Luce’s reflexes took over and she dove in a spasm of fear. Dimly she heard her father’s cry and the thud as he threw himself belly-down on the tilting raft. A surge of terror sped her heart, spasmed through her tail, but she could feel the raft’s drag slowing her unbearably. Land was so close now. The island’s dark peak loomed in her eyes, and she fought to reach it. Under normal conditions she could easily outswim an orca, but Luce realized with horror that the extra weight would hold her back too much. She strained to drive herself harder, but she seemed to be swimming through something thick and inhibiting, gray honey taking the place of cool water. Her tail was so cramped and tired that it twitched awkwardly as she tried to accelerate. And in the corners of her eyes she could see shadow-shapes closing in . . .

They came from the sides, not from below as she’d feared. And even in her panic Luce realized the shapes were too small to be orcas. Dolphins, then? For a fraction of a second she was ready to scream from sheer relief.

Her relief died as other dark shapes darted below her and she saw that she was surrounded. They weren’t just too small to be orcas: they were also too quick, too graceful and sinuous, and a faint glow slicked their skin. Anais would love nothing more than to murder Luce’s father in front of her . . . Luce wove from side to side, looking for a way through the closing ring of mermaids. There was a flash and a blur, and a pair of dark Inuit eyes stared straight into hers. Who was that? Hands seized Luce’s shoulders from the sides, and the dark-eyed mermaid jerked her head, signaling them upward. Luce thrashed as they tugged her to the surface. The gold of sunset flecked the sea in all directions, and there was that beckoning island. It was so close now that Luce could make out a ramshackle old dock.

Luce stared around in the golden light, catching one quick glimpse of her father’s appalled face. Half a dozen mermaids pressed around her, their hands tight on her arms to keep her from escaping, and Luce realized that she didn’t recognize any of them.

“Okay,” the Inuit mermaid snapped. Her round cheeks glowed tan, and her almond eyes flashed. She was the only one not gripping Luce: their queen, obviously. “I’ve got some questions for you.”

Luce glanced back at her father again, trying to warn him with her eyes to keep silent. He looked too stunned to say anything; at least Luce hoped he was.

“Are you new at this or something?” the dark mermaid snarled, drawing Luce’s attention back to her. “Metaskaza?”

Luce stared at her and then looked around at her followers. All their faces were hard, unyielding, gorgeous in the evening light. “Let us go.”