She pulled the moonstone necklace out from beneath her shirt and rubbed it with her thumb, grateful that she had this one tangible reminder of her City. The stone was cold today—it seemed to have a mind of its own when it came to temperature, rarely reflecting the air around it or even the warmth of Sera’s body. She wondered if it had always been like that when it had sat hidden in Leela’s bedroom in the City Above the Sky. And the other night, Agnes said she had woken abruptly in the room they shared and swore she heard it humming from around Sera’s neck.

“I’m coming, Leela,” she murmured. “I’m coming, mothers.”

Leo squeezed her shoulder. “We’ll get you back to them.”

But he didn’t know that for sure, not really.

“What did she say?” Vada asked.

Sera felt a familiar surge of frustration. She was convinced there must be a way for her to communicate—not just understand, but speak and be understood—with the humans on this planet, whether they spoke Pelagan or Kaolish. She could not believe that the Cerulean of old would have gone down to a planet and blood bonded with perfect strangers, or given their blood away, willingly or not. So far those were the only two ways Sera had managed to make first Agnes and then Leo understand her. There had to be a way of communicating without her having to sacrifice quite so much. Especially now that she knew blood bonding with humans meant sharing memories.

She kept thinking back to that night when she had accidentally blood bonded with Leo while she was trapped in the crate. She hadn’t been touching him, yet she had seen into his mind and he into hers. He had had her magic inside him already, of course, but Sera was certain there was some way for her to speak to everyone on this planet as naturally as she had spoken to Errol that first night when she woke up in the theater.

Leo translated for her now and Vada gave her a sympathetic look.

“I am still not quite understanding where it is you are coming from,” she said. “But I am hoping you can return there safely.”

Sera smiled at her in thanks.

Suddenly, Errol appeared again, and this time the filaments that hung over his bulging eyes flashed in dire grays and reds, his webbed hands flapping as his fishtail wriggled wildly.

“Ships,” he called. “Ships are coming, with dark sails and cruel faces.”

“What did he say?” Agnes asked, worried.

But before Sera had a chance to translate, a horn sounded. Vada jumped as sailors began pouring onto the decks.

“Triumvirate ships!” Vada’s mother, Violetta, cried as she raced up to them. “Vada, hide Saifa. Now!”