Verse IX

  In the depths of night, little moved. Little dared move. The night feeders were out and about, but those ones more often lay in wait, gulping and engulfing any little fish unwise enough to swim by or unlucky enough to be entranced by a glimmering light.

  Along the strongest flow to Mezzegheb, a lonely float swam on. Its flaps were tattered and tired from riding the great flows, and its riders did not look much better. They mumbled the chants of ebb and flow which kept their vehicle in motion, and it was a testament to its crafting that its billows never skipped a beat even when they did.

  The firmament above glittered with hints of light, and deep shadows were cast upon the sands below. In between, the float continued with its lamp lit, and schools of little fishes followed out of dazzled curiosity. Medium-sized night feeders picked them off one by one, unwilling to let such a bounty go to waste. One such feeder, a long and lithe eel with a mouth full of teeth, swam straight at the most obvious hole in the float's exterior.

  An armored hand met it, palm flat and fingers outstretched. The eyes of the eel, weak as they were, still could not miss the glare of purple that flickered between those fingers. Nor could the purple force miss it.

  The hand pulled the remains of the eel inside. At the other end of that arm, Marilis din Linnea examined her kill with a blank curiosity. "Bore eel," she said after a beat. "Eats its way straight through its prey. A pointless death."

  "Shall we eat it?" asked her sister, Martella. "You did cook it well enough."

  Marilis sniffed it closely, tasting the water that passed over the corpse. A grimace crossed her face. "It is as disgusting as it looks," she declared.

  "Like a live higgly?"

  "A what?" she asked her sister.

  "You remember. A higgly. It's... it's..." Martella's voice slowed as she struggled to place the word within her memory. "Funny. I know that I've heard of such a fish, and that it is a disgusting little thing, but..."

  "It is not important," said Marilis. "And we do not need the food. Look, our destination lies ahead."

  The tent city of Mezzegheb glowed faintly in the darkness, the protective patterns of its fabric walls shining as they did their work. No feeders in the darkness would be entering the city, tonight or any night. Inside the tent, none would ever notice.

  The official at the mooring posts took one look at their shells and waved them on. In the light of the lamps, the port mer's face was forever pale, but for a beat she had the hue of a fish's underbelly. "I, I shall send word ahead..." the mer stammered.

  "Please do," Marilis told her. "We need to get things started."

  Not far from the mooring posts, a flap in the tent fabric opened to reveal a different sort of darkness inside, one broken into pieces by a thousand little lamps to light and guide visiting mers to where their pearl might be spent. Those same lamps did nothing to reveal the activities those pearls were spent on, though it was never difficult to guess.

  "A disgusting, rotten place," Marilis said as they swam down the main avenue of tents to the viceroy's offices. "Let us finish with it soon."

  "Yes, yes..." murmured Martella. There were scents on the current that neither of them would claim to know, but at least one of them brought small shudders to her chest. Her bristled hair shook as she failed to clear her head. "How shall we begin the search?" she asked. "How... ah... should we investigate each business, or..."

  "We speak to the viceroy first, see what she has to say, and then make our decision," Marilis reminded. "On orders from Mother. And if the Lady din Casima suggests something counter to those orders, we know to ignore her. This city's rot will get to anyone, sooner or later."

  "Of course, yes..." Martella's eyes tracked along the row of stalls where fruiting pods were sold. Something about them smelled so right, so delicious. But later. Yes, later. She could almost hear Mother's calm words of instruction, those perfect rules by which her daughters should live their lives. Not all that smelled pleasant was good, Mother had said.

  But they smelled so nice...

  *

  The private office of Lanita din Casima was a singular tent at the heart of the city, having the chambered structure of a great whorled shell set upon a foundation of stone and coral. Set within the measures of kelpen fabric were sections of Bryndoon shellwork so that the revelers within could look out upon the rest of the city and gloat. Lamps gave the shell walls a dark glow of gem coral that was matched by the viceroy's own meticulously styled hair as it draped over one eye. Upon a hammock of woven kelp and shell beads the lady reposed, not looking to her visitors for many beats after their arrival.

  "So you are the ministra's little sharks," din Casima said finally. "Tell me, are things truly so chaotic in the capital right now?"

  "The Council has things in hand, Your Elegance," Marilis assured her.

  "Ah, then it is worse than I have heard." The lady's hand covered her mouth's impolitic laugh. "The capital is the capital, and Mezzegheb can be nothing but itself, however. What brings the ministra's sharks to these waters?"

  Orders within orders, secrets within secrets wrapped themselves around the heart of Marilis, but Mother had been very specific about what to tell, and to whom. "The princess is gone," she told the viceroy. "Missing. She has not been seen in over a month."

  "So I had heard. My dear cousin on the Council does try to keep me informed when it suits her. What else?" The viceroy plucked a single tuli pod from a nearby bowl and tasted the scent off of it. With a shiver and a smile, she replaced it in its container. "Please, be brief. We are cutting into the evening's entertainments."

  "We have reason to believe that the princess is in this city now." Martella kept her gaze focused tightly on the mer. "Or has been recently. We are tasked with bringing her home."

