected to the ballrooms, meeting rooms and other public spaces of the castle. Because of its distance from the private wing, it was generally used for small audiences with foreign envoys and others not connected to the High Court. Cordelia tried not to read too much into the location.
She considered the worst case: Atlantea could be summoning her to tell her privately that the Reconcilers had to stand down in face of the imminent threat of war. That was the likely reason, but would also be highly unfortunate: Cordelia had sworn personal loyalty to Atlantea, and as wrong as such a decision would be, Cordelia couldn’t really imagine disobeying her. But hope fluttered in Cordelia’s chest. As much as she tried to prepare for the worst, she was truly hoping that this meeting signaled Atlantea’s favor towards her proposal. She had thought through everything. It could still be done, and there were so many reasons why they should try to resolve the Aos Sí situation before any mage war began.
Cordelia’s musings preoccupied her all the way through the long corridors until she reached the central anteroom. The silver receiving room was one of several chambers connected to it. Its high arched ceilings and richly carved moldings added architectural interest to what was, in essence, a glorified waiting room.
This space was often used for music, and could be a rather boisterous venue on those afternoons when Atlantea and the courtiers held open audiences, no appointment necessary. Impromptu concerts on those days were the norm, as various courtiers showcased their latest collection of musical talents. Entering now, when it was so silent, felt almost ominous. In any event, Cordelia preferred to see the ocean. The anteroom was an interior space, and despite its rich décor, Cordelia thought that the lack of a view of the sea made it an uncomfortable place to wait.
Fortunately, Cordelia didn’t have to struggle without the ocean’s comfort, as the guards ushered her in immediately. Atlantea was seated near the windows at the far end of the room, and rose to greet Cordelia: a sign of high favor that caused her heart to lift. Cordelia bowed perhaps more deeply than required, so great was her relief at Atlantea’s warm greeting. At Atlantea’s gesture, she took the seat across from the queen’s.
While Atlantea did not face the sea, the view from the windows seemed to surround her in a mantle of strength. Cordelia wasn’t simply facing Atlantea, she was facing the symbolic embodiment of the Atlantic itself. For a few moments, Atlantea simply looked at Cordelia.
Atlantea rarely left Atlantis, so did not transform her appearance often. For the past two or three years, she had worn an Icelandic visage: blond and lanky, with bright green, almond-shaped eyes and cheekbones that were practically carved into her face. It was a strong look, suited to a queen, Cordelia thought.
“Last month you marked eleven years of service on the High Court,” Atlantea stated.
“Yes, Atlantea. I swore my oaths as courtier when you asked for my service eleven years ago,” Cordelia responded. It was not unusual for Atlantea to begin an audience with a recitation of her subject’s pledges (or lack thereof). The War of Succession had left scars on all participants that would be unlikely to fade anytime soon.
“I have been very happy with your service, Cordelia,” Atlantea said. “You ha
ve been able to move the High Court in the proper direction, without making too many enemies.”
“Thank you, Atlantea,” Cordelia responded, unable to keep the flush of pleasure from rising in her face. She had tried to avoid making enemies, though some, like Louisa and Vincent, would be her enemies merely because of their disparate politics. Atlantea’s words may have been flattery, but it was so rare to hear any praise, Cordelia couldn’t help but feel pleased at the compliment.
“There is a mage war on the horizon. I had hoped it would not come to pass during my reign, but that appears now to be the reality we must accept. How will you serve me in wartime, Cordelia?” Atlantea’s eyes narrowed on Cordelia and she felt almost pinned under the weight of Atlantea’s stare.
“I serve, Atlantea. In war or in peace, I serve. I admit I don’t have any special skills at battle or intrigue. But I can provide you with advice and manage logistics. My queen, the prospect of all-out war makes it even more necessary that we resolve our residual issues with the fae to achieve a rapprochement with the other oceans. We can’t afford to remain isolated. If the deserts are at play in this war, we’ll want an alliance with the Indian and Pacific sirens.
“Or at a minimum, clean relations with them,” Cordelia added hastily as Atlantea’s eyebrow raised at the word “alliance.” Alliances had a way of backfiring. The perennial entanglement of non-mages in mage wars seemed to stem from alliances, and Atlantea had been an avid isolationist since before she took the throne.
“A desert war is most likely to affect the Indians. The deserts of Arabia and Australia border their domain.” Atlantea stood up, turning her back to Cordelia to look out at the Atlantic. “I have not spoken to the Raj since before I took power, but Queen Sophia has passed along the Oracle’s pronouncement and reports that he is troubled. Kōkai-Heika appears less concerned. But then, the Pacifics appear to be repeating our mistake in getting involved with the Cabal.”
The Cabal was unabashedly magophilic, but their reverence for the great mages of history didn’t extend to mage constructs. The Atlantics had learned the hard way that the Cabal saw them as nothing more than useful tools to exploit — a lesson, it seemed, that the Pacifics would have to learn afresh. “Are you worried about the Cabal?” Cordelia asked.
“I’m always worried about the Cabal,” Atlantea answered, sitting back down with a sigh. “I don’t like how cozy Kōkai-Heika has been with them. Even as he spurns our overtures, he sends ambassadors to the Cabal. Who salted England with iron to poison the Aos Sí? It certainly wasn’t us. Yet he flatters and ingratiates himself with those mages.”
The way Atlantea spit out the word “mages” seemed to roil the ocean even further. The hair on the back of Cordelia’s neck rose. Everyone knew how much Atlantea disliked mages, but until this moment, Cordelia hadn’t realized how deep-seated her dislike ran. A toxic combination of hatred and fear, she thought.
“The Raj still hasn’t responded to our overtures?” Cordelia asked.
“No. He refuses to recognize any of our envoys. Our only communication with the Indians has been through back channels.”
