Waterfire Saga, Book Four: Sea Spell: Deep Blue Novel, A (26 page)

T
HE HOLD OF THE SUPER trawler was filled with salt water—and with two thousand armed mer and goblins. Becca, floating among them, checked and rechecked her crossbow. It helped to calm her nerves.

Marco had come through for the Black Fins. Somehow, he’d persuaded practically everyone he knew who owned a boat—friends, fishermen, fellow wave warriors—to loan it to him. Tankers, trawlers, and fishing boats, they’d all met in the waters above the Kargjord five days ago, loaded their mer and goblin cargo, then headed south for the Mediterranean.

Secrecy spells had been cast to ensure that the human captains and crew never spoke of the mission—or sounded completely insane if they tried to, and velo spells had sped the vessels on their way.

The entire Black Fin force was assembling over Cerulea now, all hidden in gogg ships. It was nighttime, later than the Black Fins had wished, but foul weather in the North Atlantic had put them behind schedule. Tonight’s skies were clear, and a full moon had risen. Anyone who was looking up through the water would see the ships’ silhouettes. Becca and the other fighters hoped that Cerulea’s security forces were too busy patrolling the city to notice the sudden increase in ship traffic.

At least they didn’t have to worry about Mahdi. They’d sent a message conch to him telling him what had happened to Sera. They didn’t know if they’d been successful, though; he hadn’t sent word back. But even if the conch hadn’t reached him, they knew he was safe. He would have cast his transparensea pearl earlier in the day, and by now would have left Cerulea far behind. The Black Fins had sent two soldiers to Mahdi’s first safe house to fill him in on everything that had happened. They would tell him to stay at the safe house instead of swimming to Gibraltar, and wait with him there until there was word from Cerulea. Desiderio would send for him if the Black Fins managed to take the city, and if not…at least
he
would have escaped alive.

Becca and the Black Fins with her were now waiting for the signal that the rest of their troops were in position.

Though it was crowded and hot in the trawler’s hold, it was also eerily quiet. The atmosphere was tense. They all knew they might be seeing the soldier next to them for the very last time. There was no telling who’d make it back and who wouldn’t.

Becca heard Desiderio, Yazeed, and Garstig talking in low voices nearby, going over the plan as they had a thousand times already.

“We have to come out swinging. We need a quick, decisive victory,” Yazeed said.

“So, five thousand of us will hit the palace,” Des said.

“Is it enough?” Garstig worried.

“It should be. Don’t forget that we have surprise on our side,” Des said.

“I hope so,” Garstig said. “Because Vallerio has Blackclaws on
his
.”

Becca knew, as did everyone else on the mission, that Vallerio kept vicious Blackclaw dragons in the ruins of Merrow’s reggia. Sera had encountered them, with Sophia, when they were fleeing death riders after the raid on the treasury vaults.

“Our first wave blows the munitions storage inside the palace,” Yaz continued. “Second wave tries to take out the dragons. Third surrounds the barracks….”

Becca tuned the rest out. She knew the plan by heart. She’d thought up most of it.

She decided to inspect her armor again, making sure the buckles and clasps were secure. A small orange creature sat on one shoulder of her breastplate, looking like a colorful epaulet.

Opie had taken a liking to Becca and had refused to let go of her when she left Marco’s palazzo. The tiny octopus had howled and turned colors and shot so many jets of water at Marco when he’d tried to pry her off Becca’s wrist that he’d finally given up. Opie had traveled back to the Karg with Becca, but being a Pacific Ocean creature, she’d found the waters of the North Sea very cold. Becca had asked one of the Miromaran refugees, a craftswoman from Cerulea, to knit the little octopus a sea-flax sweater. The only sea flax that grew in the waters of the Kargjord, however, was bright purple. Opie made quite a sight in her eight-sleeved sweater, but she didn’t mind. In fact, she loved the sweater so much she refused to take it off, even when they reached warmer waters.

As Becca examined her armor, her thoughts drifted back to the Iele. She remembered Vrăja telling her that she was the descendent of the mage Pyrrha, and that the brave Altantean had been a smith, hard at work at her forge on the edge of the island, when she’d seen a fleet of enemy ships approaching. Thinking fast, Pyrrha had dispatched a messenger to the capital, telling them that an attack was imminent. Then she converted the farm tools she’d forged into weapons, armed the people in her small village, and ambushed the invaders.

Becca had followed Pyrrha’s example. The moment she’d returned from Marco’s palazzo, she’d set about teaching the goblin forgeworkers how to heat pearls and insert invisibility spells into them, and then they’d worked around the clock in shifts to make enough transparensea pearls for every single soldier on the mission.

“You’ll never get them done in time,” Yazeed had said. “We need thousands of them, Becca. Tens of thousands. It’s an impossible job.”

“Probably,” Becca said, but she got to work anyway and eventually she’d succeeded. Working side by side with the goblins, she’d done the impossible. Now, in mere minutes, they would cast those pearls, swim down into Cerulea, and battle Vallerio.

A door suddenly opened overhead, about two feet above the waterline. Marco stepped out and appeared on the catwalk that was anchored to the wall of the hold. Becca could see him, but he couldn’t see her. Hers was just one more face in the sea of soldiers.

Her heart filled with love at the sight of him. Her eyes lingered over every plane and angle of his handsome face. She knew this might be the last time she saw it. She’d had so little time with him in Venice. As soon as he’d said he would get the ships, she’d returned to the Kargjord. As much as she’d wanted to stay with him, she’d known that every minute she lingered was another minute Sera spent as Vallerio’s captive.

“Listen up, everyone!” he shouted now, holding his hands up. “I’ve just heard from the other ships. They’re in position and waiting for the go-ahead. Des, what do you say?”

