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The rest of the delegation had followed the castle’s steward off somewhere unknown, and as she spoke, Heath’s grandmother gestured for them to ascend to the next level of the staircase.
“I did tell you to leave the boy be,” her husband interjected, as he followed her. “But you were determined to see him.” He sent a glance up and down Heath’s form. “Your father’s letter said you would make a full recovery, but she was still convinced you were in danger. I must say, I’m relieved to see you looking so well, in spite of junketing across kingdoms.”
Heath thanked him appropriately, but he saw his grandmother pursing her lips. Her eyes lingered not on Heath’s injured leg, but on his face, and she clearly didn’t agree that he was looking well. Heath didn’t blame her. He hardly recognized his own face in the mirror lately, it was so drawn and heavy-eyed.
“Mother and Father wouldn’t have let me come if the physician didn’t think I was up to it,” he said lightly. He considered the matter. “And neither would King Matlock.”
“I was trusting in that when I asked Eamon to invite you,” his grandmother smiled. “And we heard about your new position as a liaison between the king and the power-wielders. It’s a sign of great trust for King Matlock to give you such a responsibility at so young an age.”
“My commiserations,” said Heath’s grandfather, and Percival gave a snort of laughter.
“He doesn’t mean that,” said their grandmother quickly, throwing a stern look at her husband as a servant bustled past.
“No, of course I don’t,” said the elderly prince easily. He gave Heath a more serious look than he usually wore. “But I do understand very well what a mixed blessing royal status can be.”
“We can talk about all that later,” said their grandmother, coming to a stop. She gestured to two doors set side by side in the stone corridor. “These suites have been prepared for you. King Eamon and Queen Lucy are looking forward to receiving you, but I thought you’d like a chance to settle in first.”
Heath thanked her gratefully, and was about to slip into his allotted room when the princess’s hand closed over his wrist with a surprisingly firm grip. “After that,” she said, her gaze piercing, “I’ll look forward to a little chat.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Merletta gripped her spear in one trembling hand as the kelp forest loomed into view.
“I really hope this isn’t a mistake,” she muttered aloud.
There was only one way to find out, of course. She gave one wistful glance back in the direction of Vazula, pausing to watch a turtle coast lazily over a patch of coral behind her. Then she set her face forward, and swam between the towers of kelp.
She kept a wary eye on her surroundings, making absolutely sure that there was no sign of another guard patrol. No one was in sight, and she knew she needed to take her opportunity. She had already been hiding in a labyrinth of rock for half an hour, waiting for a gap. She’d made this journey countless times, and never before had she seen so many patrols. It was an ominous sign.
But none appeared as she darted across the open space, and she was soon concealed between the fronds of the uncultivated kelp forest. In no time at all, she reached the start of the outlying kelp farms, the northernmost part of the triple kingdoms. She paused at this boundary, brushing a long leaf out of her path and almost dislodging a starfish in the process. This was her last chance to turn back.
But she’d made her decision, and she wasn’t one to change her mind easily. Drawing in a mouthful of cool, calming water, she propelled herself forward with a flick of her tail.
Casual voices indicated the presence of farm laborers, and Merletta changed course slightly, rising higher to avoid them. Normally she didn’t worry too much about being seen by the workers—she’d never had any trouble from them before—but she thought it best to be extra cautious this time.
Dodging and weaving in this way, she crossed the whole kelp farm without encountering anyone. In her usual unobtrusive fashion, she slipped out from between the towers and entered the city of Tilssted, the poorest and least developed of the triple kingdoms.
Merletta was in her home current now, and she had no difficulty finding her way through the streets where she’d grown up. She gave her old neighborhood a decent berth, of course. It wasn’t as though she had any desire to go near the charity home again. She briefly considered visiting the shellsmith tower where Letitia, her only real friend from the charity home, now lived and worked. But that could be dangerous for Tish. Better to first discover for absolute certain whether she had a target on her back.
So she hurried through the city without stopping. She attracted a bit of notice—her weapon and her armband both marked her as a trainee from the Center of Culture, a position of respect. But she didn’t think anyone recognized her specifically. Certainly no one spoke to her.
The difference in her surroundings was marked when she crossed the boundary and entered the city of Skulssted. It was the wealthiest of the triple kingdoms, and it showed in the buildings, the decorations, even the attire of the merpeople going about their business. The very water tasted cleaner, although that didn’t endear the place to Merletta.
Her experience of Skulssted wasn’t especially positive. She glanced down a small side street, a memory flashing vividly through her mind of the time she had been attacked in just such a corner of Skulssted, when making her way from Tilssted back to the Center. It had been Center guards who’d done it, and she’d never found out exactly who they were or who had sent them.
Trying not to think about how likely she was to meet her end in just such an attack that very day, Merletta put on extra speed. The main entrance to the Center was located in Skulssted, not far away. She wanted to get this—whatever it would be—over with. She’d had enough of the tension.
The stone gateway had just appeared, the words Center of Culture etched into the lintel, and the pearl-encrusted bars standing open, when a delighted cry came from behind her.
“Merletta!”
She turned sharply, barely taking in the impression of a group of approaching merpeople before her gaze settled on an unpleasantly familiar figure. Merletta felt her eyes widen at the sight of Ileana, but it was nothing to the reaction of the young Center guard. Ileana went rigid, her mouth falling open in a soundless exclamation. Her pale skin went almost white, and her throat worked in a way that reminded Merletta of a fish out of water. For a frozen moment they simply stared at each other, then another cry drew Merletta’s attention to the one who had actually called to her.
“You’re back! I was starting to worry!”
Merletta summoned a weak smile as Sage hurried toward her through the water. An open smile was on her face, and Merletta could read nothing in her eyes but genuine pleasure at seeing her friend again. Clearly Sage hadn’t known that Merletta was supposedly dead.
Merletta’s eyes flicked back to Ileana. Had Ileana thought Merletta was dead? Or did she know the incredible truth about drying out?
