He follows me to the bridge.

“My god…” He runs his hand over the back of the captain’s chair. He gawps at the pipe organ, the great eye windows, the LOCUS orbs glowing over the control consoles. “Why are you letting me see this, Ana? Is this my punishment?”

He sounds bitter, yes, but there’s more to it. I think he’s starting to realize what he’s lost…and it isn’t just the Nautilus. It’s HP. His own future. Maybe even me.

“I wanted you to meet her,” I say. “And also to show you something. Nautilus has heard about you. You’re a Dakkar. If you like, you can try to give her an order.”

He looks at me skeptically, but his eyes gleam with desire.

“Nautilus,” he says at last. His Bundeli is rustier than mine, but he gives it a try. “I’m Dev Dakkar. I…was supposed to be your captain. Will you dive for me? Set depth at five meters.”

Nothing happens.

I think Dev expected this. His shoulders slump, nonetheless. “You’ve locked me out.”

“No,” I say. “The Nautilus just doesn’t trust you. You insulted her, tried to capture her.”

He frowns, dismayed. “Ana…I know the story. This ship killed our parents.”

The bridge’s lighting turns a shade of violet.

“This ship,” I say, “was left sitting on the bottom of the lagoon for a century and a half. She was angry and only half-functioning. She lashed out. Now she’s grieving, just like we are.”

“Grieving…” Dev sounds like he’s trying to remember the word. “Have you really forgiven the ship?”

“I’m working on it,” I say, which is the truth. Dev and the Nautilus deserve nothing less. With my eyes still locked on my brother, I give the ship a command I’ve been avoiding since I first stepped on board. “Nautilus, take us to the bottom of the lagoon, please. Show us the gardens.”

Immediately, the engines hum. The moorings retract. Water laps over the great windows as we submerge.

We sink slowly, almost reverently, into the dark center of the old volcano.

“What are the gardens?” Dev asks warily.

“We’ll see,” I tell him.

I walk to the prow and stare out the windows. After some hesitation, Dev joins me.

We watch in silence until the Nautilus comes to a stop, hovering in the deep. She switches on her forward lights. Before us stretches a seascape of a thousand different marine plants: orchards of kelp that ripple orange in the submarine’s light, thick fields of purple moss, rows of bright-green sea-grape bushes. Some of the plants seem to be there only for decoration, dotted with strange flowers that could be anemones, or orchids, or something from another planet, blooming in shades of violet and red.

Dev swallows. “It’s beautiful.”