Waterfire Saga, Book Three: Dark Tide: A Deep Blue Novel by Jennifer Donnelly

fractious Meerteufel.
    Yazeed swam to her side now. “Nervous?” he asked her.
    “Very,” she admitted.
    “Who do the Kobold hate?” he asked.
    Sera laughed darkly. “Everyone.”
    “Who do they hate the
most
?”
    “Each other,” she replied.
    “Exactly. And the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Remember that, Sera.”
    Sera nodded, grateful, as always, for Yazeed’s counsel.
    The Kobold goblins, once a single people, had splintered into several tribes thousands of years ago, and had feuded over lava seams and ore deposits ever since. Many members of the Feuerkumpel
tribe were in Cerulea, serving as mercenaries in her uncle’s army. The Feuerkumpel and the Meerteufel despised each other. Sera planned to take advantage of that fact now.
    Sera heard the sound of footsteps, so alien to mer ears, and then doors to the stateroom swung open. Standing in the entry-way was a short, stocky goblin. Like all other sea goblins, he had
transparent eyes, holes for nostrils, and gills on his neck, but Meerteufel goblins had two features that distinguished them from other tribes: black-lipped mouths, and horns. One pair of horns
curved up from the goblin’s temples, the other sprouted downward from his jaw. Sera recognized him. He was Stickstoff, head of the Meerteufel’s military.
    “Hövdingen tar emot nu!”
he barked.
    Sera understood him.
The Chieftain will see you now!
    Her hand automatically went to her ring—Mahdi’s ring. Touching it made her feel like he was near, and that gave her strength. She took a deep breath and led her fighters into the
stateroom. Her back was straight, her head was high. She wore no silty camo fatigues now; she’d come before the Meerteufel dressed as the queen she was in a shimmering blue sea-silk gown and
long, high-necked black coat. A choker of pearls and sapphires circled her neck. A crown of pure gold adorned her head.
    The goblins did not need to know that Neela had made the dress and coat out of draperies she’d found in an abandoned mansion, or that the jewels had been snatched during the Black
Fins’ raid on Miromara’s treasury vaults.
    They didn’t need to know that Sera, and her Black Fins, were in constant fear for their lives. That they were weak, exhausted, and desperate. That these negotiations were their last
hope.
    Sera was doing what generations of reginas before her had done in times of peril—she was bluffing.
    Sera hadn’t had the luxury of learning how to rule during peacetime. This was war, and she had to learn fast, while hungry and dirty and scared. Her mother had often told her that ruling
was like playing chess, and that she must play the board, not the piece. The last few months had taught Sera the meaning of her mother’s words: ruling was a game of moves and countermoves, of
feints and ripostes. One had to anticipate her opponent, and think several moves ahead. Sera was now playing a game of life and death. And she was playing to win.
    “Approach…
regina
,” snarled a goblin voice in Mermish.
    It belonged to Guldemar. He was sitting on his throne, which was shaped like a giant sea serpent. Its coiled lower body was the throne’s seat, a pair of fins the arms. Its horrible, thick
neck stretched up above Guldemar, and its fanged head hung over him like a canopy. Sera knew this was Hafgufa, the kraken. According to ancient North Sea legends, the Meerteufel chieftains could
call the creature forth from its lair, deep under the seabed, in times of great trouble.
    Fanned out on either side of Guldemar were prominent members of his court: Nok, his wife; Pelf, the keeper of his treasury; and Nörgler, his foreign minister. Stickstoff took his place with
them. They regarded the Black Fins with a mixture of suspicion and contempt.
    Sera swam to the throne and curtsied deeply to the fearsome leader.
    “Greetings, most dread chieftain,” she said, rising. “You have my gratitude for welcoming me, Miromara’s true regina, and my court, into