ASTRID STARED AT the gown. It was the most magnificent garment she’d ever seen. Made of black sea silk, it was trimmed with pieces of polished jet at the neckline and hem. The long sleeves ended in points, the waist was nipped, the skirt long and flowing.
“A gift for you. From the master,” said the servant, as she laid the gown across Astrid’s bed. “He has summoned you to the garden and wishes you to wear it.”
“Maybe another time,” Astrid said. The gown was beautiful but impractical. Her own clothing would serve her better if she needed to fight. Or escape.
“But your things are worn and stained,” the servant said, dismayed by Astrid’s refusal.
“I’m good.”
The servant shook her head. She started toward Astrid. “You can’t possibly accompany the master in such filthy—”
Astrid’s hand went to the hilt of her sword. “I said I’m good.”
The servant stopped dead.
“He may be your master, but he’s not mine,” Astrid said, a note of warning in her voice. She was not here to make friends.
“Very well,” the servant said stiffly. “This way, please.”
She turned and swam out of the room. Astrid followed her.
She’d eaten a brief meal with Orfeo yesterday, right after she’d arrived at Shadow Manse. During their time together, Astrid had pressed him to tell her why he’d summoned her, but he’d deflected her question.
“All in good time,” he said. “It’s late, and you’ve traveled far. It’s time for you to rest.” At a wave of his hand, a servant had appeared to take Astrid to her room.
There she’d sat up in a chair wary and watchful, alert to every noise, until finally, just before dawn, she’d given in to her body’s need for sleep. When she’d awoken, hours later, she’d immediately realized that someone had been in her room: a breakfast tray was resting on a nearby table and the sea-silk gown had been draped across the bed.
Astrid had jumped out of the chair, furious with herself for letting her guard down. She could’ve been killed in her sleep.
“But you weren’t,” she’d said to herself. “Seems Orfeo doesn’t want you dead. At least, not yet.”
She’d eaten breakfast and then the servant had appeared to take her to Orfeo. This time, she would make him tell her why he’d summoned her.
Astrid looked around as she swam, taking in the silent servants, all dressed in ebony sea flax; the midnight-hued draperies billowing in the current; and the twists and turns of the obsidian passageways.
A few minutes later, they arrived at a pair of arched doors. The servant opened them, then swept a hand in front of her. Astrid swam through the doorway and into a walled courtyard. The gardens—formal, extensive, and planted entirely in black—matched the rest of the palace.
Ebony sea roses, feathery tube worms, gorgons, seaweeds, corals, and anemones grew on a foundation of night-dark basalt. As Astrid swam through the gardens, looking for Orfeo, onyx eels darted between rocks. Rays glided overhead, as silent as shadows. A dozen anglerfish, light shining from the thin, fleshy stalks protruding from their heads, looked like living lanterns.
“Here at Shadow Manse, black is the new black,” Astrid said under her breath.
She found Orfeo stooped by a thatch of seaweed, clipping off fronds. A marshgrass basket was at his feet. His back was to her.
How do you greet a psycho killer? she wondered, then decided on the standard approach. “Good morning, Orfeo.”
Orfeo turned, smiling. “Ah, Astrid! Good morning!” he said, straightening. “I trust you slept well?”
“Well enough,” Astrid said guardedly.
“Sargassum fusiforme,” he said, holding up a cutting. “Helpful in combating fin rot. One of my bull sharks has a nasty case of it.”
Astrid was about to ask why he kept bull sharks, one of the ocean’s fiercest predators, then realized she probably didn’t want to know.
Orfeo tucked the cutting into his basket. “I was a healer once,” he explained. “A long time ago. I set bones. Drew infections from wounds. Cooled fevers. Cured all kinds of diseases. Yet I couldn’t save the one person who meant everything to me.”
“Orfeo, I need to know why you brought me here.”
Astrid expected him to try to evade the question again, but he surprised her.
“Because I want to heal you,” he replied.
Astrid felt both frightened and compelled by the prospect. “Heal me? How?”
Orfeo placed his shears in the basket. “Tell me about your voice. Your singing voice. What happened to it?”
Astrid was surprised again. She hadn’t expected a question in response to her own. “I—I lost it when I was little. Right after M?nenhonn?r.”
“What were you doing?”
“The usual things, I guess. Playing with friends. Dancing. Eating M?nenkager,” Astrid replied.
She realized that Orfeo might not know what those were. “They’re little round, iced cakes,” she explained. “They look like the full moon. The baker drops a silver drupe into the batter, then pours the batter into the molds. Whoever gets the coin in her cake has good luck for the coming year.”
Orfeo was listening raptly. “Did you get the coin?”