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“Why not?” Merletta asked.
Felix, swimming alongside her, raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t heard what a foul temper he’s been in? All these new applicants are making extra work for him, without any actual returns.”
“New applicants?”
Freja gave her a searching look. “It’s strange that you’re not aware of it, since you’re the cause,” she said bluntly. “I don’t think we used to get many applicants from Tilssted, but since you got into the program, it’s a different story.”
“I heard there were ten applicants from Tilssted in the last month alone,” piped up the other guard. “Obviously—” He shot a self-conscious look at Merletta and corrected himself. “Uh, that is, as it happens, none of them have actually passed the entry test. So most of the recruit-master’s staff think it’s a waste of time. I have a friend who works in that office, and she was complaining about it to me the other day.”
Merletta said nothing. The sudden increase in applicants from Tilssted was news to her. She recalled being told, when she applied more than a year ago, that they hadn’t had a single applicant from her city for years, not even an unsuccessful one. She was stunned to learn that her acceptance into the program had such far-reaching impact.
But turning it over in her mind as she swam, she realized it shouldn’t have been a surprise. She remembered perfectly how much opposition she’d faced, even within Tilssted, to her ambition to become a record holder. No one had ever given her the smallest encouragement to think it was a viable path for her to pursue. It was only natural that her success had proven to others in Tilssted that a different future was possible.
“Well, this is where we leave you,” said Freja, as they drew close to the trainees’ barracks.
Still lost in her thoughts, Merletta simply nodded, but Freja’s next words drew her out of her abstraction.
“I’ll be frank with you, Merletta. You’ve impressed me today. I’m aware from Agner that you intend to continue past second year and become a record holder. But I would love the chance to try to change your mind. You’d be a real asset to the guards, in my opinion. You’ll have lots more training with the guards over the coming months, as you prepare for your test, and I’d love to take a hand in it. If you don’t object, I’ll ask Agner to assign you to my patrol again.”
“Of course I don’t object,” said Merletta, stunned. “I would be honored.”
Freja gave a curt nod of acknowledgment. “Good. We’ll keep working on your depth training, but we’ll also need to step up your combat. From what I saw today, you show promise, but you have a bit of water to cover. You’ll improve more quickly sparring with my guards than with the other trainees. It’s only a couple of months until your practice test, so we don’t want to waste any time.”
“Practice test?” Merletta asked, hoping her apprehension didn’t show in her voice. She hadn’t been told anything about a test in only a couple of months.
“It’s standard to do a practice test to gauge your progress,” Freja said. She gave another nod. “I’ll be seeing you again soon, then, Merletta.”
Still a little dazed, Merletta thanked her. Felix gave her a friendly smile as he followed the rest of the patrol toward the guards’ complex.
Merletta watched them go, her thoughts swirling unexpectedly. She’d never seriously considered it before, but perhaps the life of a guard wouldn’t be so bad.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Heath kept his face expressionless as he watched Percival approach the throne. The frustration that had been growing over the last two weeks was so all-consuming he couldn’t even feel relief that the day of the ceremony had finally arrived. For the first time since accepting his role, he had actually thought he could contribute something helpful to the relationship between the crown and the power-wielders. But thanks to Percival’s pig-headedness, his suggestions had been worse than useless. Prince Lachlan still seemed to believe in his goodwill, but Heath had the distinct impression that the king now regarded him with suspicion. Certainly none of his ideas had been incorporated into the ceremony. Instead of a celebration of magic, it was a somber and unembellished formality.
His brother didn’t meet his eye as he passed Heath on the long walk down the throne room. Percival was at least as angry with Heath as Heath was with him. He’d barely spoken to Heath since King Matlock had formally prohibited the proposed competition between the power-wielders. In the rant that Percival had unleashed on Heath before imposing his frosty silence, he made it clear that he blamed Heath for this turn of events. Heath didn’t know how Percival reached that conclusion, but he was no stranger to Percival’s volatile moods. He figured his brother would cool down with time.
Apparently, two weeks wasn’t enough time.
In spite of his own irritation, Heath felt a pang as he looked at his brother’s determinedly stiff back. He’d listened to more impassioned tirades from Percival than he could count. But until now, he’d always been just a sympathetic ear. Or an exasperated ear, depending on how unreasonable Percival was being. Either way, this was the first time he’d actually been the focus of Percival’s anger on any matter of true substance.
He didn’t like it at all. Reka was still ignoring him, and now Percival wouldn’t talk to him. And to make matters worse, the tension in the lead up to this loyalty ceremony had required his constant presence and his full attention. He’d had no chance to even think about returning to Vazula. And he was too distracted by his duties to practice using his extra sight. He’d barely had a glimpse of Merletta since returning to Bryford.
Heath’s sister, Laura, shifted beside him, and he glanced over at her. Her eyes were fixed on Percival, who had reached the front of the room and was standing to one side of the throne, his face visible in profile.
King Matlock had stood, and was giving his young cousin once removed a welcome that was not entirely convincing. Laura risked a murmur, her eyes still on their brother.
“Isn’t he worried the wind might change?”
Heath gave a grunt of wry humor. She was right that Percival’s grim expression was difficult to look at. He was supposed to be demonstrating to the kingdom his intention to serve the king with his magic, and instead he could barely look his sovereign in the eye. Percival had never been good at hiding what he was feeling.
Heath and Laura were in the front row, seated in a block with the other power-wielders of their generation. Glancing along the line of them, Heath saw that everyone looked tense and serious. Whether they were concerned about Percival’s behavior, as he was, or troubled by the king’s response to recent tension, he couldn’t tell. His eyes fell on Brody and Bianca, standing together nearby. He couldn’t help thinking gloomily of the light-hearted demonstration he’d described to Prince Lachlan. Needless to say, none of the power-wielders had been asked to entertain the gathered onlookers with their abilities.
“Do you, Lord Percival, heir of the Duke of Bexley, swear your allegiance to Valoria?”
King Matlock had come to the point a little more quickly than Heath had expected, and he whipped his eyes back to the front of the throne room. Percival was kneeling in front of the king, and for a heart-stopping moment, silence reigned. Heath could almost feel the tension flowing off Prince Lachlan, who stood behind his father, along with the queen and Prince Knox, dressed in full ceremonial garb of Valorian purple and silver. Heath had a frantic moment of alarm as he remembered promising the crown prince that he wouldn’t allow him to unknowingly walk into a disaster. But then Percival spoke, his voice carrying clearly throughout the silent room.
“I swear my allegiance to the crown. It is my honor to use the power with which I have been gifted in service of our great kingdom of Valoria. On my head be it if I ever break these vows.”
