Neela was nearly unrecognizable. Her bleached blond hair was coiled up on her head, and she was wearing a jacket held together with fishhooks.
“Khelefu, don’t you know me?” she asked, upset.
The grand vizier, imposing in a blue jacket and gold turban, didn’t even acknowledge her.
“We do not know how she got in, sir,” a guard replied.
“Forms will have to be filled out,” Khelefu said darkly. “Many forms. Remove her at once.”
“No, wait! Khelefu, it’s me, Neela!”
Stunned by the unseemly noise, the court fell silent.
Hearing her daughter’s name, Sananda turned toward the raised voices, a look of hope on her face. When she saw the young mermaid—a scruffy mess—an expression of bitter disappointment took its place.
“Take her away, Khelefu,” she said, waving a heavily jeweled hand.
“Mata-ji! It’s me, your daughter!” Neela cried.
Sananda snorted, a contemptuous look on her face. “My daughter would never—” She stopped speaking. “Neria be praised,” she whispered. She swam to Neela and threw her arms around her. Aran followed, and swept both his wife and daughter into a tight embrace.
After a moment, the three released one another and Sananda took Neela’s face in her hands. “I thought we would never see you again. I—I thought…you were…”
“Hush, Mata-ji. Let us not speak of it,” Aran said, his voice husky. “She is here now.”
Sananda nodded. She kissed Neela again, then let her go.
“Is Yazeed here?” Neela asked hopefully.
“No,” Aran said sadly. “We’ve heard nothing from him. Nothing from Mahdi.”
Neela nodded, swallowing her disappointment. “I was hoping that somehow they’d escaped.”
“We must not give up hope,” Aran said firmly. “Do you know what’s become of Serafina? And Desiderio?”
“Sera’s alive. I don’t know about Des.”
“Where have you been all this time? We’ve all been worried sick!” Sananda said.
Suddenly aware of all the eyes and ears around her, Neela lowered her voice. “The situation is very…difficult. And very urgent. I’ll tell you about it over tea.”
Tea was a light afternoon meal that the royal family took in a private dining room, away from the court. Neela knew she would be able to speak without being overheard there. Her experiences had taught her to be wary. Spies could be anywhere.
“Khelefu, we will have tea now,” said Aran.
“Now, Your Grace? That would be most unusual. It is only three twenty-one, and tea is always served promptly at four fifteen,” Khelefu said.
“Now, Khelefu.”
Khelefu, looking unhappy, bowed his head. “As you wish.”
Before he could act on Aran’s order, however, a minister—anxious and pale—approached him and whispered in his ear. Khelefu listened, nodded gravely, then said, “An emergency meeting of the war cabinet has been called, Your Grace. Your presence has been requested.”
“I will come,” Aran said. He turned back to Neela. “Tea will have to wait, I’m afraid.”
“Pita-ji, are we…?” Neela couldn’t bear to finish her question.
“At war?” Aran said. “The majority of the cabinet is in favor of attacking Ondalina. Our advisers are convinced that Kolfinn is behind the assassinations of Bilaal and Ahadi. They believe he may be holding Mahdi and Yazeed as prisoners. I fear it is no longer a case of if we go to war, but when. I’ve sent word to the rulers of all realms asking for a Council of the Six Waters.” He shook his head. “But with Isabella presumed dead and Kolfinn on the attack, it will be a Council of Four, if it happens at all. I must go to my own councillors now.” He kissed Neela. “We will talk shortly, my child.”
Neela watched him swim away. His bearing was dignified and composed, but there was a stoop to his shoulders. He was a second son and had not been groomed to be emperor. Neela could see that the loss of his brother, coupled with his newfound responsibilities, weighed heavily on him.
Soon I’ll add to those worries, she thought.
“Khelefu, fetch Suma. Tell her to assist the princess. Have food and drink brought to her room, scrubbing sand readied, and clean clothing laid out,” Sananda ordered.
“Yes, Your Grace,” Khelefu said.
“But, Mata-ji, there are things I need to tell you. Now. They cannot wait. Can’t we go to your private chambers?”
Sananda stared at Neela’s face, then frowned worriedly.
“What? What is it?” asked Neela.
“There are dark shadows under your eyes! Your face is so drawn,” Sananda said. “And—forgive me, but I’m your mother and I must say it—there is a frown line on your forehead that wasn’t there before.”
Distraught, Sananda snapped her fingers and a plate of chillawondas was brought. She reached for one immediately. Her eyes widened when Neela did not.
“My darling, what’s wrong? Are you ill?”
“I’m fine. I’m just not hungry,” Neela replied.