  In her hammock, the Lady din Casima shifted. "You are serious. Too serious, perhaps. Why would a good little mer like Rhiela come here? I would not think that your uptight mitera back in the palace would allow her to so much as dream of the sort of games we play here, so she would never come on her own. So... she was brought here, perhaps?"

  "It is possible," Marilis admitted.

  The viceroy's visible eye had a glint of red within the blue. "The Free Flow?"

  "Also possible. We have etchings of the mers most likely involved..." Though not as well done as Marilis would have liked. Their sister Marai's descriptions had been detailed enough for three, but not for all. She let Martella present the shells to the viceroy, who nodded at the first and the second, only to stop at the third. The poise, the pretense of leisure drifted away, leaving only a predatory crouch.

  "This one is known to us," din Casima declared.

  Marilis glanced at the shell. "Sera. Mother's name unknown, home waters unknown?"

  "That is she," the viceroy told them. "She was born here in Mezzegheb, but no mother would ever claim her. A known agent of the Free Flow, if ever difficult to net."

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  A smirk swam over her sister Martella's face. "Difficult for you?" asked the spiky-haired mer, "or difficult for us?"

  "Difficult for either, to be sure," said the viceroy. "But for us together, well... I think we can catch more fish than just a certain red snapper, that is for certain. I shall pass the word, and we should know where she is, or at least where she has been, by the light of morning. Until then..." The poise had returned to Lanistra din asima as she again toyed with a tuli pod. "...do please enjoy what entertainments my humble city has to offer. If I may—"

  "We are honored," said Marilis in politest haste. "But it has been a long and fraught trip to these waters of yours, and we would rest. Alone."

  Lanistra din Casima hid another impolite laugh behind her hand. "Ever the professional little sharks. Go, then. Rest. Let us continue on the morrow. I shall summon a maid to show you the more proper resting chambers."

  Taking her sister by the hand, mindful of the small shivers which shook it still, Marilis escorted Martella away from the audience chamber. "Are you alright?" she asked on a short bubble of sound for their ears only.

  "It's... It's..." Martella let out a long flush of water against her gills, only to cough at the effort. "I shall be fine. It is as you said. A long and fraught journey. Let us rest."

  Marilis knew not why her sister reacted the way she did to certain sights, certain tastes on the water, no matter how faint. Their mother would not say. The best she could do was to be there, to hold her sister's hand as the tremors faded and Martella regained her nerve. And never would she mention what she had been instructed to do if her sister did not recover or broke the flow of their mission.

  Secrets within secrets, orders within orders. Marilis would keep them all. She was a good daughter.

  Verse X

  When Ardenne awoke, it was to a warm body curled around, one with strong arms to hold and a slow heart's beat to hear. Her face rested against the upper chest of a mer equmara named Sarsia, her ear flat against the skin so that the steady thump-a-thump was easy to sense. She had fallen asleep to it the night before.

  Awake, part of her wanted to scramble free, to escape... what? The feeling of being pressed, of being caught? A calmer part continued to enjoy the warmth and the lullaby beat, the feeling of togethership that was more motherly than loverly.

  Sarsia did not miss the subtle twitches that announced an end to slumber. "How do you feel this morn?" The words rumbled from the older equmara's chest directly to Ardenne's ears.

  "Better, better..." she mumbled back. When Sera had spoken of equmara hospitality, when Ardenne had seen it for herself with the roving Rohaise, it had seemed that the broad-faced mers were interested in only the one thing, and the green mer's insides had churned in unpleasant ways at the thought. But Sarsia... her red-haired friend had told their hosts to go easy on the green-haired hunter, and so there was Sarsia. Motherly Sarsia, easily of an age to Ardenne's mother Diana, with patient ears, calming words, and comforting arms. Ardenne had not slept so well in weeks. "Thank you," she added after a beat.

  "Never a task," Sarsia assured her. 'It's been many a year since my own daughters would cry from the night terrors, but it is nice to say that still I have the calming knack."

  A smile trembled at the corners of Ardenne's mouth. "Yes, that you do. I guess I should see where the others are."

  "And hear what all they've been up to." The laugh of an equmara was large and loud, filling the limited space of the chamber. "Or perhaps not. If they were my daughters, there'd be all manner of gossip of a morning about the night before."

  A flush of heat passed her cheeks. "I'm not sure that..."

  "Oh, we all know the manoa can be such prudes," said Sarsia with a wink. "No need to be embarrassed about embarrassment. Enough flowing through as there is. Take your time, figure out what you're doing with your leman back home, and be yourself."

  The hunter was not sure what 'leman' meant, though the word had come up several times the previous evening. Ardenne was afraid to ask. That it had something to do with the overly friendly attitude of the equmara towards practically everyone was obvious, but the particulars...

  Her stomach churned. The particulars could wait until after breakfast.

  The opening meal was laid out in a long, open chamber with a fabric wall overhead and arches all along the sides that led to the open water. Sarsia escorted her in, gifting one last embrace before going about her own business for the day. The meal was just for the manoa, she saw, with small fish and large clams included amidst the usual fare of the equmara. Rhiela was expertly cracking some cockles shells with a pair of metal rods hooked at one end. The princess's face was sour as a yellowed sweet pod.

