“Night terrors, that’s all. Bad dreams come from bad nerves,” Isabella said dismissively.
“The Iele were in it. The river witches. They wanted me to come to them,” Serafina said. “You used to tell me stories about the Iele. You said they were the most powerful of our kind, and if they ever summon us, we have to go. Do you remember?”
Isabella smiled—a rare occurrence. “Yes, but I can’t believe you do,” she said. “I told you those stories when you were a tiny merl. To make you behave. I said the Iele would call you to them and box your ears if you didn’t sit still, as a well-mannered principessa of the House of Merrow should. It was all froth and seafoam.”
Serafina knew the river witches were only make-believe, yet they’d seemed so real in her dream. “They were there. Right in front of me. So close, I could have reached out and touched them,” she said. Then she shook her head at her foolishness. “But they weren’t there, of course. And I have more important things to think about today.”
“Indeed you do. Is your songspell ready?” Isabella asked.
“So that’s why you’re here,” Serafina said archly. “Not to wish me well, or to talk about hairstyles, or the crown prince, or anything normal mothers would talk about with their daughters. You came to make sure I don’t mess up my songspell.”
Isabella fixed Serafina with her fierce blue eyes. “Good wishes are irrelevant. So are hairstyles. What is relevant, is your songspell. It has to be perfect, Sera.”
It has to be perfect. Sera worked so hard at everything she did—her studies, her songcasting, her equestrian competitions—but no matter how high she aimed, her mother’s expectations were always higher.
“I don’t need to tell you that the courts of both Miromara and Matali will be watching,” Isabella said. “You can’t afford to put a fin wrong. And you won’t as long as you don’t give in to your nerves. Nerves are the foe. Conquer them or they’ll conquer you. Remember, it’s not a battle, or a deadlock in Parliament; it’s only a Dokimí.”
“Right, Mom. Only a Dokimí,” said Serafina, her fins flaring. “Only the ceremony in which Alítheia declares me of the blood—or kills me. Only the one where I have to songcast as well as a canta magus does. Only the one where I take my betrothal vows and swear to give the realm a daughter someday. It’s nothing to get worked up about. Nothing at all.”
An uncomfortable silence descended. Isabella was the first one to break it. “One time,” she said, “I had a terrible case of nerves myself. It was when my senior ministers were aligned against me on an important trade initiative, and—”
Serafina cut her off angrily. “Mom, can you just be a mom for once? And forget you’re the regina?” she asked.
Isabella smiled sadly. “No, Sera,” she said. “I can’t.”
Her voice, usually brisk, had taken on a sorrowful note.
“Is something wrong?” Serafina asked, suddenly worried. “What is it? Did the Matalis arrive safely?”
She knew that outlaw bands often preyed upon travelers in lonely stretches of water. The worst of them, the Praedatori, was known to steal everything of value: currensea, jewelry, weapons, even the hippokamps the travelers rode.
“The Matalis are perfectly fine,” Isabella said. “They arrived last night. Tavia saw them. She says they’re well, but weary. Who wouldn’t be? It’s a long trip from the Indian Ocean to the Adriatic Sea.”
Serafina was relieved. It wasn’t only the crown prince and his parents, the emperor and empress, who were in the Matalin traveling party, but also Neela, the crown prince’s cousin. Neela was Serafina’s very best friend, and she was longing to see her. Sera spent her day surrounded by people, yet she was always lonely. She could never let her guard down around her court or her servants. Neela was the only one with whom she could really be herself.
“Did Desiderio ride out to welcome them?” she asked.
Isabella hesitated. “Actually, your father went to meet them,” she finally said.
“Why? I thought Des was supposed to go,” said Serafina, confused. She knew her brother had been looking forward to greeting the Matalis. He and Mahdi, the crown prince, were old friends.
“Desiderio has been deployed to the western borders. With four regiments of acqua guerrieri,” Isabella said bluntly.
Serafina was stunned. And frightened for her brother. “What?” she said. “When?”
“Late last night. At your uncle’s command.”
Vallerio, Isabella’s brother, was Miromara’s high commander. His authority was second only to her own.
“Why?” Sera asked, alarmed. A regiment contained three thousand guerrieri. The threat at the western borders must be serious for her uncle to have sent so many soldiers.
“We received word of another raid. On Acqua Bella, a village off the coast of Sardinia,” Isabella said.
“How many were taken?” Serafina asked, afraid of the answer.