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Merletta could have sworn a flash of alarm crossed the head’s features, but the mask of boredom descended again so quickly, she couldn’t be sure. It was hard to believe there was anything she could say or do that would actually scare the hard-hearted older mermaid.
“I know I wasn’t abandoned,” she pressed, “so there’s no point lying about it. What were my parents’ names?”
The head raised an eyebrow, no sign of alarm on her face now. “I haven’t got the faintest clue,” she said harshly. “I might have been told at the time, but that was sixteen years ago. Why would I remember something so unimportant? You should be thanking me, not coming in here—”
“Thanking you?” Merletta interrupted furiously. “What would I ever thank you for?”
“For shielding you,” the head snapped. “Sometimes we tell children they were abandoned, to save them from knowing the truth about their parents. Half the beneficiaries in here have criminals for parents, or parents who died a shameful death, like yours.”
Merletta could feel the blood draining from her face. “What shameful death?”
“I’m surprised you didn’t figure it out,” the head went on, her expression disdainful. “I can only assume you get it from them. They obviously thought they knew better than everyone else, too. Why do you think I exaggerated my explanation of how drying out can happen?”
“You’re saying my parents dried out?” Merletta asked, her voice sounding unrecognizable in her own ears.
“I was just trying to protect you,” said the head, with a sniff. “But of course you would see my kindness as an insult.”
“Kindness?” Merletta choked out. “You don’t know what that is.” She turned, her throat constricted, and fled from the home. She could feel herself falling apart, and she couldn’t bear for the head to witness it.
She wanted to deny it, but the memory of how she had almost been careless enough to dry out on Vazula kept intruding uncomfortably. She swam blindly through the familiar streets of Tilssted, too distracted to take in her surroundings at all. It was dark now, and she knew she was conspicuous in her haste, but she didn’t have the energy even to feel alarmed at the jeers and whistles she received from various late night wanderers.
She had just passed across the city border into Skulssted, some subconscious part of her relaxing as the surroundings became rapidly less seedy. She was therefore totally unprepared for the feeling of hands around her throat, as her weapon was ripped out of her grasp from behind.
Before she could react, she was dragged down a small alley, the grip on her throat so tight that she couldn’t have made a sound if she’d tried. She thrashed wildly, her training kicking in as she executed a roll that should have broken the hold of any regular bandit. Her attacker held strong, however, and stars began to burst behind Merletta’s eyes at the continued grip around her neck.
She couldn’t see a thing, but given that her arms had been grabbed as well, she could only assume there was more than one of them. She summoned her waning strength, and thrashed her powerful tail backward, catching something solid. She’d half expected it to be Ileana again, but the dull oomph that told her she’d connected with a torso definitely came from a merman, and one much older than the trainees.
At the contact, the hold on one of her arms loosened enough for her to rip it free. She didn’t waste her opportunity, plunging her hand into the kelp satchel at her side and retrieving Heath’s knife. She stabbed backward, and a cry of pain told her that her aim had been true. Her throat was suddenly released, and she jolted forward in the water, drawing in deep, shuddering mouthfuls.
She spun around as soon as she had collected herself, ready for a renewed assault, but her attackers were gone. Her eyes scanned the area wildly, but she couldn’t tell which direction they’d taken. Only a lingering trail of blood in the water showed they had been there at all. She heard voices drifting toward her from a nearby street, residents of Skulssted cheerfully discussing the day’s activities. Perhaps the potential witnesses had deterred the attackers from a second attempt.
Merletta floated for a moment, touching her throat gingerly as she tried to calm her racing heart. She had almost just died, there was no question. Her eyes caught on her spear, lying on the ocean floor below her fins. She reached down to retrieve it, her eyes widening at the sight of another spear beside it. The knobbly wood was as familiar as the shape of the sharpened stone tip. It was distinctive, and only one group of guards was allowed to carry such weapons. Center guards, or those training for the right to join their ranks.
There was only one conclusion to draw. This was no robbery gone wrong. Someone from the Center had tried to murder her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Heath groaned as he reached the top of the rise and caught sight of his home. The carriage entering the gates of Bexley Manor was depressingly familiar. If only he’d extended his morning ramble along the cliffs, maybe he could have avoided Lord Niel’s visit. With any luck he could slip through a back entrance unnoticed. Of course, he thought resentfully, if Reka wasn’t being so uncooperative, there would be no risk of Lord Niel cornering him at all. He would be long gone—today was one of Merletta’s rest days.
He passed through the gateway, trying to be inconspicuous as he strolled across the courtyard. What did the nobleman want now? He hadn’t been to their estate in months. He must have left Bryford very early to be here already.
Heath slipped through a side entrance, reaching the sanctuary of the manor’s library with a sigh of relief. He was unlikely to be troubled here. No one but him and his father used it much, and it certainly wasn’t a place to entertain guests. He was therefore surprised to hear a firm step approaching the door only a few minutes after he’d entered.
“Heath, there you are.”
“Father,” he said, laying aside the volume he had idly picked up. “Are you looking for me?”
“Lord Niel is here,” said his father.
Heath sighed. “Yes, I saw. Do you want me to talk Percival down?”
The smallest of smiles tugged at the duke’s lips as he shook his head. “Lord Niel is here to see you, Heath.”
“Me?” asked Heath, making no effort to hide his dismay.
The duke nodded. “And he’s accompanied by Crown Prince Lachlan.”
Heath sat up straight. “The crown prince is here? To see me?” He chewed on his lip anxiously. “The tournament was months ago. Surely I can’t still be in hot water over it!”
