She really hoped Sage passed.
She glanced around the records hall, unsurprised to see Jacobi sitting at the other end of the space. It was becoming more common to see him studying outside classes as well. His first year test was scheduled to happen not long after Ileana’s third year test. His birthday must be close to Emil’s, because Merletta had heard that the fourth year’s test was set for the day after Jacobi’s.
Then, in only a few months, it would be her turn.
She picked the writing leaf back up again, trying to convince herself that she was interested in the history of how the oyster farms were established. The minutes swirled by at a glacial pace, and Merletta read the same words over and over again without them making any impression on her mind.
“Wasting your time over here, aren’t you?”
Merletta sighed, looking up at the unwelcome interruption.
“What do you want, Jacobi?” She couldn’t be bothered sparring verbally with him. She was too stressed about Sage’s test, and too tired from the long swim to the island on her rest day—long and unnecessary, since Heath had failed to appear for the seventh week in a row.
“I want you to learn your place, Tilssted,” the copper-haired trainee sneered. “A little clue—it’s not in the Center.”
Merletta just rolled her eyes. He had barely spoken to her since the incident in the training courtyard, and she’d been delighted at their mutual avoidance of one another. Even before that, she’d been trying to be more forbearing with him since hearing Sage’s comments about his family. He was still a slimy little sea snail, of course, and he’d still helped Ileana attack her. But he hadn’t shown the murderous hate the other trainee had, and to her own irritation, Merletta still felt the occasional—and very uncomfortable—twinge of sympathy when she noticed him glaring at her.
“It’s not like you’re going to pass the test to go on to second year,” Jacobi continued, apparently unable to stop until he got a reaction.
Merletta flicked her tail in irritation. She didn’t want to deal with Jacobi right now. “Let’s just let our results talk for us, Jacobi.”
Jacobi’s eyes narrowed in anger, and Merletta belatedly realized what the source of his persistent insults must be. She had outperformed him in the recent practice test by quite a lot. She could only imagine that if she passed the final test, without any advantage of blood or upbringing, and he didn’t, he would be utterly humiliated.
“If they even let you take the test,” Jacobi sniffed. “It’s not like any of the instructors want you here.”
Merletta didn’t respond, frowning. His words were petty, and she was fairly confident he didn’t know anything she didn’t, but the comment still touched a nerve. The thought had occurred to her before now that someone—Ibsen, probably—might try to prevent her from progressing by rigging the test, or some other type of foul play. It was one of the reasons she was trying to keep the line a little more, at least outwardly, and had refrained from pressing her accusations against Ileana further.
And since she had taken that approach—keeping her questions to herself, studying in her own time rather than pushing the instructors for assistance, even braiding her hair—things had become a little easier. Ibsen was still unpleasant, but Wivell at least seemed content to ignore her rather than pursue any vendetta against her. He hadn’t even made mention of her unsuccessful complaint.
The thought that someone might interfere in her testing was all the more unsettling because she knew there was nothing she could do about it.
“At least you’ll be able to go back home to your beloved slums soon,” added Jacobi spitefully, clearly taking her silence as a sign of the success of his taunts. “You should really be reading up about your people over there, instead of taking up perfectly good study space here.”
Merletta ignored the jibe, but she did follow his gesture with a bemused frown. “You do realize that’s not the section on Tilssted, right?” She pointed to a different part of the records hall. “Tilssted’s records are over there.”
Jacobi rolled his eyes. “You think I don’t know that? I wasn’t talking about Tilssted’s records. I was talking about the orphan records.”
“Orphan records?” Merletta asked, her forehead creasing in confusion.
“You really don’t know anything, do you?” Jacobi scoffed. “I would have thought that being a nameless orphan, you would at least know that you lot are all—”
“Merletta!”
Both trainees turned as the clear voice cut across the usually silent records hall, interrupting Jacobi’s insults.
“Sage!” Merletta abandoned her fellow first year without hesitation, uninterested in any further conversation with him. Her heart lifted as she took in her friend’s demeanor. She didn’t need Sage’s next words to know the outcome.
“I did it! I passed! I don’t think it was by much, but I did it!”
“I’m so glad!” Merletta cried, grabbing Sage’s hands and spinning them around in the water. “And not at all surprised. I knew you could do it!”
“Sshhh!!” The angry hiss made both mermaids look up, to see the record holder currently in charge of the hall swimming toward them. “This is a haven, not a carnival!”
“Sorry, sir,” said Sage apologetically. “I got carried away.”
“I wasn’t speaking to you, trainee,” the record holder sniffed. His eyes narrowed as they rested on Merletta. “You may not have value for knowledge in Tilssted,” he growled, “but here our records are considered sacred. You should treat this hall with more respect.”
“But, sir,” protested Sage. “I was the one who—”