Lucia, with her sapphire eyes, her silver scales, her night-blue hair swept up off her shoulders. You could bungle a hundred trills if you looked like that, and nobody would even notice, Serafina thought. Not that Lucia would bungle anything. Her voice was gorgeous. It was said the Volnero were descended from sirens.
Serafina didn’t know if that was true, but she knew that Portia, Lucia’s mother, had once enchanted Serafina’s own uncle Vallerio. Portia and Vallerio had wished to marry, but Artemesia—the reigning regina and Vallerio and Isabella’s mother—had forbidden the match. The Volnero had traitors in the branches of their family coral, and she hadn’t wanted her son to marry into a tainted line.
Angry, Vallerio had left Cerulea and spent several years in Tsarno, a fortress town in western Miromara. Portia married someone else—Sejanus Adaro, Lucia’s father. Some said she only married him because he looked like Vallerio with his handsome face, silver scales, and black hair. Sejanus died only a year after Lucia’s birth. Vallerio never married, choosing to devote himself to the welfare of the realm instead.
Portia has taught Lucia her secrets, Serafina thought enviously. She sighed, thinking how her mother taught her the correct form of address for Atlantica’s foreign secretary, or that Parliament must be convened only during a spring tide, never a neap tide. She wished that once, just once, her mother would teach her something merly—like which anemones to kiss to get those pouty, tentacle-stung lips, or how to make her tail fin sparkle.
Stop it, Serafina, she told herself. Don’t let Lucia get to you. Neela will know if Mahdi went to the Lagoon or not. Just practice your songspell. She comforted herself with the knowledge that her best friend would be here soon. Just seeing her face would make this whole ordeal easier.
Serafina straightened her back, squared her shoulders, and tried, yet again, to practice her songspell.
“Your Grace, may I compliment you on your dress?” a voice drawled from behind her. “I hope you’re wearing it tonight.”
Serafina glanced in the mica. It was Lucia. She was smiling. Like a barracuda.
“No, I’m not, but thank you,” she said warily. It wasn’t like Lucia to be forthcoming with the compliments.
“What a pity. You should. It’s so simple and fresh. Totally genius. Contrast is absolutely the way to go in a situation like this,” Lucia said.
“Contrast?” Serafina said, puzzled. She turned to Lucia.
“Your look. It’s a fabulous contrast.”
Serafina looked down at her dress. It was a plain, light-blue sea-silk gown. Nothing special. She’d changed into it hastily, right after she’d swum into the antechamber.
“My look is all one color—blue. And we’re in the sea, Lucia. So, it really doesn’t contrast with anything.”
“Ha! That is so funny, Your Grace! Good for you for joking about it. I’m glad it doesn’t bother you. Don’t let it. Merboys will be merboys and, anyway, I’m sure he’s given her up by now.”
The whole room had gone quiet. Everyone had stopped what she was doing to listen. Blood sport was the court’s favorite game.
“Lucia, who’s he? Who’s her? What are you talking about?” Serafina asked, confused.
Lucia’s eyes widened. She pressed a hand to her chest. “You don’t know? I am such an idiot. I thought you knew. I mean, everyone knows. I—I’m sorry. It’s nothing. I made a mistake.” She started to swim off.
Lucia never admitted to making a mistake. Serafina saw a chance to best her, to pay her back for the mean things she’d said. And though a voice inside her told her not to, she took that chance.
“What mistake, Lucia?” she asked.
Lucia stopped. “Really, Your Grace,” she said, looking deeply embarrassed. “I wouldn’t like to say.”
“No, tell me.”
“If you insist,” Lucia replied.
“I do.”
As soon as the words left her lips, Serafina realized she was the one who’d made the mistake. Lucia turned around. Her barracuda smile was back. She’d only been feigning embarrassment.
“I was talking about the crown prince and his merlfriend,” she said. “Well, his latest one.”
“His…his merlfriend?” Serafina said. She could barely breathe.
“That’s enough, Lucia! You’re going too far!” Bianca hissed.
“But, Bianca, would you have me defy our principessa? She wishes me to speak,” Lucia said. She fixed her glittering eyes on Serafina. “I’m so sorry to be the one to tell you. Especially on the day of your Dokimí. I was certain you knew, otherwise I would never have mentioned it. I only meant to compliment you by telling you that your look was a contrast to hers. All she has going for her is blond hair, turquoise scales, and more curves than a whirlpool.”
Lucia, triumphant, dipped her head. Serafina felt humiliated, but was determined not to show it. This was her own fault. She’d stupidly fallen right into Lucia’s trap and now she had to swim out.
“Lucia, thank you so much for telling me,” she said, smiling. “It’s such a relief to know. I hope she’s taught him a few things.”
“I beg your pardon, Your Grace?”