“If you worry about the Pacifics and their relationship with the Cabal, wouldn’t it be sensible to finally resolve the issue that divides us from the Indians?” Cordelia asked.
“It seems the prospect of a mage war has not changed your mind on the Aos Sí. And yet your solution is … complicated.”
“Atlantea, truly it is not complicated,” Cordelia said earnestly.
“Your proposal requires a multi-year undertaking,” Atlantea said.
“True. But it will not be as resource-intensive as you might think.”
Atlantea stood again and looked out the window at the pounding sea. “War is coming,” she said, with her back still to Cordelia.
“Yes,” was all that Cordelia could think to say, as her sense of unease grew. In any normal private audience, Atlantea should have ordered refreshments. And why was this meeting taking place in the silver receiving room?
“Louisa, Zale, and Georg are my most battle-proven courtiers,” Atlantea said, and Cordelia felt her heart sink. Louisa was her most fervent opponent and neither Zale nor the Jarl were her allies. Atlantea turned back and looked at Cordelia. “You aren’t pregnant, are you?” Atlantea asked.
“No, Atlantea,” Cordelia said, somewhat startled by the apparent non-sequitur.
“Pity,” Atlantea sighed. “By the time I was forty-five, I had borne seven human children. How else do you think I could have more than two dozen living siren descendants now? You’re the only courtier with no active offspring.”
“That’s true, but I am sure that eventually one of my latents will transition; with the benefit of modern technology, I’m better able to monitor and prepare for such an event. But Atlantea, I’m not sure how this is at all relevant.”
“I know I’m rumored to be opaque in my speech, so I will try to be especially clear now. We’re running out of time, Cordelia. Now, I haven’t shared all the details of the Oracle’s prophesy with you or the rest of my courtiers, but I can tell you that we don’t have three years to prepare for a large-scale migration of the Aos Sí. And while I truly wish I could have given you more time to prepare, you don’t have the luxury of remaining cocooned in Atlantis any longer. There’s a mage war on the horizon, and I can’t be sure that I will survive it. Your relocation plan for the Aos Sí is a good one and might have worked. You can still make it work later.”
“Atlantea—” Cordelia began, but Atlantea held up her hand.
“You are mine to call. Whether you serve on the High Court or not, you swore a personal oath to me.”
This was worse than Cordelia had imagined. Gaining Atlantea’s support for her relocation plan in the face of a mage war had been a long shot, she knew. But being in this cold, formal room, where strangers to Atlantis were met, Atlantea’s strange focus on her lack of offspring, her apparent belief that Cordelia was “cocooned” in Atlantis — all coalesced into the beginnings of a disaster for which Cordelia had not prepared.
“I’m yours to call, Atlantea. Always. But hear me out—”
“As you remain true to me, I will remain true to you. I have thought about this, Cordelia. You don’t have many progeny. If you are to be in a position to succeed me, you must have siren issue. Two latent children aren’t nearly enough to ensure that in a century at least some of your offspring will transition. Mayhap you ought to compel your son to follow your brother’s ill-advised example, and ensure his transition.”
Cordelia’s eyes widened and she had to still her features into impassivity. Her brother, Thomas, had surprised the entire siren community when he transitioned after donating sperm in college. No one had paid sufficient attention to the advances in mundane fertility science, and certainly no one had anticipated that a siren could be born through such means. But for her mother’s swift action to locate and protect Thomas and his genetic children, all or most of them would have perished. Atlantea had been quick to forbid her people from deliberately using such “unnatural” means to produce siren offspring. For Atlantea to suggest she actually seek out her son and orchestrate his transition was beyond shocking.
“Atlantea, I can’t imagine my need for siren offspring is so great that I should attempt to engineer such an event. But I can certainly seek to carry another child if you think that wise.” While Cordelia certainly hadn’t been thinking about having another child — a pregnancy would restrict her ability to visit the fae, after all — if this was what Atlantea wanted her to do, she could still carry out the initial phase of migration planning from Atlantis.
Atlantea continued as if Cordelia hadn’t said anything. “You’ve also made a great study of Europe in your quest to aid the Aos Sí. It’s time I had someone I could trust pay a call on Queen Sophia.”
“Atlantea, I would of course be pleased to visit the Mediterranean for you. And your warning about ensuring I’ve laid sufficient foundation for the future is well-taken.
However, I’m yours to call. If you want me to focus on war preparations, I can absolutely do that.” Cordelia knew she was scrambling, and worried that her desperation was showing.
Atlantea stood up and reached out her hands. Cordelia’s mind blanked as she stood up to mirror the queen’s stance. “Cordelia,” Atlantea said formally, taking Cordelia’s wrists and squeezing them gently. “I thank you for your service on the High Court. It is with a heavy heart that I hereby accept your resignation. Taking the time now to bear another child is a wise decision on your part.
“Obviously, the stress of serving as a courtier would be counterproductive to bearing a child, and your sacrifice in stepping down at this juncture is eminently prudent — though I could not bear to have you depart entirely from my service, and would be most pleased if you would visit Europe as my envoy. I have already spoken to Queen Sophia, and she is delighted to extend you an invitation to visit Kasos.”
Atlantea squeezed Cordelia’s wrists again, then let her go. Cordelia stood motionless for a moment. She wasn’t quite sure what had just happened; it was almost as if she were floating outside her body, watching the scene unfold. Atlantea had just removed her from the Court? Why? Perhaps Atlantea realized that Cordelia was frozen, so she continued speaking, giving Cordelia’s mind a chance to catch up.
“I know you prefer to travel by ocean, as do I. I will therefore have your things packed and sent ahead for you. I would also like to send a few gifts with you for Queen Sophia. One of the pieces I commissioned isn’t ready yet, so if you could delay your departure until it arrives, that would be ideal.”
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