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“Merletta!” said Sage, shocked. “You can’t raise a weapon against Ibsen. Besides, he’s an instructor, and you’re a trainee. He’d never attack you.”
Merletta shrugged. “Can’t be too careful.”
Sage’s frown deepened. “Do you want me to stick around?” she asked. “I was going to go home for the morning, but I can stay if you like.”
“No, no,” said Merletta, waving a hand. “You enjoy your rest day. I’ll be fine.”
Sage still looked uncertain, but she let it drop. Merletta turned the topic back to her successful test, hoping to cheer her friend up, and they chatted easily for another half an hour before retiring. Merletta couldn’t help glancing back toward Ileana as she left the dining hall.
The other mermaid was still watching her, and something in her expression sent a curl of unease through Merletta’s stomach.
* * *
Merletta swam into Instructor Ibsen’s rooms warily, her spear gripped in her hand.
“Hold on!” A clerk appeared before her, his voice shocked as he stopped her with an outstretched arm. “You can’t take that into the office.”
“It’s all right.” Instructor Ibsen’s voice wafted out of a large office directly in front of her. “Let her pass.”
The clerk still looked offended, but he drew back, allowing Merletta to sweep past him. She was surprised by Ibsen’s intervention, but glad. Whatever he had to say, she’d rather hear it with the security of a weapon in her hand.
“Merletta,” the instructor said, the moment she entered his office. “Thank you for coming.”
She just stared at him, more thrown by his polite tone than she would have been by his familiar hostility.
“You called for me, didn’t you?” she asked carefully.
“I did,” said Ibsen, folding his hands together on the desk in front of him. “Please, sit.”
Merletta did so, sinking warily onto a small bench carved from the bedrock.
“I wanted to congratulate you on passing your test.”
“You did?” Merletta asked, before she could stop herself.
A flicker of irritation passed over Ibsen’s face, but he smoothed it out quickly. “Of course. It is an admirable feat to pass the first year of the program, and you should be proud of your achievement.”
Merletta blinked. “I am,” she said at last. “Very proud. Success is even more satisfying when it comes purely from your own hard work, without outside assistance.”
Ibsen was slower to stifle the irritation this time, but Merletta kept her face stony. She didn’t know why he was pretending to be friendly all of a sudden, but she wasn’t about to buddy up to him just because he wasn’t currently barking at her like a territorial seal.
“Yes, well.” Ibsen contained his annoyance with an effort. “As I said, very admirable. I think you will find the life of a scribe both rewarding and comfortable.”
Merletta stared at him for a full ten seconds before realization hit. “Oh, I’m not stopping,” she said bluntly. “I fully intend to continue to the program’s second year.”
Ibsen drew in a breath, the pleasant expression on his face looking so painful that Merletta could only stare in fascination.
“I would strongly advise you to reconsider that. It is most understandable to be swept up in the elation of your pass. But don’t let that blind you to your own best interests. It wouldn’t be in your interests to continue.”
Merletta raised an eyebrow, gripping her spear more tightly. “Is that a threat, Instructor?”
“I beg your pardon?” Ibsen’s face and voice were colder than the deepest point of the Center, and Merletta judged it best to subside.
“I am not threatening you,” said Ibsen. “I’m attempting to help you. The first year test, while difficult to pass, is not grueling in the way the second year test is. I do not exaggerate when I say that trainees have died during this test in the past. And in my educated opinion as an instructor, there is little hope of you passing it.”
“Well then,” said Merletta lightly. “It’s a good thing I have another year to prepare for it, isn’t it?”
Ibsen’s temple twitched slightly. “Consider carefully, Merletta. If you stop now by choice, you will have a respected and secure position, and can continue to enjoy all the comforts of the Center. If you continue to second year, and fail, you will have the humiliation of everyone knowing you were not good enough for your chosen course. And you will most likely suffer resentment from your fellow scribes, who will know that you did not consider their role a worthy choice.”
