Merrow was sure that she’d done everything necessary to protect her people, but she was wrong.
Because Orfeo had found a way to cheat death. The other mages only thought they had killed him. He’d secreted his soul in Morsa’s black pearl, then bided his time, for centuries, until a fish found the pearl and swallowed it. When a fisherman caught the creature and cleaned it, he discovered the pearl. A Viking chieftain bought the pearl from him, and as the chieftain held it, Orfeo’s soul flowed into his body, taking it over. Alive again, Orfeo began to hunt for the other talismans, eager to unleash his monster.
Orfeo had vowed to take Alma back from Horok, if it took him all eternity. Astrid knew that he was now close to honoring that vow.
The vicious Vallerio was working to conquer all the mer realms and unite their militaries in the service of Orfeo’s quest. With this immense army, and the fearsome Abbadon, Orfeo would finally be able to launch his attack on the underworld. He recognized that the gods themselves would fight him, and that the battle might wreak havoc on not only the underworld, but also the water and land realms. But none of that concerned Orfeo. Once reunited with his wife, he would begin the world anew with whatever was left. The only obstacles in his path were six young mermaids.
Why have you summoned us? Serafina had asked Vr?ja. Why not emperors or admirals or commanders with their soldiers? Why not the waters’ most powerful mages?
Vr?ja had told them that they were the worlds’ most powerful mages; each was a descendant of the Six Who Ruled, and their ancestors’ magic lived on inside them.
Astrid was Orfeo’s descendant. She hadn’t believed the river witch. It was amazing. It was impossible. It was a total joke.
Orfeo was the most powerful mage the world had ever seen. Ever. And Astrid? She couldn’t even cast a basic camo spell without the whalebone pipe Becca had made for her. She’d been able to make magic years ago, when she was a small child, but she’d lost her magic shortly after celebrating at M?nenhonn?r, her realm’s moon festival.
And now she was attempting to find the powerful, immortal Orfeo and take the black pearl from him so that she and the others could combine all the talismans once more, unlock the Carceron, and kill Abbadon. Her. Astrid Kolfinnsdottir. A mermaid with no magic.
“Total insanity,” she whispered again. But she had to do it. She had to find Orfeo, and she had to get the black pearl. She was the only one who could.
Astrid kept moving through M?rk Dal, her eyes sweeping left to right. She swam past a shopwindow containing jars of wrinkled terragogg ears, candied sea cucumbers, and spiced krill; another displayed weapons fashioned from fine Kobold steel; a third had an array of lava globes. She needed a hairdresser’s shop, a jeweler, or a tailor—someplace with a mirror—but she didn’t see one.
A few minutes later, she reached the end of the main current, where the shops gave way to houses. A narrow side current with a few more shops on it snaked off to the right. One store had a sign above its window: SELWIG’S SHIPWRECK SALVAGE.
Astrid sped to it. Salvagers, goblin and mer, combed shipwrecks for valuable objects. They almost always had mirrors for sale. She pressed her nose to the window, cupping her eyes. The shop was dark, but a nearby lava globe, mounted on a pole, threw off enough light for her to see its contents: crystal goblets, brass lanterns, a croquet set…and a mirror!
Glancing around to make sure no one else was nearby, Astrid slid her sword back into its sheath at her hip and drew a dagger from inside her parka. She inserted the blade into the door’s lock, twisted it sharply, then yanked it upward. The tumblers shot back, and the door swung open. She put her dagger away and swam inside. As she closed the door behind her, she cast another wary glance at the current. The last thing she needed was to get arrested.
Threading her way past piles of sailcloth, plastic coolers, and coils of nylon rope, Astrid approached the mirror. It was oval and quite large, with a gold frame. In it, she could see her reflection: her braided hair, as pale as moonlight; her ice-blue eyes; her strong black-and-white tail.
“How do I do this?” she asked herself.
She remembered her whalebone pipe. Maybe it would help. But as she was reaching for it, she stopped. Camo spells were all she knew how to cast. And even if she had known the songspell for mirror travel, she’d never be able to pull it off. Her magic was too weak.
She thought back to the time Orfeo had come to her in a mirror at Tanner’s Deeps. He’d held his hand up to the glass and she’d held hers up, too, and for a second, she’d felt as if she was sinking into silver. She pressed a palm against the mirror now. Nothing happened. She pushed harder. Still nothing. Frustrated, she tried one last time.
That’s when the woman’s face, pale and disembodied, floated into view.