“Friends?” Kolfinn echoed scornfully. “Rulers have no friends. Rulers have realms.” In a tone that brooked no further discussion, he added, “I’ll have my advisors bring the requisite documents to my bedside tomorrow at noon. Tauno will be here. Rylka, too. Make sure you are.”
Noon, Astrid thought. It was seven o’clock now. In seventeen hours she would be back here, signing her name to a marriage contract. With Tauno, a merman she despised. The thought filled her with revulsion.
“What we do, we do for Ondalina,” Kolfinn said, as if reading her mind.
Astrid nodded. She dutifully kissed her father’s withered cheek, slung her sword and her pack over her back, and left his room.
She swam out of the hospital, and then down the Hall of Elders, an arched passageway that led through the palace to her family’s private apartments. The hall was empty. On either side of it, life-size statues of Ondalina’s past admirals stood. Astrid’s head was high and her gaze cold as she glided by them, but inside her emotions burned like waterfire.
Part of her desperately wanted to swim away. Now, before it was too late. But another part refused to desert her family or her realm. She told herself that she would face tomorrow, and her Promising, the same way she’d faced every other hard thing in her life—by encasing her heart in ice. She had no choice. It was the only way. For her and for Ondalina. Kolfinn had said so.
Astrid stopped dead. Her anguished eyes swept over the statues, over their silent, stony faces. “But is it?” she asked them.
The statues didn’t answer. They just stared through unseeing eyes as Astrid struggled to make sense of her warring feelings.
Staying here and promising herself to that squid Tauno, watching as her realm capitulated to Miromara’s demands, and knowing that all the while Abbadon grew stronger…how would doing these things help Ondalina?
As she continued to gaze at the admirals—some who’d ruled hundreds of years ago, some thousands—Astrid realized that their ways, and her father’s, were the old ways. Their strength had come from hiding. From camouflaging. From keeping secrets in, and keeping others out.
That had been Merrow’s tactic, too. According to Vrăja, Merrow had hidden many truths—the truth about Atlantis’s destruction, the truth about Abbadon—to protect the mer. Instead she’d put them in terrible danger.
“Kolfinn’s way, Merrow’s way…they aren’t my way,” Astrid whispered.
She had embarked on a different current the moment she’d set off for the Iele’s caves. Meeting Vrăja, learning the truth of the mer’s origins, spending time with Sera and the others had all carried her farther down that new current. Was she going to turn back now?
“There has to be another way,” she said. She had less than a day to find it.
“MACAPÁ, AT LAST, BABY!” Ava said wearily but happily to her pet piranha. “Meu deus, I thought we’d never get home.”
Ava couldn’t see her home, but she could hear it, smell it, and feel it.
She heard the sounds of children playing. Someone singing a lullaby. Dishes clattering. Mothers yelling. The spicy smell of mud peppers wafted by, followed by the sour tang of marshfruit. She felt the warmth of Macapá’s waters, and its mer.
She’d lost her sight at the age of six—young, but old enough to allow her to remember how the village looked.
Its dwellings were made from the empty shells of giant river mussels, tethered to the riverbed by ropes made of tree roots. Round holes were cut into the shells’ walls for both doors and windows, and the windows were framed by brightly painted shutters, which were closed at night and opened in the morning. Glass was costly and Macapá was a poor village. Tiny snail shells, threaded on river vines, dangled in doorways to keep the pesky purple, blue, and orange discus fish out. Caimans floated on the river’s surface, their bellies like pale clouds drifting by. Anacondas slithered across the river’s muddy bed.
Ava couldn’t wait to be inside her house. She missed the sound of her mother singing, the taste of her father’s spicy salamander stew, and the comfort of her own bed. As she and Baby made their way down the narrow, crowded current that flowed through Macapá, Baby snapped constantly, annoying everyone around him.
“Stop it, louco, or I’ll put you back on your leash!” Ava scolded.
She was exhausted. The trip from the River Olt was long, and it had been made even longer by the need to stay off the main currents in order to avoid Traho and his death riders. Both she and Baby were thin. They needed rest and home cooking. Ava was sure they would get plenty of both. When she felt strong again, she would set off for the swamps of the Mississippi to look for Nyx’s ruby ring.
