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“For the banquet,” Merletta clarified. “What are we celebrating?”

A couple of the trainees gave poorly stifled snorts of laughter, and the second of the two mermaids shot her a pitying look.

“The occasion is dinner.”

“Oh.” Merletta felt a flash of embarrassment at her mistake, but she pushed it down. If anyone should feel ashamed, it was the merpeople who ate this way every night while half of Tilssted survived on cod and uncooked seaweed.

“I’m finished, anyway,” said the more hostile of the mermaids, pushing herself up from the table with shapely hands.

“Me too,” one of the mermen said, following her gesture. The others said nothing, but soon all of them were rising through the water, leaving their mostly empty basins and making for the doorway.

Merletta was left alone at the small round table, painfully aware of the scrutiny of all the other merpeople in the hall.

So much for encouragement.

* * *

It was with renewed determination that Merletta followed her fellow trainees from the dining hall after breakfast the next morning. She had decided not to set herself up for further rejection, and had intentionally arrived just as the meal was ending, swiping some octopus tentacles from the table as servers began to clear the food.

“Good morning,” she greeted one of the servers cheerfully.

The girl looked up quickly. “Good morning,” she responded hesitantly, clearly surprised by the attention.

Merletta caught sight of the other trainees leaving the dining hall, and hurried after them. She hadn’t been told where to go for the first lesson of the day—another instance of the wonderfully warm welcome she was receiving—and she figured that tailing the others was her best bet.

Her unconscious guides led her away from the barracks, further into the Center. Merletta’s excitement grew as she realized that they were heading for the central structure with the tall spire protruding from its middle. The heart of it all.

They didn’t go right into the center of the complex, however. They swam beneath a carved stone archway into a square open space with several doorways coming off it. As they crossed the space, Merletta flicked her tail, catching up to them.

One of the mermen turned slightly, taking in her form without comment. Merletta met his eyes evenly, and he looked away. The six of them made their way through one of the openings on the far side of the central space, and Merletta found herself in a small cave-like room. Layered seats had been carved out of the bedrock on three sides, turning the remaining side of the room into a natural focal point.

The other five trainees settled against the raised seating, and Merletta followed suit.

“Oh. You’re here.”

Turning, Merletta saw that the voice belonged to the unfriendly mermaid from the evening before.

“Yes,” she said shortly. “I was told my training would start today. I’m Merletta,” she added as an afterthought.

For a moment there was silence, as five pairs of eyes studied her.

“I’m Sage,” said the mermaid who hadn’t spoken yet, when the silence threatened to become uncomfortable. “Congratulations for passing the entrance test.”

Merletta began to thank her, but a sniff from the first mermaid cut across her words.

“I heard you were given an easier test than the rest of us.”

Merletta turned to the speaker, one eyebrow raised. She didn’t want to start out by alienating her fellow trainees, but that didn’t mean she was going to let them swim all over her, either.

“Yes,” she said calmly. “I believe that by some error, I was given an additional test on top of all the ones we’ve all passed.”

The other mermaid’s expression was more sour than ever, but she was apparently unable to think of a reply.

“You could be a little more polite, Ileana,” said one of the mermen, glancing over at the mermaid who had spoken. His tone was mild, but everyone’s posture changed slightly, and the hostile mermaid—Ileana apparently—fell silent, looking chastened.

The merman turned to Merletta. “Greetings,” he said unemotionally. “My name is Emil.”

“I’m glad to meet you, Emil,” said Merletta, dipping her head in a traditional greeting.


Tags: Deborah Grace White The Vazula Chronicles Fantasy