Sage shushed her so violently that Emil glanced over at them, his eyebrow raised in simultaneous disapproval and warning.
“You can’t go bandying the watchword about like that,” Sage said, whispering so quietly Merletta had to lean in to hear her. “You’ll be in awful trouble. I don’t know when I’m supposed to have flinched, since I’ve never heard you say it before now.”
Merletta frowned, thinking it over. She’d just assumed, because she and Heath referred to the island as Vazula when together. But now she thought about it, she may not have mentioned the name in Sage’s presence. She’d had no reason to think it would mean anything to her friend. She’d probably always just called it the island.
“Sage, Vaz—that word,” she corrected herself hastily as Sage glowered at her, “is the name of the island where I met Heath.”
Sage was so astonished, she actually dropped her mussel. It drifted back down into her bowl. “It can’t be,” Sage whispered. “How would you even know?”
“It was in a record, back in Heath’s kingdom,” said Merletta. “It’s what sent him looking. And he found an old letter on the island, too, which used the name.”
Sage was silent, still looking stunned.
“There’s no way the two civilizations independently came up with the word,” Merletta murmured. “You know what this means, don’t you? It means Vazula is part of our history.”
Sage said nothing, but Merletta didn’t need her friend’s confirmation to know she was right. Her thoughts flew to the island itself where, at this very moment, the three guards might be lurking in the shallows, finding shelter nearby to wait for her to come as promised.
Vazula was part of the merpeople’s past. And if Merletta had anything to say about it, one way or another, it was going to be part of their future, too.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The week following the attack on Percival was one of the most anxious of Heath’s life. As worried as he was about the further conflict that had been unleashed in Valoria, he was equally worried about Merletta’s upcoming test.
He knew when it was, and he spent that entire day perched on the edge of his cliff, gazing southeast across the ocean and trying with all his might to watch her across the distance. Sometimes he got glimpses, but they were never clear, never definite. For some frustrating reason, he was much less able to see her from Bexley Manor than he’d been able to see Percival from Vazula. It was maddening.
At one point he could have sworn he saw her being thrown about by thrashing, churning waters that surely had no place in the deep ocean, far from any crashing waves. The sight reminded him horribly of the maelstrom, and his blood ran cold at the thought of Merletta anywhere near that violent phenomenon.
The uncertainty was torture, but the day after the test, he saw a vision of her that he was almost certain was real. She was talking animatedly to another mermaid, one with skin a similar shade to Merletta’s, but with lighter brown hair, and a shimmering pinkish tail. He let out a breath, relief coursing through him. She’d survived then, and she seemed to be in one piece. For now, that would have to be enough. Asking Merletta for the details—perhaps even continuing the interrupted moment they’d shared—would have to wait.
Heath was still brooding on thoughts of Merletta the next day, once again sitting by the ocean, trying to avoid the tension simmering inside his family home. The duke had received a missive from King Matlock, following close on his sons’ return from Bryford. To Heath’s surprise—and relief—it made no mention of what the king had said to Heath. It related solely to Percival’s public accusation. It was diplomatically worded, but the meaning was clear. Percival was a breath away from public sanction.
The duke had been angry, to say the least. Heath was sure that his father’s sharp words were motivated as much by fear for his oldest son as frustration with Percival’s poorly thought-out challenge to the king. But Percival didn’t see it that way. He was enraged that his family’s sympathy over the brutal attack was tempered with reproaches for his own conduct. In his view, his response to the king had been entirely justified, and Heath didn’t really blame him. By the time he’d ridden all the way to Bexley Manor, Percival had been a mess. He should never have attempted such a ride without being first treated for his injuries, but he was too furious with the king, and too stubborn, to stay in the capital a moment longer.
In the last few days, he’d been mostly shut up in his room. He was supposedly recovering from his injuries, but Heath wasn’t convinced. The little Heath had seen of his brother showed that Percival’s superhuman strength was enabling him to heal from his injuries with unusual speed. Heath was certain Percival was doing more plotting than healing, and he dreaded the outcome. He felt like he was crouching under a poorly constructed shelter, waiting for a massive storm to break, one he knew was coming.
But at the same time, part of him didn’t want to know. Part of him wanted to wash his hands of the whole miserable business. He was sick of the politics, sick of making everything worse, sick of Percival’s attitude. Sick of his own expectations on himself.
An unnatural rush of wind caused Heath to look up, surprised but pleased by the sight of his friend’s form suddenly filling the sky.
“Reka,” he said, as the dragon landed. “I didn’t expect to see you.”
“I was watching you,” said Rekavidur. “I could see that you had become disheartened, as you humans so easily do. I thought perhaps my presence might cheer you.”
The words were spoken in his usual lofty tone, but as he said them, the dragon laid himself down so that his taloned front feet dangled over the edge of the cliff right next to Heath’s legs. He rested his vast head upon them, turned slightly so that the tip of his snout touched Heath’s leg. The dragon’s breath heated Heath’s skin uncomfortably, even through his clothes. Recognizing the gesture as a rare show of affection from the dragon, Heath felt a surge of gratitude.
“Thanks, Reka,” he said quietly. “You were right, on both counts.”
The dragon nodded sagely. “I thought so.”
“We really made a mess of things, didn’t we?” said Heath bitterly.
“We?” repeated Reka, raising his head and fixing reproachful eyes on Heath. “I don’t believe either you or I have had any hand in the mess your kingdom finds itself in.”
Heath stared at him incredulously. “We’ve had a huge hand in it! If the king hadn’t found out about that gathering you saw…well, I wish you’d never seen it, to be honest. And,” he added with some heat, “I wish you’d had the sense not to repeat it to the rest of the dragons, when it had nothing to do with any of you!”
Fortunately for their friendship, Rekavidur apparently wasn’t in a mood to be offended. “I don’t place even the smallest store in a human’s idea of what constitutes sense,” he said without rancor. “If you wish to benefit from the sense of a dragon, I hold to it that neither of us is to blame. You did not orchestrate that meeting. Your power-wielding relatives made their own decision. And the information I passed on was entirely correct. The rest of my colony made their choice as to how to respond, and that is not my responsibility. No more is it your responsibility how your king chose to respond to what was said at the Winter Solstice Festival.”
Heath felt a surge of irritation rise up in him at the dragon’s refusal to take responsibility. But after staring into Reka’s calm face for a furious moment, he deflated, letting it go. He didn’t have many friends at the moment. He didn’t want to alienate Reka, too. Plus, it occurred to him that the dragon’s words were strikingly similar to Merletta’s comment, that he wasn’t responsible for his family’s choices, and he couldn’t be responsible for hers.