Page 117 of Storm and Sea

Chel’s shoulders sagged, and he noticed for the first time her wavegrass dress hung loose around her frame.

“The kelp is getting sick.”

“A pest?” Nyel asked, immediately wondering if it was something the goatfish could eradicate.

“We thought so. Your family’s school has been working overtime, going from farm to farm, trying to fix this. But nothing is working. My dad says it’s not a pest. It’s the water.”

“Water?”

“Those human ships. When they pass, they leave behind something. Like a black cloud, it dissipates in the water. It’s killing our kelp. It is not just ours; all the farms are losing crops by the day. People are getting sick, too. Nobody’s died yet, but…”

Nyel couldn’t believe this. He knew the ships were a nuisance—their giant propellers creating noise that carried for leagues. But this? This was an epidemic.

“What is Corallina doing?”

“What can we do? We’re trying our best to stop it. Some of the farms are resorting to harvesting early, even though the kelp isn’t ready, just to preserve some food.”

Nyel cringed. Unripened kelp was bitter and caused painful stomach aches and nausea—something he knew all too well from the time he’d eaten a leaf on a dare.

“Have there been shortages?”

“A little. Right now, we’re worried about feeding ourselves, let alone the other villages that depend on us. It’s about to get a lot worse. And winter isn’t even here yet. Some families are talking about leaving the bay.”

Nyel’s heart sank. Sireni were not deep ocean dwellers. Their kind, from the beginning of forever, had always lived in the abundant, warm, shallow waters where the rays of the sun reached the sand. In deeper seas? Open waters?

“They won’t make it. If they leave, they’ll either starve or be picked off by predators.”

“What choice do they have?”

Before he could argue, Donato clapped Mr. Ernesti on the shoulder and exchanged parting words.

“I better go. We’re going to harvest early, too. It’ll taste vile, but food is food.” Her shoulders fell miserably as she said it. Nyel hugged her before watching her and Mr. Ernesti disappear into the blue waters.

The ships were killing his people. Killing his village. And there was nothing they could do to stop it. Nyel realized with a desperate ache in his heart that he might lose both the places he’d learned to call home.

“Damn it!”

Leo kicked the net with frustration. Three tiny fish were all that accounted for his morning catch, and one was already dead. He stomped on their worthless corpses.

“Damn it, Damn it, Damn it, DAMN IT!”

He crushed them until they were nothing but chum beneath his boots. Leo collapsed to the deck, back against the guard rail, holding his head in his hands. The net brought up less and less fish every day. Pretty soon, even with the advantage of a new boat, it wouldn’t be enough. How was he going to explain to Edgar that they’d have to return the boots they’d just bought him? How would he explain to Annetta they’d have to sheer her curls again? Right when they finally started to grow back. How would he… how would he…

How would Leo bear this torture for the rest of the season? And likely the next. And the next. For the rest of his life, he’d be a slave to his master.

Alvise had called him into the valley six times now. Or was it seven? Leo lost track of the days spent on the estate. Lost track of the hours he spent on his knees, doing nothing. Leo didn’t understand the game Alvise was playing with him or what reaction he hoped to get. Each time Leo was called to the estate, Alvise commanded him to kneel in the center of the room, hands crossed behind his back, and wait.

People shuffled in and out: businessmen, maids, butlers, and other members of Alvise’s ‘collection’ of beautiful things. All of them wore the Vincenzo sigil in one form or another, a golden lion rearing over a sash of purple. It appeared over and over. First as a necklace, then a vest, or emblazoned on a suit pocket—all markers of ownership.

All Alvise’s property.

They walked past Leo without a word. He may as well have been a piece of furniture. No one acknowledged him, not even when Leo’s pleading eyes searched for theirs, begging for help. They didn’t want the same fate.

He knelt on the biting cold marble floors until his knees went numb, and his arms ached from holding them behind his back. Leo learned early on that even the slightest shift in position would catch Alvise’s attention. The Lord of the estate immediately commanded Leo to resume his uncomfortable stance.

“Or do I need to bring my guards in?”

Leo shook his head, crossing his arms obediently.