“You? What are you hiding? A to-do conch? An ebb-and-flow chart?” Astrid joked, poking fun at Becca’s tendency to be hyperorganized.
Becca didn’t laugh. “I haven’t been straight with you, either,” she admitted, fiddling with the edge of the blanket. “Or with the others. I’m not in school. I left a year ago to get a job. And I’m not heading home to a nice house with two doting parents.”
“I don’t understand,” Astrid said, setting her backpack down. “At the Iele’s you said—”
“I told you a story. About the happy life I wish I had,” Becca confessed, forcing herself to meet Astrid’s searching gaze. “I’m an orphan. My father died of mercury poisoning when I was four. The waters where he grew up were full of it. His health was always bad, and it got worse as he got older. A year after I lost him, I lost my mother to longline hooks. Her body was recovered before the lines were reeled in. That’s something, I guess.”
“Becca, I had no idea. I’m so sorry,” Astrid said, sitting back down.
“I didn’t have any relatives able to take me in, so I was put in a foster home. It was pretty chaotic. Bigger merkids stole my food, and my stuff. Nobody really cared how I did in school, or if I even went.” She laughed sadly. “I think that’s why I’m so off-the-charts organized. I always had to have a plan—a plan to get to the table first so I’d get something to eat. A plan for avoiding barracudas. A plan for getting myself to school on time. I do work at Baudel’s as a spellbinder—that much is true. The owners are good to me; they let me live in an apartment over the shop. It’s small but it’s all mine. It has a bedroom, a sitting room, and the tiniest kitchen you’ve ever seen. But I love it for what it doesn’t have…barracudas.”
Astrid nodded. Barracudas were killer fish with sharp teeth, but the word was also mer slang for what the terragoggs called bullies. “I know what you mean,” she said. “Barracudas don’t steal my lunch—they wouldn’t dare, me being the admiral’s daughter—but they still have their weapons: the jokes, the whispers, the snide remarks.”
“At least you have a family,” Becca said wistfully. “It must be nice to have parents to turn to.”
Astrid shook her head. “I wouldn’t know. My parents are ashamed of me,” she said miserably. “No one in the admiral’s family is supposed to be anything less than perfect. My parents have tried to keep my problem a secret. Most Ondalinians don’t know, but some inside the Citadel do.”
“The what?”
“The Citadel,” Astrid replied. “That’s where Ondalina’s admirals live. With their families and the top members of government.”
Becca tilted her head. “How did it happen?” she asked.
A mermaid who couldn’t sing was rare; she’d never met one before.
“I don’t know,” Astrid replied. “I had a singing voice when I was little, but I lost it. It was right after M?nenhonn?r—Ondalina’s moon festival. I was having such a good time—dancing and singing, and eating too many slices of M?nenkager. It’s a cake made of pressed krill and iced with ground mother-of-pearl. It shines like the moon.”
Becca nodded. She’d heard of M?nenkager and knew that right before the cake went into the lava ovens, the baker dropped a silver drupe into the batter. Whoever got the coin in her piece would have good luck for the coming year.
“A few days after the festival, I started losing my ability to sing. Two months later, it was gone completely. My father called in the best doctors in Ondalina. None of them could figure out what had happened, but they all said I was lucky not to have lost my speaking voice, too.” Astrid went silent for a bit, then said, “I don’t feel lucky. What good is a mermaid without magic?”
“A lot of good,” Becca said fiercely. “Who saved us from Abbadon, hmm? Wait, I’ll give you a hint—it wasn’t me. It wasn’t Sera, Ling, Ava, or Neela, either. It was you. You took it straight to that monster.”
Becca vividly remembered when Vr?ja had given them a glimpse of the horrible monster Abbadon. It was so strong and vicious that it had broken through Vr?ja’s ochi spell—even through waterfire—and attacked them. Astrid had rushed straight at the creature with her sword and had cut off one of its hands, forcing it to retreat.
“Thanks, Becca. That’s a nice thing to say. I did help you, but I also left you. Because I was afraid my secret would make me a liability. Like I was today in the market hall,” Astrid said. “You need more than a good swordsmer to fight Abbadon. You need a sixth songcaster with some seriously strong magic. I don’t have any to give you, and nothing can be done about it.”
How Becca hated those words: nothing can be done about it. She’d heard them her entire life.
You’re an orphan now, Rebecca, and nothing can be done about it.
It’s too bad your doll was stolen, but it’s gone. Nothing can be done about it.