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“It wasn’t so cold,” Heath answered evasively.
Percival’s eyes narrowed. “Where do you two go? Every week, like clockwork.”
“You know how Reka and I get,” Heath hedged. “We love to explore.”
“That’s not an answer.” Percival sounded less than impressed.
“What do you care?” Heath challenged. “I thought you were focused on this edict that’s supposed to be coming from King Matlock.”
“I was,” said Percival shortly. “And it would have been nice to think I had the support of my own brother.”
Heath frowned. “Would have been?”
“Edict’s out, it’s done,” said Percival.
Heath straightened, an ominous feeling growing within him. “And? What did he decide?”
“He sided with them,” said Percival, the venom in his voice causing alarm to swirl around Heath’s stomach. “We’ve been summoned to attend Bryford within the next month. We dangerous power-wielders are to be registered. Like cattle.”
Heath raised an eyebrow. “You’re being very dramatic.”
“Actually,” Percival pushed himself off the wall he’d been leaning against, “I haven’t gotten to the dramatic part yet. No one’s announced it, but the rumor is that once we’re registered, and our powers are assessed, we’re going to be restricted in using them.”
“Restricted?” Heath repeated slowly. “Restricted how?”
Not that he really even needed to hear the answer. The angry sneer on Percival’s face told him what a disaster these restrictions would be, whether reasonable or not.
“We can only use them at the request of His High and Mighty Majesty.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“You seem low lately.”
“Hm?” Merletta looked up absently. “Sorry, Sage, what were you saying? I was distracted.”
“Yes, I know.” Sage smiled. “That’s what I was saying.”
“Oh.” Merletta laughed unconvincingly, and Sage’s forehead creased in concern.
“Seriously, what’s going on? I thought everyone liked Founders’ Day. You missed all the festival games, and you’ve barely even glanced at the banquet. In case you haven’t noticed, there’s enough food here to feed the whole triple kingdoms.”
“It’s certainly a lot of food,” Merletta conceded, glancing around the large open space. Or at least, it seemed large when empty. She knew that from all the times she’d swum past it in her explorations of the Center. But at the moment, it was so packed with merpeople that the space seemed cramped.
Everyone was dressed for the occasion, mermaids wearing their most finely-wrought shells, their wrists adorned with delicately carved rings of coral, and their hair braided with pearls. Even many of the mermen wore their hair in elaborate braids. Emil, across the room, had his fair hair pulled partially back into a braid. It flowed down over the rest of his hair, which was floating freely around him. It wasn’t dissimilar to the way Sage’s brown hair was styled, but the effect was entirely different. Emil looked like a warrior, whereas Sage looked dressed for a dance. Perhaps it was the blossoms poking out from her tresses, or the periwinkles circling her neck on a delicate strand.
And Sage wasn’t wrong about the elaborate feast. It was a hundred times more impressive than anything the charity home had ever put on. Merletta could only imagine the work involved in preparing that much food over the thermal vents and transporting it all to the Center. The food was spread over many tables, and they were all lined with diaphanous green plants. Their crenelated edges undulated gently in the constant currents created by the feasters moving about the space. Darkness had begun to fall, and plankton lanterns were glowing in every corner of the banquet area.
It was a spectacular sight, but somehow Merletta didn’t feel very festive. And it wasn’t because she had nothing to wear except her usual standard issue shells. And her satchel, of course. A few of the attendees had thrown confused looks at the kelp bag. They were probably trying to figure out where Merletta fit. Her armband declared her as a trainee, but the only others wearing satchels were servers, or guards, who were on duty and therefore needed access to supplies. She didn’t care if she looked odd. She wasn’t going to leave her treasures unguarded for a whole evening.
The fact that she’d missed the games, while a little disappointing, also wasn’t the cause of her low mood. She would have liked to at least watch them, but Founders’ Day fell on a rest day, and she hadn’t even considered staying in the Center for it.
Much good that determination had done her.
“I’m sorry,” she sighed, turning to the other trainee. “I’ll try to be better company.”
“Never mind about that,” said Sage, still frowning. “Are the instructors getting you down?” She glanced around and lowered her voice, a sure sign she was about to say something not completely supportive about either the program or the instructors. Her private defiance was growing, but her public facade hadn’t changed at all. “Ibsen was out of line the other day, with that slur about not having a name.”
“I don’t care about Ibsen,” said Merletta impatiently.
