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“Should they successfully pass second year, they will have the option of serving the Center as a guard, a highly coveted position.”
Merletta tilted her head to the side, interested. She had known that the Center guards were different from the general guards of each of the triple kingdoms, who patrolled the borders to make sure nothing dangerous entered the cities. She shuddered slightly as she remembered her encounter with the shark the morning before, then pulled her attention back to the instructor’s words. It was news to her that the elite Center guards had once been in the training program for the record holders. Presumably this was why she had been put through a simple physical test before being accepted as an applicant.
“If they continue to a third year, as Ileana has done,”—Merletta could tell that the other mermaid wasn’t even looking her way, so she didn’t bother nodding—“they train to join the educators.”
His eyes rested on the final trainee, the oldest, whom she realized must be nineteen. “And Emil, of course, is in his fourth and final year of training. When he passes, he will become a junior record holder.”
Merletta looked at the pale-skinned young merman with increased respect. It hadn’t escaped her notice that Instructor Wivell had said when Emil passes, not if.
“In each year, you will undertake training in all areas, of course,” Instructor Wivell said. “Our intention is for your education to be holistic, regardless of which role you ultimately assume. You will live, eat, and train with your fellow trainees, so you must learn to work together.”
Merletta glanced at Ileana in spite of herself. From the twist to the other girl’s mouth, working together didn’t seem like a very realistic goal.
“Merletta,” Instructor Wivell said, calling her attention back to him with a snap. “You will not join normal training today. An educator will be assigned to you for the day, to give you a tour of the Center, and provide the introductory information necessary.” He turned away from her, glancing down at his writing leaf. “Oliver, Instructor Agner wishes you to join the same guard squad again today, to continue the training exercise you began yesterday.” He looked up again. “The rest of you, we will begin literacy in five minutes.”
Without another word, the rest of the trainees rose from their places, tails swishing as they made their way out of the room, clearly all aware of where they needed to go.
“I will show you to the educators’ headquarters,” said Instructor Wivell, when they were alone. “You will meet here each morning, to kick off the day’s training.” He paused. “Except for the weekly rest days, of course, such as tomorrow.”
Merletta deflated slightly, disappointed to be delayed an extra day in joining the training.
“What do we do on rest days?” she asked curiously.
Instructor Wivell had a slight crease between his eyebrows as he looked at her. “Whatever you wish. It is unallocated time.” He thought for a moment. “I suppose most trainees go back to their homes, to visit their families.”
Merletta barely held in a snort at the idea of visiting the charity home by choice. Not likely. She could see Tish, she supposed, although she didn’t have much to tell her yet, other than the bare fact of her acceptance into the program.
It took only a brief moment of reflection to know what she was going to do with the unexpected free time. A smile tugged at her lips. And it didn’t involve visiting anyone or anything within the triple kingdoms.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“We are down to two contestants!”
The herald’s voice rang over the collected audience, his tone slightly pompous.
“Soon, we will have our archery champion!”
The crowd of commoners roared their approval, and Heath clapped politely along with the others in the stand occupied by the royal family and its extended connections.
“You should be out there, Heath,” said Percival from beside him, his tone disapproving. “It’s foolishness to give up competing just to sit here with me.”
“Nonsense,” said Heath vaguely, his eyes on the target being set up on the green in front of them. He had told himself he didn’t care about the tournament—and it was mostly true—but he had been engrossed in spite of himself by the archery competition.
The tournament was held in a specially constructed arena not far outside the city wall. Their raised stand was located on one side of the large grassy area being used for archery. The hand to hand combat took place in a separate enclosed area nearby, although it was finished for the morning. The solid gray walls of Bryford rose up behind Heath. Further out in the opposite direction he could see a cloud of dust being kicked up from those practicing on the broad dirt oval where the mounted competitions, such as jousting, were held.
But for the moment, everyone’s focus was on the archery, which had entered its final round. Heath glanced behind him to the top of the seating stand. King Matlock and Queen Renata were looking on with well practiced smiles. Crown Prince Lachlan looked slightly more interested, leaning forward on his knees, but Prince Knox’s smile looked a little forced. Heath remembered that the younger prince was mainly interested in the more physical competitions, like jousting. Archery probably held little appeal for him, but Heath supposed that as it was a final round, the royal family were all expected to attend, to congratulate the champion.
Heath returned his attention to the field. The final two competitors had been called forward to try their hand at the deciding challenge.
“Whew,” Percival said with a low whistle, over the gasps and murmurs of the crowd. “That’s a long target. Further than last year, surely?” He glanced at his brother. “Do you think you could hit that, Heath?”
“Yes,” said Heath simply. “I think so.”
He knew so, actually, but there was no need to be boastful. As the first competitor stepped up, Heath’s arm flexed involuntarily, his fingers forgetting for a moment that he didn’t have his bow in his hand. The competitor raised his bow to eye level, drawing his arm back and taking what seemed an inordinately long time to line the shot up. When he finally released, the arrow whizzed through the air with impressive speed, burying itself in the outer ring of the bullseye.
The crowd let out a collective breath, and many of the watchers began to cheer uproariously. The archer waved to his admirers, a lazy grin on his face, as he stepped back. Heath recognized the man as the one who had come in second to him the year before, and he had no doubt that he would be the victor. The man had probably been delighted to hear that Heath wasn’t competing. Even as it occurred, Heath chastised himself for the ungenerous thought.
The final competitor stepped up, taking even longer to line up his shot. The morning was advanced, and the day had become warm. From his seat, Heath could see the beads of sweat rolling slowly down the competitor’s forehead as he adjusted his aim slightly. Heath began to fidget with impatience, but finally the archer let his arrow fly. It buried itself in the target, but much further out than the first man’s. There were a few groans of disappointment from those who had been cheering for the second man, but they were soon drowned out by applause as the first man raised an arm in victory. Heath could see on people’s faces they were impressed that either man could hit the target at all from that distance.
