“Life’s a beauty contest,” Neela said. “Just ask my mother. Or either of my grandmothers. Or any of my aunts. Are we any closer to the Iele’s cave? I could really use a cup of sargassa tea, people.”
Ling rolled her eyes. “I hear singing. That’s the river’s mouth. Has to be,” she said. “Come on, we need to keep moving.”
The mermaids had set off from Lena’s house three days ago, with food she’d packed for them. “Good-bye! It’s been awful having you!” she’d called out cheerfully, waving them off. “Don’t even think about coming back!”
They’d hewed close to the dark riverbanks, trying to stay out of sight, and had holed under tree roots or behind rocks during the night. It had been a lot easier to blend in with their surroundings since Neela had turned them into swashbucklers, dressed in gray and black.
Sera glanced at her friend and smiled. She was almost unrecognizable. Same with Ling. Sera knew that she, too, looked nothing like her old self. She and Ling had gone to sleep at Lena’s house, and had woken to new clothes, new accessories, and new identities.
“Did you get any sleep?” she’d asked Neela when she saw all the work her friend had done.
“Not much, but it’s okay. I’m not tired. And before you try on your new clothes, we’ve got to do something about that hair,” Neela had said, patting one of Lena’s kitchen chairs.
Serafina sat down in it. In all her sixteen years, her hair had never been cut, not even trimmed. Before Rorrim had knotted his fingers in it, it had hung halfway down her tail. As Neela snipped away, letting the chopped locks fall to the floor, Sera had the oddest feeling that parts of her self were falling away with them. The part that trusted blindly. The part that followed all the rules. The part that always let others take the lead.
After Neela had cut her hair and dyed it black with a bottle of squid ink, she’d led Sera to Lena’s bedroom mirror. Sera had quickly checked to make sure Rorrim wasn’t lurking inside it, then peered at her reflection. Neela had transformed her raggedy mop into a sleek, edgy pixie. Spiky black bangs fell over her forehead and tapered to points at her cheekbones. The cut emphasized her long, slender neck, and enormous green eyes. She was speechless.
“Totally swash? Totally genius? Or totally both?” Neela said.
“Totally wonderful! I love it, Neela—thank you!” Serafina said.
“Of course you do,” Neela said. “Now, put these on.”
She handed Serafina a long, clingy gray dress. She’d cut the arms off it and slashed the neckline. A loosely-knit black tunic went over it. Neela looped bicycle chains around Serafina’s hips and slid Grigio’s dagger through them. She put silver hoops in Sera’s ears.
Next, she outlined Sera’s eyes and stained her lips with more black squid ink. Her cheeks got a silvery dusting of ground abalone shell.
“You look so riptide, I don’t recognize you,” Neela said, when she’d finished.
“I look so riptide, I don’t recognize me,” Serafina said, still staring at herself.
Neela had also made herself a disguise, using a tattered lace top, a voluminous sea-silk skirt fashioned from Lena’s bolt of fabric, and a military jacket that had lost its buttons—all in black. She’d torn the collar off the lace top, and pinned the jacket together with rusty fishhooks. She’d found herself a terragogg messenger bag and inked Anne Bonny Roolz across it in silver. After she bleached her hair blond, she coiled it on top of her head and secured it with a swordfish’s bill. A pair of fishhooks served as earrings and a shark’s tooth threaded on some fishing line as a necklace. She stained her lips black and brushed shimmering blue-black mussel-shell powder over her eyelids.
Ling got a makeover, too, though she hadn’t wanted one, to make it look as if the three of them had always been together. Death riders looking for two princesses wouldn’t glance twice at three swashbucklers, Neela reasoned. Ling’s braids received purple streaks. A torn black cape replaced her red jacket and covered her sling. Long turitella-shell earrings, a necklace made of old skeleton keys, and the sword she wore slung over her back completed her outfit.
“No princesses here, Mr. Death Rider,” Neela had singsonged, laughing. “Only some swashbucklers on their way to see Skwall play the Marshlands.”
Sera and Ling had thanked her profusely. She’d told them it was nothing, but Sera had seen how brightly she’d glowed. She’d also seen how well Neela’s strategy had worked. The few mer they’d come across on their way upriver had glanced at them, then quickly crossed to the other side of the current.
Neela’s right in a way, Sera thought, swimming behind Ling. Life is a beauty contest. And I’m sick of competing in it, sick of being a smiling, nodding, pretty little princess. There was another contest that mattered now—a contest for Cerulea, one of life and death.