  One ear was all Ardenne needed to know why.

  "Aw, come on, sis! Was she really that good a kisser?" Jumilla was saying.

  "That is a personal question that shall remain private," replied her twin. Jumella's smile was terrible at keeping secrets, however, and Jumilla howled with laughter as the first sister's composure happily crumbled, grain by grain.

  "Well, Cairisty was curious," Jumilla continued. "You know, about how differently the two of us might go about things, and that got me to wondering, too. We've never compared notes."

  "Never anything to compare," Jumella noted back.

  "Exactly!" A double-seeded green pod waved through the waters between the twins as Jumilla attempted to gesticulate her point. "And now that we do, we should! You know the equmara will... depths, they probably are talking about us right this beat at their own breakfast."

  There was a loud crack as a cockle shell gave way to pressure and split in twain. The princess kneaded the base of her thumb and winced. "Really. Must we gossip so? Show some decorum, please."

  "What's'at, deh-ko-rahm?" With a yawn on her lips, Rook finned her way into the chamber.

  "It is what one does, if one is acting properly," the princess informed the orange mer. Her huff of indignation was as slow flush over the gills.

  "Ah. Okay. Still not sure 'a what, but anyhoo..." Rook settled down next to Ardenne. The hunter handed her a small root, one known around the Grandest Reef as the wakey-up. A chew or three usually did it for her, but Rook made it all the way through before her body perked up in one great beat, from the tip of her flukes to the crown of her head. The orange mer shivered and shook herself all over. "Whoo-ee, that's somethin' right there. So what'cher all talkin' about?"

  "Our evenings," said Jumilla. "Or at least, I'm trying to." An indignant glare was ignored by her twin.

  Rook giggled. "Yeah, some party, right? Me, Blaer, and Elspeth were up to, like, the middle 'a night hour talkin' runecraft."

  "I recall," said Rhiela. "So the three of you worked something out?"

  "A-yup, and wouldn't'cher know, these equmara kept a few runes what we've forgotten? All moving force runes, ebby and flowy o' course, but that's 'zactly what I needed for that thing from the Drift. It's a heater, makes these thermal currents to warm up even a really big chamber, like what the palace had with the fancy pillars an' stuff. That's at full flow, o' course. Prolly not a good idea to rune it long like that."

  "Well, at least one of us had a productive evening," the princess said pointedly. "Without, ahem, shenanigans."

  "Oh, and then Blaer an' Elspeth taught me these li'l flowy cantrips what can be used to tickle a mer, and whoo-ee, are those fun-fun if'n you gets creative..." A dreamy smile passed over Rook's face. "Surprised we got any sleep at all last night, for honest, 'tween that and the kisses an' the cuddles an'..."

  "I think she got us beat, sis," said Jumilla. Her twin only rolled her eyes in response.

  Sera swam in to the sound of Rook trying to continue her story of the night before, over the twins' squabbling and Rhiela's attempts to change the flow of the conversation. "So everyone had an enjoyable evening?" asked the red mer. At the princess's harrumph, she amended herself: "Everyone who wanted to enjoy it, that is?"

  "I cannot complain," said Jumella.

  "Yeah, but you won't tell us, either!"

  "You recall what Granny Liesa had to say about the chatty oysters."

  "Spare me, sis."

  Sera leaned down to pat Ardenne on the shoulder. "Doing better?" the red mer asked. "When... well, warned 'em about you, to take it easy and all, but didn't think Rohaise'd send her own mam over."

  "That was...?" Now that it was mentioned, Ardenne thought she saw the resemblance. "Ah, when next you see her, give her my thanks for, er, for sharing."

  "Sharing. Hah." Sera chuckled. "That's one thing the mer equmara are good at, for sure. How they've survived this long out here. No blessed sacrament for 'em, not since the war what never got started."

  "The Fugitives War," said Rhiela. "That's what you mean, isn't it?"

  "Surprised you've heard of it, brownie. Mers up in Bryndoon don't talk 'bout it much. Kind of embarrassing, to get a war started and then no one shows up. But after what happened to the galda, the equmara weren't 'bout to stick 'round, so they all left. The Crown and Temple must've figured they'd either come back or die out with no sacrament to help 'em have daughters."

  "But instead it's like... like the girls at the Wayward Drift," said Ardenne. "That's it, isn't it? That's why the mer equmara are so, ah, friendly?"

  The red mer nodded. "What Mezzegheb does by accident, Mezzeret does on purpose. Let you all figure out which half of this sea is happier at the end of the day. Or the night," she added, smiling at the sour look the comment left on Rhiela's face. "But 'nuff about that. Eat up! Got a meeting with the keepers at the start of the hour."

  Ardenne had to assume that meant something or someone of importance. In strange waters, she had to trust in the roguish red mer's judgment and guidance. An evening of weeping and being held had done her good, though. She no longer feared what was to come, at least not without reason.

  Reasons would come soon enough, she knew. There was no point in welcoming them in from the passing flow.