Becca was an expert at making things work. As an orphan, she’d had to be. She’d had to make lousy foster homes work. Meager meals. Secondhand clothing. But no matter how many times she turned her feelings for Marco over in her head, looking at them from different angles, trying to make them work, she couldn’t.
“Marco, I—I’ve got to go,” she said, picking up her traveling case.
Marco nodded. “I’ll see you again someday,” he said. “In another place. A better one…I—I love you, Becca.”
Tears filled her eyes. “Don’t say that. Not now. It’s not fair!”
“No, it’s not,” Marco agreed. “But it’s true.”
Becca hit the button that allowed her to enter the water lock. The hatch opened. She glanced back once before leaving.
“Good-bye, Marco,” she said.
And then she was gone. She buttoned her jacket up around her neck as she descended, unused to the cold after spending a week in the saltwater tank.
Marco’s words rang in her ears…I love you, Becca.
She hadn’t responded, because there’d been no point. It was over before it had even started. It was time to be practical, just as she’d always been. It was time to listen to her head.
But as she swam away, deeper and deeper into the sea, she stopped and looked back. She could just make out the tapered hull of the Marlin, silhouetted on the surface of the water. She thought she saw something else, too—on the starboard bow. A shadow. Marco’s shadow.
Becca’s heart clenched, and she confessed to the sea what she could not say to him.
“I love you, too, Marco. I wish to the gods I didn’t.”
SERA HELD UP her crossbow and took aim.
The conger eel was magnificent. She guessed it was about seven feet long and weighed close to two hundred pounds. She didn’t want to shoot it, but she had no choice. The goblins were watching.
She prayed to the gods for a clean kill, then let her arrow fly. The eel never knew what hit it. It died instantly, sinking slowly to the mud.
Sera wanted to cry. Instead, she turned around to face the goblins, smiling triumphantly. “Tonight my brave warriors will feast!” she shouted in the goblins’ own tongue.
A cheer went up, loud and guttural. The Meerteufel were pleased with the kill and Sera was relieved. She’d told Antonio, the cook, that she would address the food shortage and she had. Not only did the hunts bring much-needed food to the camp, they channeled the goblins’ energy in a constructive way.
That was one problem solved, but there were always more. They were still short on weapons and barracks space, as well as food. Not all the fighters that Guldemar had promised her had arrived yet, but even when they did, her military would still be much smaller than her uncle’s.
The thing that worried her most of all, however, was her friends. Was Mahdi safe? Was his ruse still working? Had Astrid and Desiderio encountered death riders at the Qanikkaaq? What had happened to Becca and Ava? Sera had heard nothing from either of them since she’d warned them that Vallerio’s troops were heading for Cape Horn and the Mississippi. The goblin fighters she’d sent to protect them couldn’t cast convocas, so Sera had no idea if they’d been able to carry out their task.
And then there was Ling. Sera’s heart ached when she thought of her. She was still optimistic that the others were okay and were making their ways to the Karg, but her hopes for Ling were fading.
Ling was an incredible communicator. If she were still alive, she would have found a way of letting Sera know. Sera told herself, a hundred times a day, that it was time she faced the fact that Ling was gone. But deep in her heart, she couldn’t let go. We’re bloodbound, aren’t we? she told herself. If Ling died, part of me would die with her. Surely I’d feel it?
The sound of singing pulled her out of her thoughts.
She’d led the hunting party of about a hundred Meerteufel out in the early evening when sea creatures rose to the surface to feed. The party had moved north of the camp to Skuld’s Rise, then divided itself into groups of three, fanning out over the hills and shallows. They’d agreed to meet back at the rise two hours later. A goblin named Dreck led the party Sera was hunting with. The goblins Totschl?ger and Garstig led the other groups. Totschl?ger’s band was returning now, singing as they trudged along. Some of them carried thick kelp stalks, the ends balanced on their shoulders. From the stalks hung their kills.
“Well done,” Sera said approvingly.
Totschl?ger smiled at her praise, revealing his stumpy, broken teeth, and then the goblins from both groups admired each other’s kills and discussed how best to prepare them. Sera, meanwhile, wondered where the third group was. The dusk was deepening. It was time to return to camp. She didn’t like to be in the open waters after dark.
“Totschl?ger, Dreck…where’s Garstig?” she asked.
The goblin leaders looked at each other. Their smiles turned to frowns.
“He should’ve been back by now,” Dreck said.
“He might’ve been ambushed,” Totschl?ger said. “He’s stupid enough.”