Brody had to grab Bianca to stop her tipping over. She wasn’t paying attention to her physical surroundings—her concentration hadn’t wavered from her task, and Heath could tell that all her focus was locked on the invisible tapestry of power that connected her to the currents of air all around them. It was fascinating watching her at work. He was so used to Percival’s more constant, straightforward magic, and he’d rarely seen power exercised like this. It was similar in some ways to the display put on by Princess Kiana in Kynton, when she made her water sculpture.
But Bianca’s efforts were on a larger scale, and more sustained. Once she had worked out a level of wind that was effective while still being safe, she didn’t have to give all her concentration to maintaining it. She was able to join the others in exploring the deck, and chatting about Percival’s upcoming loyalty ceremony, and Heath’s experiences in Kyona. But her power was still in play, and after several hours, Brody interrupted their conversation abruptly to tell her to take a break.
Heath realized, guiltily, that Bianca looked exhausted. He hadn’t been paying enough attention to her state. He hastily agreed that she should rest for a while. But after an hour, he once again felt her power snaking out from the deck, dispersing into the air.
“It’s quite exciting,” she admitted to him, when he asked if she was pushing herself too hard. “It’s rare to have an opportunity to experiment like this, with no one paying attention to what I’m doing.”
Heath glanced at the crew. They had certainly noticed the unusual and extremely advantageous wind. But they didn’t seem to have connected it with the slim young woman leaning into the spray at the ship’s prow.
“It’s exhilarating, isn’t it?” Bianca said. “Exercising your power freely? Giving it total release to be as strong as it can be?”
Heath was silent. He didn’t know how to answer. His power wasn’t like Bianca’s, and he didn’t know how to set it free. Not to mention, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to acknowledge the new aspects of it that had begun to emerge. Not when doing so might jeopardize the progress he and Prince Lachlan were attempting to make.
For a moment he leaned into the concept of his enhanced sight. He closed his physical eyes, trying to focus with his power instead. Merletta popped instantly into his mind, and instead of trying to evade the thought, he embraced it, willing his imagination to dwell on the details. However, as in his dream back in Kynton, the image wasn’t clear. It was murky, and he had an impression of great cold. He could see her face, its expression thoughtful, but it was like he was looking through grimy glass.
He sighed, opening his eyes and cutting off the vision. He didn’t know what to make of it, but it wasn’t exactly encouraging.
The captain spoke to them as the sun was setting, commenting on the favorable conditions, and alerting Heath to the fact that they were making much better progress than he’d anticipated.
“At this rate, we’ll reach the limit of how far east I’ve ever sailed before tomorrow morning,” he said gruffly. “Not sure what to expect then. The waters will be impassable by sunset tomorrow. You sure you know what you’re looking for?”
Heath set his eyes toward the east, an image in his mind of an island, peaceful and beautiful, sparkling like a jewel in a vast ocean.
“Very sure,” he said firmly.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Wivell’s classes may have been unexpectedly enjoyable, but Ibsen’s were frustratingly predictable. Merletta was glad when, during a lesson a couple months after she returned to the program, a distraction occurred to interrupt Ibsen’s monologue. He had mostly moved on from discussion of the human incident, but today Ibsen had decided to revisit it. Merletta felt a twinge of unease, wondering if the return to the topic could be related to her inquiries of Andre’s father. But she was probably being overly sensitive. Either way, listening to Ibsen’s descriptions of the brutality of humans, who—according to him—were unintelligent brutes with a primitive instinct of aggression, was trying her resolution to keep her head down.
The lithe young guard who appeared in the doorway seemed to be a signal, because Ibsen broke off and raised a questioning eyebrow. The merman, whom Merletta didn’t recognize, nodded, and said, “Tilssted. Outlying kelp farms.”
Merletta straightened her back, her attention caught by the mention of her familiar old waters. What was happening in the outlying kelp farms?
“All right, trainees,” Ibsen said, turning to them. All five trainees were in class together. Ibsen generally liked to gather them when lecturing about humans. “You have five minutes to return to your barracks and collect your weapons if necessary. Then we will join this guard patrol in attending a dispute currently underway in Tilssted.”
Merletta heard a low groan from Lorraine, but she ignored her, exchanging a look with Sage instead. Her friend grimaced. She’d explained to Merletta already about the tension that had been rising in the last few months regarding boundaries. In a sense, it was nothing new. The overpopulation of the triple kingdoms had been a problem for as long as Merletta could remember. Since they weren’t allowed to expand outside the barrier, the only way for the cities to grow was inward, and they’d already done so to the point that three once separate cities had formed one giant sprawling mass, in three segments. Given the prevailing teaching on the dangers of the open ocean, the wealthier merpeople had always elected to live closer to the Center. As the population grew, the poorest residents were constantly pushed further toward the outer ring of the triple kingdoms.
Nowhere was this problem more pronounced than in Tilssted, and no one felt it more than the poorest, most vulnerable of the city’s residents. The charity home where Merletta had grown up was a prime example. It was situated near the boundary of Tilssted and the outlying kelp farms that formed its edge. This had suited her just fine, of course, making her unsanctioned excursions beyond the barrier easier. But it was the source of a great deal of anxiety for others, who viewed the ocean beyond their kingdoms with nothing but fear.
It was no surprise that tension over this issue had grown to fever pitch in recent weeks, given the revelations about the proximity—and supposed danger—of land and humans.
Most of the trainees left to fetch their spears, or—in the first years’ case, blunt poles—but Merletta had hers with her as always. She floated near Ibsen and the guard, waiting silently for the others to return.
“You said it’s the kelp farms?” Ibsen asked the guard.
The young merman nodded. “Yes sir.”
“Casualties?”
The guard shook his head. “Not from what we’ve heard. There’s a Tilssted guard squad on site, but the regent requested a patrol of Center guards, to oversee.”
Ibsen nodded, and Merletta frowned. Tilssted’s regent had never been overly popular—according to rumor, he spent most of his time in the other cities, trying to ingratiate himself with the more influential regents. But surely even he should know better than to call in Center guards to oversee a simple, non-violent boundary dispute. It would only set the residents even further against both the regent and the Center.
She made no comment, but her thoughts were troubled as the group swam quickly out of the Center, and through the streets of Skulssted. The squad of guards they had joined was a dozen strong, and even Merletta, with the protection of her role as a Center trainee, found their throng of spear-tips intimidating. She could only be grateful that there were no familiar faces among the group—Ileana wasn’t part of this squad.
She was surprised, however, to see another former trainee catch up to them before they left Skulssted. From the inquiring look Ibsen bent upon Emil, he hadn’t expected the junior record holder, either.
“I heard the trainees were observing a containment patrol, and I wondered if I could join, sir,” Emil said calmly. “There were no such opportunities when I was a trainee.”