“Approach…regina,” snarled a goblin voice in Mermish.
It belonged to Guldemar. He was sitting on his throne, which was shaped like a giant sea serpent. Its coiled lower body was the throne’s seat, a pair of fins the arms. Its horrible, thick neck stretched up above Guldemar, and its fanged head hung over him like a canopy. Sera knew this was Hafgufa, the kraken. According to ancient North Sea legends, the Meerteufel chieftains could call the creature forth from its lair, deep under the seabed, in times of great trouble.
Fanned out on either side of Guldemar were prominent members of his court: Nok, his wife; Pelf, the keeper of his treasury; and N?rgler, his foreign minister. Stickstoff took his place with them. They regarded the Black Fins with a mixture of suspicion and contempt.
Sera swam to the throne and curtsied deeply to the fearsome leader.
“Greetings, most dread chieftain,” she said, rising. “You have my gratitude for welcoming me, Miromara’s true regina, and my court, into your presence.”
Guldemar chuckled derisively. “Fine clothing and flowery words do not a regina make,” he said. “Another sits on the throne of Miromara now and demands that all sovereign realms recognize her as ruler. Some say she has a legitimate claim. She, too, is a daughter of the blood—a Merrovingian and your cousin. Your uncle has told the world that Regina Isabella and her unfortunate daughter are dead.”
Sera’s blood boiled. How could he even suggest that Lucia’s claim was legitimate?
“Lucia Volnero is the daughter of a son, Guldemar. The ruler of Miromara must not only be a daughter of the blood, but a daughter of a daughter.”
“Unless—as I believe the law states—there isn’t one,” Stickstoff interjected.
Sera turned to him, eyes blazing. “But there is,” she said. “She’s right before you, and she plans to retake her throne.”
Guldemar flapped a hand at her. “My sources tell me that the Black Fins are few in number. You have little food or currensea. Your uncle’s soldiers hunt for you day and night. You fight bravely, but how long can you keep fighting?”
“Not long,” Sera admitted. “That’s why I’ve come. To propose an alliance.”
Guldemar laughed raucously. His court followed suit. “And why would the Meerteufel wish to ally themselves with you? You have no palace, no throne. You are poor, and the Kobold do not work for free.”
Serafina smiled. She had expected this. “As long as one is bold, one is never poor,” she said. She nodded at her Black Fins. They swam to her, placed the chests on the floor, and then—at her command—opened them.
Scaghaufen was rich in iron, copper, and nickel, but it lacked precious metals. The Meerteufel adored silver and gold, and they especially loved jewelry.
Guldemar’s eyes lit up with greed as they roved over the treasure, then became sly. “You offer me what I can take,” he said, nodding at the fierce goblin soldiers standing at attention all around the room. “What’s to stop me from ordering them to kill you and your Black Fins and help myself to these chests?”
“Nothing,” Sera said. “But if you do, you won’t get the rest of my payment—twenty more chests, all as full of treasure as these, delivered to you the day we advance on Cerulea.” She paused to let her words sink in, then said, “My offer is a good one, Guldemar.”
He held up a hand and inspected his filthy claws. “A good one for you, perhaps.” He sniffed.
“No, for you,” Sera shot back, fed up with his coyness. “While you play games, your enemies the Feuerkumpel, fueled by my uncle’s gold and arrogance, talk openly of attacking your people when they return to the North Sea. They want your lava seams, your furnaces and foundries.”
Guldemar lowered his hand. His eyes met Sera’s. Though he tried to hide it, she could see worry flicker in them.
“Help me now,” she urged him, “and when I take back my throne, not only will I give you the treasure I promised, but as Neria is my witness, I will declare war on the Feuerkumpel traitors. The world will see what becomes of those who betray Miromara.”
“And when your uncle obliterates you—which is the more likely scenario—what then?” asked Stickstoff.
“The Meerteufel still get the twenty chests of treasure.”
Guldemar stood up. He walked to one of the chests, scooped a handful of gold coins out if it, then let them fall through his fingers. He picked up a silver goblet, studded with gems, and admired it.
“We will give you troops,” he finally said, tossing the goblet back.
Sera’s heart leapt, but she kept her face impassive. “How many?” she asked.
“Ten thousand.”
“Thirty.”
“Twenty. That’s my final offer,” Guldemar said. “Each will be armed with a crossbow and battle-ax.”
Sera pressed for more. “I also need a place to billet and train the troops you’ve just given me. I need a safe haven,” she said.
“Take the Kargjord,” Guldermar said.