The Mermaids Madness

marine navigation, from simple star charts to celestial globes of enchanted quartz to the first astrolabe.
    The oven had been extinguished after breakfast, as the growing winds made the risk of fire too great, but the smell of fresh-roasted sausage lingered in the air. Snow sat on a wooden bench in the corner, knees pulled close to support her book. She was so absorbed in her reading that she barely noticed the gentle clangs of the pots and pans hanging on the wall.
    Her choker cast a soft beam of sunlight on the pages. Each oval mirror was an enchanted twin to the magic mirror she had inherited from her mother.
    This was her second choker. The first had been destroyed a year before. Snow had spent several months working to create a new one. To Snow’s surprise, Danielle had proved quite helpful. Her father had been a skilled glassmaker, and though he had died long ago, Danielle still remembered much of what she had learned from watching him. She had shown Snow several tricks to help her improve the quality of the mirrors.
    These were slightly larger than the mirrors from Snow’s first choker. The gold-rimmed edges dug into her chin and throat if she bowed her head too far, but the larger size made it easier to manipulate their power. In the days leading up to this voyage, she had used the mirrors to capture several days’ worth of sunlight. This wasn’t her first time at sea, and despite what certain people might think, she couldn’t spend the entire time flirting with the crew. Three more books waited for her in her cabin.
    The first scream shattered her spell, plunging the galley into darkness. She pressed one hand to the wall, rising on unsteady legs. There had been a magical element to that scream, but it was a damaged magic, like an injured boar, wild and enraged.
    She waited for the sound to fade, then touched her choker, restoring enough light to make her way safely out of the galley. She passed other crewmen rushing to and fro. “What’s happening?”
    “Out of the way, girl!” Strong hands shoved her aside.
    Snow muttered a quick charm beneath her breath. The man yelled as his boots slid out from under him.
    “Excuse me.” Snow flashed a friendly smile as she stepped over the groaning man and climbed up into the sunlight.
    The scream came again. This time, Snow was able to brace herself. This wasn’t a deliberate spell. Her own magic drew on various energies, from the sun’s light to her own will, weaving them into whatever pattern she chose. These screams were . . . snarled . Power without form.
    At the front of the main deck, Prince Armand was shouting to the crew. Snow climbed onto one of the longboats for a better view. A canvas tarp covered the boat, and she moved carefully, feeling for the crossbeams until she found a comfortable spot to stand and watch.
    On the forecastle, a half-naked woman holding a spear was fighting with Talia. The stranger appeared human, but her nudity marked her as undine, as did that sharkskin harness. Royalty, judging from the oyster necklace. This had to be Posannes’ daughter Lirea.
    Queen Beatrice stood behind Lirea and Talia, unable to get past. Already the crew had gathered, blocking Snow’s way. She turned to the nearest crewman. “I’ll wager a dozen crowns on Talia.”
    Talia soon ripped the spear from her opponent’s grasp, delivering one blow after another. Lirea screamed again, then drew her knife.
    Snow’s breath caught. Unlike the screams, the magic woven into that knife was deliberate and precise. She could feel only a faint shadow of the knife’s power, little more than a whisper, but it was a whisper full of pain and despair. Snow leaped from the longboat and tried to shove her way to the forecastle.
    The mermaid lunged, and Talia broke the spear over her back. An instant later, the magic in the knife flared up like oil-soaked rags.
    “Bea!” There were too many people in her way. Snow jammed her thumb beneath one man’s jaw, a dirty trick Talia had taught her years before. A whispered spell caused another to leap back, even as her illusory spiders flickered and vanished. Tossing spells with abandon, Snow cleared a path to the forecastle, heedless of the injuries she left in her wake.
    Moments later Snow knelt beside the queen, her hands over the gash in Beatrice’s chest. She sent the others away. Even as she frantically drew on her magic to chill the wound and slow the bleeding, panic threatened to unravel her spells.
    The knife