Her parents had been unhappy when she’d sat them down at the kitchen table and told them she intended to travel halfway around the world, to a cold, dark river in the Carpathian Mountains. But when she’d explained why, they’d understood.
The gods took your sight for a reason, her father always told her.
“Maybe now they’ll tell you why,” her mother had said.
Like all the villagers of Macapá, Ava lived close to her gods. They weren’t distant figures to be worshipped once a week in cold stone temples, but living deities to be loved, invoked, and sometimes even scolded. No bride-to-be would think of marrying without asking the sea goddess Neria’s blessing. A new business venture required an offering to Ploutos, the god of money. And if Ava’s father’s salamander stew turned out bitter, the first one he blamed was Estia, the kitchen god.
Ava had waited most of her life to learn why she had lost her sight.
All the way to the Olt, and all the way back again, she’d hoped the gods would reveal their intentions, but they’d remained silent. She’d learned about Orfeo, and the talismans, and a murderous creature called Abbadon that she would have to help defeat—but how, exactly, was her blindness supposed to help her fight a monster powerful enough to destroy an entire island?
Five mages of Atlantis, with strong magic and full vision, hadn’t been able to kill Abbadon. What chance did she have?
Throughout her journey home Ava had cajoled and begged the gods, hoping for an answer.
In the Canary Islands, where she’d come out of the mirror realm, she’d surfaced and called out to the sky god. Why did you take my vision, Cassio? Can I have a hint? Just a tiny little clue? I hate to bother you, but I kind of have to save the world and I can’t even see it.
On her way through the Cape Verde Basin, she’d chided the god of healing. You think this is funny, Eveksion? When Abbadon figures out that I can’t get him in my sights—because I don’t have any sight—he’s going to rip my head off. Even you won’t be able to fix that.
In the Gambia Plain, she’d tried to engage the twin gods of the tides. Hey, Trykel and Spume, here’s a riddle for you: What do you get when you send a blind mermaid to fight a monster with twelve hands? Answer: splattered.
And one night, in the Doldrums, hiding out from death riders in a cave while hungry, alone, and scared, she’d cried out to the sea goddess herself. Neria, please, tell me the reason. This is life-or-death, you know? Maybe that’s not a huge deal if you’re immortal, but I don’t want my friends to die.
But the gods had kept their silence.
Ava wasn’t far from home now. She felt the current bend to the left and dip down, and she knew her house was only about twenty yards away.
She could already hear her mother fuss over her as she swam through the door, and feel her father’s strong arms around her as he swept her up in a hug.
He would be so happy to see her. She knew exactly what he would say. He’d missed her. He’d been so worried. He loved her. And she was too skinny.
He would tell her, These peppers are so darn hot, they must’ve been planted by Helios himself! I’m going to take them right back to the grocer and tell him to stick them in his ear!
“Wait…what?” Ava said out loud.
Her father’s voice…it was so loud, so clear. It was as if he was not
in her imagination, but floating right next to her.
Ava stopped short, in an alley. Her hands went to her head. She was having a vision—one so intense, it made her dizzy. Her ability to see with her mind’s eye had only grown stronger since she’d traveled to the Iele’s caves and met the other five mermaids.
She saw her father and mother sitting at the kitchen table. Her father was chopping peppers. Her mother was knitting. Usually they talked or sang while they worked. But they were quiet, and their faces were grim.
Something’s weird, Ava thought. Something’s wrong.
“Ay, Mami, these peppers are burning my hands,” her father said. He looked up from his chopping board then, and stared directly at Ava. “They’re so hot, they’re dangerous. They have to go.” He rose then and turned toward the garbage can near the kitchen door. Ava watched him and saw that two death riders were positioned on either side of the door. One had a crossbow trained on her mother. The other was holding a net.
Ava gasped. Baby, hearing the fear in her voice, growled low in his throat. He circled her defensively. Death riders were waiting to ambush her. The crossbow was to prevent her parents from songcasting a convoca to warn Ava. Her father must’ve suspected that she was near, though. He knew she could sense things, and see things in her mind.
The vision cleared and Ava was left leaning on the alley wall, her heart pounding. What if there were more death riders lurking in the current outside her house? Hiding on the roof? Or the neighbor’s balcony? She had to get out of there. Fast.
