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Merletta’s mouth opened to say that she was losing her mind, that land sickness was claiming her. But a wordless warning rang out in her mind, and Heath’s face flashed before her vision.
You’re in danger. That’s what he’d said.
She couldn’t grasp the reason, but she was suddenly certain that she shouldn’t tell Ibsen that her mind was slipping out of her own control.
“I’m ill,” she gasped. “In my stomach.”
She tried to clutch at her stomach in proof, but she couldn’t seem to control her arms or her tail. Turning her head to the side, she became aware that she was somehow floating horizontally, the scene around her jumping erratically as her body convulsed. The speaker appeared to have stopped, the ceremony suddenly arrested.
“Someone help her!” A sharp voice cut suddenly across her abstraction. “That’s our trainee!”
Merletta blinked stupidly across the square, and saw that the small number of Tilssted attendees were all leaning forward from their section. Even the Tilssted guards were watching with concern, their already dubious formation losing shape even further.
“Aren’t you going to do anything?” Merletta didn’t recognize the speaker from the Tilssted section, but he seemed to be glaring at the Center attendees at large. “She’s a trainee, isn’t she? Don’t you even take care of your trainees?”
Merletta wasn’t sure if she needed to be taken care of. She’d told Ibsen she was ill, but she wasn’t sure if her stomach was churning from nausea, or just from the guilt. That merman thought she was a hero, but he didn’t know her part in the deaths of the guards. The guilt inside her began to roil so violently that she didn’t think she could contain it.
Her consciousness was overcome by a sinking feeling, then all at once she became aware that her face was pressed against the bedrock. Clearly it wasn’t just a feeling—she truly had been sinking down through the water, falling into the open central space. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the upheaval in her gut. She turned her head to the side and without warning emptied the contents of her stomach into the water.
She’d never been so ill in her life, and her whole body shook with the realization. She’d hidden it from Ibsen, but she couldn’t deny it to herself. She’d thought she was onto the Center’s lies, but all along they’d been right. Land sickness was real, and it had finally caught up with her. She should never have gone to Vazula on rest day.
She opened her mouth to say as much, but no words would come. The last thing she was aware of was Sage’s terrified face leaning over her before she sank mercifully into unconsciousness.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Heath stepped onto solid ground with a definite feeling of relief. It wasn’t that he disliked ocean voyages. On the contrary, he’d come to quite enjoy the rocking of the ship, and thought he was getting the hang of what the sailors called sea legs. But ever since his unsanctioned expedition in the rowboat—not to mention the incident with the maelstrom that preceded it—he had well and truly fallen out of favor with the captain.
He was grateful that Brody and Bianca had managed to convince the captain to wait for him. Presumably the man hadn’t wanted to face the potential consequences of returning to Valoria without the Duke of Bexley’s younger son. One thing was certain, at least—chartering the ship to travel to Vazula a second time would not be an option.
The return journey had felt tedious and slow compared to the journey out. Bianca was too depleted to speed them all the way back, even if Brody and Heath had been willing to ask it of her, which they weren’t. It wasn’t as though there was any particular hurry from Heath’s perspective—he still had a week left of his leave of absence. He was just eager to get off the ship and away from the captain’s reproachful scowl.
Of course, the captain wasn’t the only one who was a little put out with the young lord. And reaching shore only increased his cousins’ opportunities to let him know it.
“All right,” said Brody sternly, as they trudged through the small port town where they’d disembarked. “There’s no crew listening in now, so are you going to finally tell us what you were up to?”
“Did you reach the island?” Bianca added eagerly, as Heath turned in the direction of the inn where they’d stabled their horses. “Did you find out if the person survived?”
“Yes,” said Heath, a small smile lighting his lips. “I reached it all right. And she—the person survived.”
Brody rolled his eyes at Heath’s attempt to correct his slip. “If you think we didn’t already realize this mystery person is a girl, you must think we’re exceptionally thick.”
Heath laughed. “All right, she’s a girl,” he said, his heart curiously light. “Happy?”
“You certainly seem to be,” Bianca said, eyeing him.
Heath shrugged. “I thought she’d died because of me, and it was eating me up inside. I can’t help but be relieved.” He was also relieved that she really was a girl—a human girl—but there was no need to mention that.
“So where does she come from?” Brody pressed.
“From another kingdom,” said Heath, evasively. “One we didn’t even know was out there.”
The twins exchanged a look, their expressions troubled.
“What?” Heath demanded.
They were silent for a moment, and then Brody spoke, surprising Heath by his uncharacteristically serious tone. “Don’t you think we should be telling King Matlock if there’s an unknown kingdom concealed only a few days’ sail from our borders?”
“It’s not like that,” Heath said quickly. “It’s hard to explain, but…they’re isolated. Extremely isolated. And they won’t trouble us. Believe me, they want nothing to do with us. They just want to be left alone.”
