Atlantia

I shake my head as if I don’t know what he means. “It’s working exactly the way we wanted.”

I am beginning to know what I can do, and this makes me smile.

“You did it,” True says, reaching to help me out of the lane. There is a brief, charged moment when we touch. My happiness makes him glad, but his eyes still look worried. Does he know? Was he close enough to see me speaking underwater? But why would that tell him anything? He doesn’t know I’m a siren, and even if he did, most sirens can only control other humans.

“Anyone who sees you swim,” True says, “will remember it forever.”

What he says echoes what I thought earlier, that I will not forget what True has done for me. And he speaks with sincerity, with that warmth that radiates all through him, and I wish it were all around me. I wish he would put his hands on my face and warm me all the way through.

It’s a wild thought, but I’m cold and crazy with relief and exhaustion. It’s hard to wait for a moment to let it all settle before I speak again.

“Anyone who sees what you can make will do the same,” I say. “This is going to work. Perfectly. I’ll tell Aldo to set the date. Three days from now.” It will be a spectacle. No. It will be more than that.

It will be a celebration.

True starts laughing. It’s the kind of laughing people do when they’re children, the kind I’ve always been envious of, where you can’t seem to stop, something is that bright and funny. The sound is beautiful and his eyes crinkle almost shut.

“What is it?” I ask. “What did I say?”

“In that bucket of leaves that you gave me,” True says, “there was a tiger head. From one of the gods. Did you put it in there on purpose?”

“No,” I say, shocked. I’m surprised I didn’t notice such a thing, even in the dark. But it makes sense, the way the gods were always coming apart. “Where is it? What did you do with it?”

“I melted it down with the rest,” True says. “It’s one of the fish now. The one with the key.”

And now I cover my mouth with both hands, whether in horror or mirth, I’m not certain. The word I manage to say is “Blasphemy,” in a whisper, and True puts his arm around me like we’re old friends, which in some ways we are. In some ways, he is the oldest friend I have. I feel his body, still shaking with laughter, against mine.

“Don’t you believe in the gods?” I ask.

“Of course,” he says. “I believe in them so much that I don’t think they need statues everywhere to be powerful. None of that makes any difference.”

He waits for me outside the changing room, and as I put on my other clothes I find myself laughing, too, without a sound. I feel almost happy. And I feel terrible, because I have learned many things—about sirens, and the nature of them, and the ancient past of Atlantia, and about myself—and I can’t tell True any of it. He has been a good friend the past few weeks, and I have kept so much from him.

There is one discovery, however, that I have to share with True. I can’t go to the Above without letting him know the truth about Nevio. “I have a secret,” I say, when I come back outside.

“What is it?” True asks. He doesn’t seem surprised but interested and eager. His expression almost seems to say I know and At last! which gives me pause for a second. What does he think I’m about to tell him?

I’m about to tell True that our Minister is a siren. This is not something that’s easy to say without any emotion or accusation in your voice. I’ve got to hold back.

This also isn’t something anyone else should hear.

So I lean in closer to True.

He moves in, too, and ducks his head a bit so I can whisper in his ear. To an outsider we might look normal, a girl and a boy sharing secrets in the deepmarket.

“Nevio the Minister,” I whisper, “is a siren.”

True doesn’t pull away, but when he whispers back, he sounds stunned. Whatever he thought I was going to say, it wasn’t this. “How do you know?”

Does he believe me? “Nevio lied,” I say. “And I knew it because I’d seen the truth. Otherwise I might have gone on believing him. But once he lied, I knew, and then I could feel it when he was speaking. He is a siren. I’m sure.”

“This means he’s been hiding his ability,” True says. “He must be extremely powerful to manage that.”

“I know,” I say. This is the most frightening part of all. Nevio knows how to sound like everyone else, and he can put just the right amount of power into his voice to give effective sermons and exhortations without the people suspecting anything more. It must take an uncanny amount of self-control.

Nevio is very, very strong.

“Do you think your mother knew that Nevio is a siren?” True asks.

I’ve wondered the same thing. I don’t think she did. My mother didn’t tell me everything—she kept her own counsel. I’m painfully aware of this. But so much of what she did was to protect me. I can’t imagine her bringing me to live at the temple school or urging me to take up a temple vocation if she thought Nevio was dangerous or knew that he was a siren. And if she’d discovered such a thing, she would have removed Bay and me immediately.

Was that what she was coming to tell Maire the night she died? Had my mother found out Nevio’s secret?

If she knew his secret, it would be a very good reason for him to kill her.

The expression on True’s face makes me think that his thoughts are similar to mine.

“I don’t know if she found out,” I say. “I can’t be certain. If she did, she didn’t have time to tell me.”

“Do you think any of the priests know what he is?”

“I don’t think so,” I say, “at least, not if they believe as my mother did, that the church and temple can best help if the people come to them without being persuaded. A siren changes that dynamic automatically.” But there could be priests who don’t believe as my mother did, or ones who feel loyal to Nevio. “Do you think the Council knows?” I ask True. “Should we tell them?”

“I’m not sure,” True says. “Maybe they do know. Maybe that’s why they wanted Nevio to be the Minister.” He shakes his head. “The more we find out, the more confusing it all becomes.”