“To save you from a whole squad of death riders. They were just about to swim out of the main gate. They would have seen you. There was no time to explain. Sorry.”
“What’s going on? Why are they here? Why are these flags flying?”
“Because Matali belongs to them now.”
Neela shook her head, distraught. I was right, she thought. “And Mata-ji…Pita-ji?” she asked tearfully.
“They’re okay. They’re alive. Traho’s got them under house arrest, but he hasn’t hurt them.”
“Traho’s in the palace?”
Yazeed nodded. “His boss, too.”
Neela’s blood ran cold. “‘Kolfinn? He’s here?”
Yaz shook his head. “No, Neels…she is.”
“SHE?” NEELA SAID. “Kolfinn’s a he.”
“It’s not Kolfinn. Here,” Yazeed said, handing her a transparensea pearl. “Cast it. I’ll show you.”
Yazeed cast a pearl too. When they were both invisible, he led Neela through the Emperor’s Courtyard and into the palace. They swam just below the ceiling, and over the heads of dozens of death riders.
Seeing the invaders in the palace, in her home, made Neela’s blood boil. Murdering sea scum, she thought. You have no right to be here.
“Stick close,” Yazeed whispered.
They made their way into the Emperor’s Chamber and hovered under one of the chandeliers. Burly death riders holding swords lined the chamber’s walls.
“There she is,” Yazeed whispered, pointing to the mermaid seated on the emperor’s throne. “Meet the mastermind.”
Neela looked down. The mermaid had long auburn hair, emerald eyes, and a stunningly beautiful face.
“Portia Volnero!” Neela hissed.
“The one and only,” Yazeed said.
Portia was a duchessa, one of Miromara’s highest-ranking nobles. She was also Lucia Volnero’s mother.
“It’s not Ondalina. Astrid was telling the truth,” Neela said. She had to get word to the others.
“What are you talking about?”
Neela was about to explain, when Khelefu, the grand vizier of Matali, swam into the room. Seeing him, Portia spoke. Her commanding voice carried up to Neela and Yazeed.
“You’ve opened the vaults as I requested, Khelefu?”
“I have, Your Grace.”
Khelefu all but spat the words. And though his face was composed, Neela—who had known this proud and loyal merman all her life—could see the hatred in his eyes.
“Very good,” Portia said. She rose from the throne and swam to him. “I wish to have Ahadi’s diamond tiara for Lucia’s coronation in Miromara. The one with the Pearl of the Maldives in its center. And she’ll need something for her betrothal, too. Sapphires, I think, to go with her eyes. And for her future husband, Crown Prince Mahdi, the Bramaphur Emerald. It will look wonderful on his turban.”
“Say what?” It was all Neela could do not to shout the words.
“Shh!” Yaz said.
“I was not aware the Crown Prince was to be betrothed to your daughter, Your Grace,” Khelefu said. “I thought he had been promised to Serafina, principessa di Miromara.”
Portia’s eyes darkened at the mention of Serafina’s name. “He was, but unfortunately the poor principessa is dead. We believe she was killed in the attacks on Cerulea. Our diligent Captain Traho put signs up throughout the realm, seeking her return, but we’ve heard nothing of her. Although it pains us greatly, we must accept this difficult truth.”
“How very sad, Your Grace.”
“Tragic,” Portia said. “I’ll need those things packed immediately, Khelefu. I plan to leave for Miromara in the morning.”
“We’ve got to warn Sera!” Neela whispered to Yazeed.
“I shall have the proper forms prepared and brought to you, Your Grace,” Khelefu said. “You will need to fill them out before you remove the jewels from the vaults.”
“Actually, I won’t,” Portia said.
“But that is the way things are done. That is the way things have always been done,” Khelefu protested.
Portia nodded at two of her guards and they seized the grand vizier. She drew a crimson-tipped finger across her throat and they dragged him away.
Portia smiled as she watched them go, then said, “Not anymore.”
SERAFINA OPENED HER EYES. She didn’t know where she was. The waters around her were dusky. She was lying on something soft. A lava globe glowed on a table nearby.
Noiselessly, she snaked a hand toward her hip, and the dagger hidden there.
“It’s all right, Sera. You’re safe.”
“Mahdi?”
“We’re in a farmhouse in a village off the Costa Brava. It belongs to a couple named Carlo and Elena Aleta Roja. They’re loyalists.”
Serafina propped herself up. She was woozy. Her body ached. She saw that she was lying in a narrow bed in a small, rustic room. Curtains framing the room’s single window fluttered in the night current. A pot of tea and two cups had been placed on a table under the window.
Mahdi was sitting on a chair next to the bed. He took her hand. “How are you feeling?”
“Better now that I’m holding your hand instead of a ghost’s,” she said weakly.