Desiderio nodded at Marco. After they’d returned to camp from the Darktide Shallows, Des had assembled the troops to tell them that Sera had been kidnapped. The fighters had rallied around him, swearing that Vallerio would pay. They’d been only too eager to get on board the transport ships and rescue their leader, and they were ready for what lay ahead.

Des swam to the ship’s wall, leapt out of the water, and grabbed on to the bottom of the catwalk. Hanging on with one hand, muscles rippling in his arm, he addressed his troops. “Fellow Black Fins!” he shouted. “It’s time! Time to take back Serafina, take back Miromara, take back all the waters of the world! We fight for our homes, and our families, and we fight for those who can’t fight—those who are held prisoner, who’ve been taken from
their
homes and
their
families by the sea scum Vallerio! Are you with me?”

A deafening cheer rose. Desiderio looked up at Marco. “Give the others the signal,” he said. “And, Marco…thank you.”

Marco nodded. “Good luck.”

As Desiderio dropped back into the water, Marco spoke into his walkie-talkie. A few seconds later, three sets of giant doors opened all along the top of the hold. Becca could see the sky through them, and the full moon glowing, so bright and beautiful.
Will I ever see it again?
she wondered.
Will any of us?

Nets were lowered down into the hold by huge winches. Mer grabbed them and clung on as they were lifted again, then lowered into the ocean.

As Becca watched, she thought of how impossible this was—getting the Black Fins in and out of ships, getting them to Cerulea. And yet, it was happening.

So many things were impossible, until they weren’t.

As the nets dipped back into the hold and soldiers surged toward them, Becca hung back. There was something she had to do before she left this ship. Something that scared her even more than the battle that lay ahead.

“Marco!” she called out. “Marco, it’s me…Becca!”

He looked around, trying to hear her over the noise of the troops and the winches, trying to spot her in the mass of soldiers.

With difficulty, she swam against the tide of bodies.

“I didn’t know you were aboard this ship!” he said as she reached him.

He put his walkie-talkie down on the catwalk and jumped into the water. As she surfaced, Opie leapt onto his arm.

“Hey, looking sharp, Opie!” he said. “Nice sweater.”

The little octopus flushed pink with pleasure.

“Marco, listen,” Becca said. “I don’t know if I’m coming back—”

“Don’t say that, Becca.”

“I
have
to. And I have to tell you something: I love you, too. I have ever since I first saw you. No matter what happens, I want you to know that.”

And then Becca took his face in her hands and kissed him.

Opie looked from Becca to Marco and back again, wide-eyed. She flushed bright red.

This wasn’t their first kiss, but it might be their last, Becca knew. And she wanted Marco to remember—this kiss, this moment, her. Because if an arrow found her tonight, the last thing she would see would be his kind, beautiful face.

A loud noise overhead made Becca break the kiss. “I have to go,” she said, looking up. The winches were swinging back again. “It’s time to join the others.” She leaned over and kissed the top of Opie’s head. “You stay
here
now,” she said. “Where you’re safe.”

Opie turned blue, but she didn’t protest.

As Becca was about to swim away, Marco grabbed her hand. “Make sure you come back, Becca,” he said, his voice suddenly husky. “Because I want a shot.”

“At what?”

“At the impossible.”

T
HE MOON was almost fully risen.

Mahdi could see its light, pale and silvery, shining into the windows of Neria’s temple.

He was waiting by the altar, dressed in his green sea-silk wedding jacket. He no longer had Lucia’s cursed iron necklace around his neck, as she’d unlocked it earlier.

Portia and Vallerio were seated at a distance from Mahdi, in the front row with their relatives, allies, and members of their court. Mahdi’s so-called friends—some high-ranking death riders and court lackeys—filled the other pews.

“Nervous?” Traho whispered, patting Mahdi on the back.

Mahdi smiled. “Very,” he admitted. It was no lie. He was, but not because he was getting married.

He’d asked Traho to be his best man, to ensure his attendance, to get him in the same room with Vallerio so that he could assassinate them both. This was his mission, the one he’d given himself the day he learned Sera was dead. Soon, it would be accomplished.

Months ago, he’d taken the precaution of hiding a small silver speargun in the chimney of the lavaplace in his rooms. That gun was now loaded and holstered inside his jacket. There was a moment in the mer wedding ceremony, after the bride and groom had sung their vows, when their fathers approached to kiss them and congratulate them, followed by their mothers doing the same. Mahdi’s father wouldn’t be here, since Vallerio had murdered him, but Vallerio certainly would be. As he came close, Mahdi would unbutton his jacket and reach for his gun.

He knew he wouldn’t have much time and might not be able to fire more than one shot, so he would aim for Vallerio first; then he’d try to get Traho. Soon thereafter he himself would be killed. There were armed guards in the temple, at least thirty of them.

With Vallerio and Traho gone, Orfeo’s reach would be weakened. That might give Sera’s friends enough of an advantage to triumph in the Southern Sea. He hoped so. It was the only thing he had left to hope for.

He wasn’t afraid of death. It was only his body that would die. His heart and soul were already gone. They’d died the moment Lucia handed him Sera’s ring.

The opening notes of the wedding processional sounded. Court songcasters, mermaids and mermen blessed with the best voices in the realm, flanked the altar. Their song rose in the water.

The wedding guests rose and looked toward the back of the temple. Lucia’s cousins, Laktara, Vola, and Falla swam in, enchanting everyone with their beauty. They took their places at the right of the altar. Traho joined them there. A moment later, Lucia swam down the aisle. Mer brides swam to their grooms alone to symbolize that they entered into marriage of their own free will.

All eyes turned to Lucia as she moved toward the altar. Hushed expressions of awe and admiration rose.