Ava was numb with weariness. She had little food and even less money. She yearned for her parents. She needed their comfort, advice, and protection. But they needed protection themselves.
There was nothing to do but leave. Eventually, the death riders would realize she wasn’t coming home, give up, and leave her parents alone.
Bitter tears welled in her eyes. “Mami, Papi…I love you,” she whispered.
There was only one place for her to go now…to the swamps of the Mississippi, where the Okwa Naholo were holding Nyx’s talisman. She couldn’t go home again. Not for a long time. Not until this was over.
Ava pulled the scarf that was wrapped around her neck up over her head. Then she turned and quickly swam away, just another mermaid on Macapá’s bustling current.
SWIMMING WITH HER head down through the Hall of Elders, Astrid almost didn’t see Rylka and Tauno until it was too late. They had just rounded a bend in the corridor and were coming toward her. Their heads were lowered, too; they were deep in conversation.
Astrid panicked. Tauno was the very last mer she wanted to see right now, and Rylka was a close second. Desperate to avoid them, she ducked behind one of the statues in the hall and hunched down. Her hair plumed out around her. She twisted it together and stuffed it down the back of her vest. As they drew nearer, she made herself as small as she could, hoping they would quickly pass by.
But they didn’t. Rylka stopped Tauno right in front of the statue Astrid was hiding behind. Astrid could see them both. Rylka was wearing her black commodora’s jacket, with its crossed polar bear claws at the collar. She wore her dark blond hair cropped close to her head, as most Ondalinian soldiers did. Her amber eyes were piercing. Tauno’s coloring was the same as his mother’s. Three vertical orca teeth at his collar indicated his major’s rank. He was tall and broad-shouldered. His face was broad and handsome—or it would have been, if not for his habitual sneer.
Astrid had grown up with him. He’d been the sort of mer-boy who liked to hide an elderly merman’s glasses. Tie shells to the tail of a dogfish. Make fun of a mermaid who stuttered. He was not the sort of merboy she was going to marry.
Rylka straightened her son’s collar now. She brushed at his jacket. “You smell like a hippokamp. There’s silt all over you,” she said disapprovingly.
“What do you expect, Rylka? I just got back from maneuvers,” Tauno said sullenly.
“The admiral himself has summoned you. At least fasten your jacket,” Rylka scolded, working a rounded piece of whalebone through a buttonhole.
“Why did he summon me? The messenger wouldn’t tell me.”
Rylka glanced up and down the hall, making sure they were alone, then she said, “Because he wants you to marry his daughter.”
Tauno laughed in disbelief. “Astrid?”
“Does Kolfinn have another daughter I’m not aware of?”
“Holy, silt…you’re serious.” Tauno held up his hands and took a stroke backward. “Forget it, Rylka. I’m not marrying her. She’s a freaky freakin’ freak!”
You’re quite the wordsmith, Tauno. In addition to your many other wonderful qualities, Astrid said to herself.
“You will marry her,” Rylka insisted.
“I won’t. I’m out of here,” Tauno said, turning to swim back down the corridor.
Looks like my father was wrong, Astrid thought bitterly. No one wants me. Not even Tauno.
“Move a fin, and I’ll have your sorry tail thrown into the brig.” Rylka’s voice was quiet and low, and all the more menacing for it.
Tauno faced her. “You would, wouldn’t you? You’d lock up your own son.”
“I’d court-martial any soldier who disobeyed an order,” Rylka said.
“Is that what this is? I’m being ordered to marry Astrid? By Kolfinn?”
“Kolfinn will ask you. I’m the one ordering you.”
Tauno swore. He shook his head angrily.
“Stop arguing with me for five seconds and listen, Tauno. Things are about to change. For Ondalina. For all of us,” said Rylka.
Tauno’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Portia Volnero is traveling to the Citadel. Kolfinn will be dead by the time she arrives. She’s going to offer Ragnar a deal.”
“How do you know what Portia’s going to do?” Tauno asked.
