“No, we were fine. We had lots of guards with us. But I was so glad to see the spires of Cerulea last night, I can’t even tell you.”
“I’m really happy you’re here, Neela,” Serafina said. “I can’t imagine going through the Dokimí without you.”
Sera hadn’t asked about him yet. Good. Maybe she could keep it that way. “How’s the songspell? Are you nervous? What are you wearing?” Neela asked.
“Not great. Very. I don’t know,” Serafina said.
Neela sat up, startling some curious needlefish who’d come close. “You don’t know what you’re wearing? How can you not know? Hasn’t the Dokimí been planned for years?”
“My dress is a gift from Miromara. The best craftsmer in the realm work on it. Only my mother sees it in advance. And anyway, it’s not about the dress,” Serafina said.
“It’s always about the dress.”
“I’m casting a songspell, not competing in a beauty contest. This is serious, you know.”
“Merlfriend, nothing is more serious than a beauty contest. Life is beauty contest. At least that’s what my mother always says,” Neela said. “I can’t wait for you to see what I’m wearing. It’s totally invincible. It’s a dark pink sari—the wrap is sea silk, but the top and skirt are made of thousands of tiny Anomia shells stitched onto tulle. I wanted it to be royal blue, but my aunt insisted on pink. I made it myself.”
“You did not.”
“I did. I swear it. But shh, don’t tell anyone. You know how it is in Matali. Gods forbid a royal should actually work at anything,” Neela said unhappily.
“Trouble with your parents?” Serafina asked, her eyes full of concern.
“That’s an understatement. We fought about it for weeks. Major drama. I bet I ate twenty boxes of zee-zees. In one day.”
Neela’s dream was to become a designer, but her parents wouldn’t allow that. Or anything else. She was a Matalin princess and Matalin princesses were to dress well, look decorative, and one day marry—and that was all. Neela wanted so much more, though. Color made her heart beat faster. Fabric came alive in her hands. She had passion and talent and she wanted to use them.
Serafina took her hand. “I’m sorry, Neels.”
“Oh, well. I can’t ever be a designer, but I can pretend.”
“You are a designer,” Serafina said, suddenly fierce. “Designers design. That’s what you did. And it doesn’t matter who likes it and who doesn’t.”
Neela smiled. Sera was as loyal as a lionfish, quick to defend those she loved. It was one of the many reasons Neela adored her.
“I just hope Alítheia doesn’t like pink. I don’t want her thinking I look like a large and tasty zee-zee,” said Neela. “Is it true she’s ten feet tall?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, like…why?”
“Quia Merrow decrevit.”
“Why the long, tortuous songspell?”
“Quia Merrow decrevit.”
“Why a betrothal at sixteen? That’s totally dark ages. Wait…don’t tell me. Let me guess.”
“Quia Merrow decrevit.”
“But Merrow decreed it, like, forty centuries ago, Sera. The tides have come in and gone out a few times since then, you know?”
“I do. Believe me, Neela, I’ve listened to so many conchs on Atlantis and Merrow for various courses, and I still haven’t figured out why she made all her weird decrees. The whole Dokimí thing is barbaric and backward. It’s from a time when life expectancy was short and principessas had to be ready to rule at a young age,” Serafina said. “The weirdest thing is, this ceremony declares me an adult, fit to rule, and yet I have no more idea about how to rule Miromara than I have about flying to the moon. I can’t even rule my own court.” She sighed heavily.
“What? What’s wrong?” Neela asked, her eyes searching Sera’s.
“My court,” Serafina said, making a face. “There’s this one merl….Her name’s Lucia…”
“I remember her,” Neela said. “The last time I was here, my skin had just started to glow. She told me I looked like fog light. In the nicest possible way, of course.”
“That sounds like Lucia,” Serafina said. “Neela, she said some things, about Mahdi.”
Oh, no, Neela thought. Time to change the subject. “Hey, you know what? Let’s swim,” she said. “Why don’t we head into the ruins? Stretch our tails? We can talk as we go.”
Neela pulled Sera up from the coral weed and they set off, swimming, through what had once been a doorway. Time had crumbled its ancient arch. The walls of the old palace had tumbled down, and the roof along with them. Anemones, corals, and wrack had colonized the mosaic floors. In what had once been Merrow’s Grand Hall, soaring blue quartz pillars still stood, hinting at lost glories.
“You should see the ruby necklace I’m wearing tonight. It’s my mother’s. It’s completely invincible,” Neela said as they swam together. She was babbling, desperate to keep the conversation from veering back to Mahdi.
“How are your parents?” Serafina asked.