“Keeper, the verdict, please,” she said, with no trace of emotion in her voice.
“The jury finds the defendant, Vallerio di Merrovingia, guilty of regicide, high treason, and war crimes,” the keeper intoned. “The high court sentences him to death by beheading, followed by the singing of gallows dirges.”
“Vallerio di Merrovingia, you have heard your sentence. The high court decrees that you must pay for your crimes with your life,” Sera declared. She paused to let her words sink in, then said, “It is the right of the condemned to speak aloud your last words. Have you any?”
“I do,” Vallerio said. “I underestimated you, Serafina. You are much changed from the young mermaid I knew. You are stronger and smarter than I believed you to be. An able and impressive ruler. I never thought you would learn to lead so fast.”
“I had a very capable teacher.” This time Sera was unable to keep the bitterness from her voice.
Vallerio laughed darkly. “I suppose you did. However, it appears that the student is now the master. You are there,” he nodded at the throne, “and I am here. But soon I shall be gone.”
Sera winced at that, just slightly, but Vallerio caught it.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to beg you for my life. But I will caution you to be careful with yours. Very careful.”
His lips curved into a mocking smile. Malice glinted in his eyes.
“Your mother had an expression: Play the board, not the piece. You’ve played well, Serafina, but not well enough. Did you really think I wouldn’t have an endgame? Orfeo and I made a deal. I would help him search for the talismans, and he would help me take over the water realms.”
“That is hardly news, uncle,” Sera said. She managed to keep her voice even, but a cold dread crept over her.
“No,” he allowed, “but this is: I made Orfeo promise that if something happened to me, he would protect Lucia. And he will. He gave me his word. Abbadon will slaughter you and your friends, and then Orfeo will restore my daughter to the throne. Good-bye, Serafina. Enjoy the view from up there…while you still have it.”
Serafina felt her gorge rise. Only minutes ago, she had remembered the good merman he’d once been. Now all she felt was revulsion for the vicious, unrepetent murderer he’d become.
“Great Neria forgive you, Uncle,” she said, “for I cannot.”
Vallerio’s guards moved to lead him to the wooden block, but he shook them off and swam to it himself. The executioner, a tall, muscular merman in a black hood, had quietly come forward. He was floating by the block now. His curved ax was leaning against it. He offered Vallerio a blindfold, but Vallerio refused it. He bent his tail, like a terragogg might bend his knees, and lowered his head to the block, resting it in the smooth hollow.
The executioner leaned down to him, grasped the collar of his tunic, and tore it open to expose his neck. Sera’s hands tightened on the arms of her throne. She didn’t want to watch this, but she had no choice. Reginas were required to witness the executions of those the high court condemned.
The executioner lifted his ax. He swung it back and forth through the water, picking up speed with each arc, sharpening his focus, priming his aim.
And then, with no further preliminaries, he swung it high above his head. As the fearsome blade began its final descent, Vallerio suddenly tilted his head and raised his eyes to Sera’s.
“Checkmate,” he said, just before the ax came down.
“ONE HUNDRED thousand troops, Sera,” Neela said excitedly. “And more fighters joining us every day!”
She was sketching as she spoke, designing a military jacket. Sera had never gotten to wear the last one Neela had made for her, and now that she was no longer leader of the resistance but the leader of her realm, Neela had decided that a completely new look was in order.
“From Miromara and Matali, Qin and Ondalina,” Neela continued. “From the prison camps that are being liberated—”
“But are the numbers enough, Neela?” Sera asked, her brow knit with worry. “Enough to take on Abbadon? And Orfeo?”
The two mermaids were in Sera’s rooms—her mother’s old chambers—where they often spent their evenings now. Sera was staring out of a window, her arms crossed. Sylvestre was draped over her shoulder. His color had improved. She could see her troops’ camp in the distance, the white of their tents, the glow of their waterfires. Three weeks had passed since the battle for Cerulea had been won. While Sera and Des had been figuring out how to rule their realm, Yazeed, Neela, Becca, and Ling, together with Garstig and the other commanders, had once again been working to provision Sera’s soldiers. They would all leave for the Southern Sea in six days.
“Orfeo’s powerful,” Sera continued. “In ways we know, and in ways we don’t. He has the black pearl. What if he has Nyx’s ruby ring, too? What if…what if he…” She couldn’t bear to voice the thought.