Free Waterfire Saga, Book Four: Sea Spell: Deep Blue Novel, A by Jennifer Donnelly Page B

provide her troops with better food.
    Snøfte shook her head. “I came here because Guldemar ordered it,” she said. “You three”—she nodded at Salvatore, Enzo, and Sera—“
volunteered
.” She laughed.
“Skøre tåber,”
she said in her own language.
Crazy fools.
    “Yeah, I
did
volunteer,” Salvatore said wryly. “At the time, I thought there were things worth dying for—my realm, my city, my ruler. Now, I’m not so sure.”
    Sera’s despondency deepened as she listened to Salvatore and Snøfte. She’d been unable to face sending loyal soldiers to their deaths, soldiers who believed in the fight. The idea of sending soldiers to die for a cause they no longer believed in was even worse.
    “We sit here day after day, getting by on conger eel,
barely
, and all the while, the death riders are coming closer,” Snøfte said. “We need to ambush
them
. Kill them all and put their heads on stakes. Right outside the camp’s gates.”
    “Too right,” Salvatore said, spitting a gob of chewing seaweed into the waterfire. “Serafina will never do it, though. She’s too weak. Too inexperienced. She’s nothing more than a pawn in her uncle’s game.”
    Sera felt like she’d been slapped. Instinctively, she spoke up for herself. “Serafina’s not
all
bad,” she protested, unable to keep a twinge of defensiveness out of her voice. “I hear she loves her subjects very much.”
    Salvatore snorted. His bushy eyebrows shot up. “
Love?
Who cares about love? I’m hungry. I’m cold. I need food and arrows, not
love
,” he said contemptuously. “Love means nothing to me.”
    Enzo, who hadn’t spoken one word the entire time, looked up from his carving. “It means something to me,” he said quietly. “It’s the reason I’m here.”
    Salvatore flapped a hand at him and spat another gob of seaweed into the fire.
    Enzo turned to Sera. “I come from Cerulea, too. From the fabra.”
    Sera nodded. She knew the district well. It was where the city’s artisans lived.
    “My family, we’re woodworkers,” Enzo continued, giving her a smile both proud and sad. “We salvage beams from shipwrecks, comb the shores for driftwood. We carve it into beautiful things—statues, tables, frames.” His smile faded. “We don’t make beautiful things anymore, though. Now we make stocks for crossbows and handles for daggers. My grandfather, my father…they don’t want to do this work, but they don’t have a choice: Vallerio commands it. My uncle refused…” Enzo paused for a few seconds, overcome by emotion, then continued, “…and they took him away.”
    “I’m sorry, Enzo,” Sera said, her heart hurting for him. “I’m guessing you’re here because you didn’t want to do Vallerio’s bidding, either.”
    “No, I didn’t,” Enzo said, defiance in his voice. “I snuck out of the city gates one night when a guard’s back was turned. My grandfather and father cannot fight. They’re too old. My little sons are too young. But I can. And I will. That’s why I’m here. Because I’d rather die fighting for them than live and watch them suffer.”
    Salvatore crossed his arms over his chest. He stared into the waterfire. “Maybe there are some things worth dying for,” he said gruffly.
    “No, Salvatore,” Enzo said. “Not
some
things. One thing:
family
.”
    As the words left Enzo’s lips, the pain finally stopped—the pain in Sera’s head, and her heart.
    Earlier, she’d asked her brother, and her friends, to tell her how to send her people into battle.
How can I give the command? Will somebody tell me?
she’d begged.
    Now somebody had.
    Thank you,
she said silently to the woodcarver.
I owe you more than you’ll ever know.
    She rose, ready for a rest, ready to start again tomorrow. She was just about to bid the others good night when a wailing blare rose over the camp. It dipped, then rose again.
    Snøfte swore. “The alarm siren!” she shouted, jumping to her feet.
    Enzo leapt up and jammed his