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Wasn’t it?
She frowned as she remembered Agner’s defense of her. He’d clearly wanted her to stay in the program, little as even he believed it possible. But what if it was possible? Even Ibsen acknowledged that she wasn’t yet expelled. The thought of Wivell’s words—spoken in front of an angry crowd—were what finally decided her.
Merletta jerked into motion, swimming around the perimeter of the room, searching the labels. She found a section marked Trainee Program, and began to hunt feverishly through the records.
It took an hour and a half, but eventually she uncovered a pearl. She almost let out a triumphant cry, but held it in. She didn’t want to draw the attention of the guards at the door. Not now she had a plan. She didn’t have her satchel—another item left behind in the frantic flight from Wyvern Islands—so she tucked the record into one of her shells, after one last fond glance at the most pertinent two sentences.
Trainees are not permitted to miss more than five days of classes during the study year. Exceptions can be made only with approval from one of the instructors.
“I’m trusting you to come through for me, Agner,” Merletta whispered to the water.
Her stomach grumbled, reminding her that she’d skipped lunch on her arrival at the triple kingdoms, but she ignored it. She stared around at the enormous room, trying not to let the scale of her task overwhelm her. There were so many records in here, and she had only a limited understanding of which ones she needed to focus on.
She set her jaw in determination as she closed her eyes, summoning up an image of her memory journey—her version of the mind palace where she’d been taught to store information. It might be time to come up with some new mnemonics as well.
She could only hope Wivell would honor his word when he said she could stay as long as she chose.
* * *
It was two days later that Merletta finally surrendered to the hunger. The exhaustion she could manage—she’d slept for several two hour stretches in that time. But she was growing so faint from lack of food that her mind was starting to be affected. She could no longer concentrate enough to take in information, which meant there was no point in staying longer.
She’d utilized every trick she’d ever gleaned—both in her own training prior to entering the program, and in the extensive memory training she’d received since—and her mind was bursting with information. She knew it was all stored in her short term memory, with no opportunity to lock it into place through interval repetition, as she’d been taught to do. The information would be nowhere to be found in a few months. Perhaps even a few weeks. But that would be long enough.
No one had troubled her in all that time, no one else even entering the records room. She wasn’t surprised. The scene at the drop off had given her a valuable insight into her instructors’ minds, one that tallied with what she’d experienced from them in the past.
Ibsen hated her, there was no doubt. And much of what he did and said seemed to be motivated by that hatred. But Wivell was different. While his motivations might not be acceptable to her, he had an unshakably high value for both his word and the integrity of the program. He had believed from the start that she was bad for the program, and would threaten its sanctity. Whether that was because of her background, or because of her determination to question the status quo, she didn’t know. But it had been that desire to protect the program that had driven him to discriminate against her, not a personal dislike.
None of which made him a friend or ally, of course. But it did cause him to honor the word he’d given.
Two guards were at attention outside the door, but Merletta was surprised to see August alongside them.
“Still alive, August?” she asked him. She intended to speak teasingly, but her words came out slurred.
“Merletta!” Surging forward, he gripped her elbow bracingly. He searched her eyes, apparently satisfied enough by what he saw to smile wryly at her words. “I would say I’m alive thanks to you. You succeeded in making us both…complicated to kill.”
“That is one of my few genuine talents,” she agreed.
“What’s going on, Merletta?” August pressed. “Why did you stay in there so long? I assume you have a plan?”
Merletta glanced toward the guards, realizing that one of them had slipped away. She didn’t have long, then.
“What’s in your shell?” the other guard demanded suddenly.
“I beg your pardon?” August’s voice was as forbidding as a real father’s.
Merletta gave a drunken chuckle, pulling out the record. “Oh, I forgot about this.”
The guard made an angry noise and lurched forward. “You dare to—”
“Relax.” Merletta dodged out of his way. “I’m not trying to steal it. I just need to show it to the instructors. It’s my secret weapon.”
“Merletta, I’m not sure you know what you’re saying,” August said, sounding exasperated. “Or else you don’t understand the concept of a secret weapon.”
Before Merletta could respond, an angry cry reached her ears. She looked up to see Ibsen streaking toward her, Wivell and Agner not far behind.
“So, the sea snake emerges from its lair,” Ibsen hissed. He came to a stop a couple of feet from her. “Did you think you could escape justice by hiding in there forever?”
Merletta studied his face curiously. Maybe it was the gnawing hunger and the sleep deprivation confusing her senses, but he didn’t look right. He should be triumphant to have her in his grasp at last, but instead he looked like he was about to explode from frustration.
