Page 80 of A Kingdom Threatened (The Vazula Chronicles 3)

Her eyes shifted to the nearby trainees’ table, and she was surprised to see Sage and Andre watching their conversation attentively. Merletta sent her friends a smile, noting that Sage’s responding smile was a little strained.

Emil was approached by another junior record holder, and drifted off to sit with his fellows, as he’d been doing more often since the trainees’ table got flooded with first years. Merletta lowered herself into a seat beside Sage.

“Did you sort out…whatever it was?” Sage asked, her voice a little too casual.

Merletta nodded, gratitude softening her voice. “He agreed to help me.”

“I’m glad,” said Sage, although she didn’t sound entirely glad.

“What’s wrong?” Merletta asked. She lowered her voice. “I’m sorry I didn’t explain what I was going to ask him about…I didn’t want to miss the opportunity. I’ll tell you about it when we next—”

“No need,” Sage said, shaking her head vigorously. “I wasn’t trying to pry.” She took a bite of her cod, then laid it down again. “He’s always admired you a great deal, you know. Ever since you started the program. And he’s taken more of an interest in you than you know. He asks me about you all the time. And he’s been really worried ever since he found out you’re in danger. He doesn’t say it, but I can tell it weighs on his mind.”

Merletta stared at her friend, understanding washing over her. She’d already discovered her obliviousness about Emil’s feelings. It seemed she’d been doubly blind where it came to Sage.

“Sage, I think you’re very much under the wrong impression,” she said carefully.

Sage’s face was a little pinker than usual, but she didn’t look up from her food. Before Merletta could say another word, however, an unexpected voice broke into the conversation.

“Is it true that you often used to sneak outside the barrier as a child?”

Merletta turned, astonished that Oliver was speaking to her, and with only a mild version of his usual sneer.

“Yes,” she said. “Almost daily.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You expect us to believe that you survived out there alone, not just once, but lots of times?”

Merletta shrugged. “I don’t expect you to believe anything.” She paused. “Well, that’s not true,” she amended. “I expect you’ll probably believe whatever you’re told, like a good unquestioning trainee. But I don’t have high expectations that you’ll believe what I tell you. It’s true, though, whether you believe it or not.”

Impolite as her words were, she spoke without malice. And, somewhat to her surprise, Oliver didn’t seem to take offense.

“I see why they idolize you in Tilssted,” he said unemotionally. “They seem to value guts over sense in that city.”

Merletta stared at him. “Did you just call me brave?”

His sneer became a little more pronounced, but it seemed more reflex than actual emotion. “I don’t believe I said that.”

Merletta looked him over curiously, wondering what went on behind that unexpressive face.

“What do they value in Hemssted?” she asked, almost wistfully. Verbalizing her supposed origins for the first time to Emil had re-ignited the powerful curiosity about her history that had plagued her since her second year test.

“Influence,” said Oliver simply, surprising Merletta again by engaging with the question. “And a good family name, I suppose.”

“You suppose?” Lorraine sounded amused. “Says a mighty member of the Ol line.”

Oliver couldn’t quite hide his satisfied smile, and Merletta looked at the second year mermaid curiously. “The Ol line?”

Lorraine’s smile fell away, and Merletta could tell that she regretted entering the conversation. But she didn’t seem willing to openly snub Merletta when Oliver was speaking to the hated Tilssted trainee so civilly.

“Oliver’s family is very well respected,” she said, clearly not inclined to elaborate.

Andre was looking at Oliver skeptically. “Your name is Oliver Ol?”

“Of course not,” Oliver said scornfully. “We’re not like Skulssted. We don’t need two names just to figure out who we are.”

“You don’t have family names in Hemssted?” Sage asked.

Oliver made an impatient noise. “Of course we do. My family name is Ol. My father is Olbert. My mother is Olisha. Formally, that is. Before she married my father, her name was Arisha, and that’s still what most people call her. As a boy, I was named according to my father’s family line. My sister, Arlette, is named according to my mother’s.”