“Because I’ve been in contact with her. She approached me months ago. I know the terms of her deal. She’s going to tell Ragnar that Ondalina’s attack on Miromara was an act of war and that he must surrender. Either he accepts Lucia Volnero as the new ruler of Ondalina or Miromara obliterates our entire realm. I will advise Ragnar to accept her terms.”
Astrid stifled a gasp. Kolfinn believed Rylka was loyal to him, but she’d been secretly allying herself with Portia Volnero!
Tauno snorted. “That doesn’t sound like much of a deal.”
“For Ragnar, no,” Rylka allowed. “For you, it could be a very good deal.”
“How so?”
“Ragnar will never accept Portia’s offer. He’ll insist that Ondalina didn’t attack Miromara, and then he’ll fight because he’s his father’s son. During the ensuing battle, he’ll be killed.”
“You don’t know that,” Tauno said.
“Yes, I do. Because I’ll see to it,” Rylka said. “Friendly fire and enemy fire can be so difficult to tell apart.”
Astrid started to tremble. She leaned against the statue to steady herself, unable to believe what she’d just heard—Rylka plotting to murder Ragnar, Astrid’s own brother.
“Ragnar has no sons yet, so when he dies, Astrid will become admiral,” Rylka continued. “However, shortly after she’s sworn in, she’ll have a hunting accident. So tragic. But everyone knows how dangerous hunting is, and you—her faithful husband—warned her to be careful so many times.”
Tauno’s eyes lit up. “And then I become admiral,” he said excitedly.
“Exactly,” Rylka purred.
A violent fury rose in Astrid. Rylka was going to murder her and Ragnar, and hand Ondalina to Portia Volnero—all to make her own son admiral! It was all she could do not to rush out and confront them both. But she stopped herself. They weren’t finished talking and she wanted to hear everything they had to say.
“Astrid will leave behind no children—it was too early in the marriage,” Rylka continued. “And when an admiral has no heirs, the admiralship passes to a spouse, as decreed by Ondalinian law. Then you can
marry whomever you like and rule Ondalina as a vassal of Miromara,” she said, sounding quite pleased with herself.
How clever you are, Astrid thought. You have it all figured out, don’t you?
Tauno’s expression darkened. “I don’t like the vassal part,” he said. “Ondalina is nobody’s vassal.”
“Ondalina has no choice,” said Rylka. “If we resist, our people will be slaughtered, our cities and towns destroyed—and for what? Miromara will win in the end. We’d be fools to decline Portia’s offer.”
You’re a fool to believe a word Portia says, Astrid thought.
She’d seen the raided villages. She’d listened to Sera explain where the stolen merfolk had been taken—and why. And she knew that as soon as Ondalina capitulated, its mer, too, would be herded into prison camps and forced to search for the talismans.
“Come on, Tauno,” Rylka said, patting him on the chest, “it’s time to grant Kolfinn’s dying wish.”
“Wait, Rylka…”
Rylka raised a perfectly arched eyebrow.
“How can you be so sure that Kolfinn’s dying?” Tauno asked. “He rallied before; he might do so again. Especially now that we’ve caught Desiderio. He’s the one who sent assassins to poison Kolfinn.”
Rylka reached into her breast pocket and pulled out a tiny glass vial. Its liquid contents were an inky blue. “Somehow, I don’t think Kolfinn will rally,” she said.
“What is that?” Tauno asked.
“Poison derived from the Medusa anemone. From the beginning, Kolfinn suspected that Miromara had a hand in his poisoning. He was half right. Portia supplied the poison. The assassin, however”—she paused to smile—“was home-grown.”
Astrid was out of her hiding place in an instant, driven by an uncontrollable rage. Her sword was in her hand.
All this time Rylka had insisted that the Miromarans had poisoned Kolfinn, but it was she—Kolfinn’s own commodora—who’d done it, a mermaid sworn to protect him.
“Traitor!” Astrid shouted. “My father trusted you!” She swung the flat of her sword into Rylka’s arm as hard as she could, knocking the vial out of her hand. Astrid lunged for it. Her fingers closed around it. “How could you? I just saw him. He told me you were loyal to him!” she spat, gripping the vial with one hand, keeping her sword trained on Rylka and Tauno with the other.
Waterfire Saga, Book Three: Dark Tide: A Deep Blue Novel Page 12