“The integrity of the program is paramount,” Wivell interrupted coldly. “Merletta has passed the second year test, and is therefore a third year trainee until such time as she sits the third year test, or is formally disqualified from the program.”
“Oh, good,” said Merletta flippantly, her voice raised in a provocative lilt. “So if I were to pass the test, I could go on to fourth year?”
Wivell glared at her. “Of course,” he said coldly. “But it is irrelevant, given you cannot sit the—”
“With all due respect, Instructor,” the head guard interrupted impatiently, “I can’t see that the program has anything to do with this. This young mermaid has been accused of a crime which—”
“A crime for which there appears to be absolutely no evidence.” August’s commanding voice rang over the drop off as he swam up to Merletta’s side.
His appearance caused something of a sensation among the gathered guards, many of whom clearly recognized him as the supposedly deceased leader of the ill-fated patrol.
Wivell showed no hint of either surprise or dismay. He studied August dispassionately, then turned to the head guard next to whom he floated. “Is it true that there is no objective evidence of the crime?”
The guard shifted in the water, looking irritated. “That’s not my area,” he said gruffly. “My orders are to apprehend her and—”
“Apprehend me and kill me quietly, where no one can see,” Merletta called out over his words, making sure the crowd could hear her. “I remember from last time. And it’s not like I didn’t know that was what I was coming back to. But I want to make sure that this time, everyone knows it.”
“That’s nonsense,” the guard growled, although he looked distinctly uneasy now.
The crowd’s mutterings were growing in volume, and several burly mermen floated up alongside Merletta again, cracking their knuckles menacingly.
“Your allegation is absurd,” said Wivell, also sounding irritated. “If there is no evidence of a crime, then I have no doubt this matter can be peaceably resolved.”
“Wivell,” protested Ibsen. “You cannot seriously be considering allowing her to re-enter the program. Your rules be seared, I will not allow—”
“You are becoming excited unnecessarily,” Wivell cut him off, and Merletta sensed a warning in his words. “There is absolutely no need to step outside the rules of the program in order to appropriately respond to this situation. This former trainee has surrendered her place in the program due to her prolonged and unsanctioned absence from her studies.”
Ibsen scowled. Merletta could tell that he thought her exclusion from the program was a tame response compared to the summary execution he’d been hoping for.
“I didn’t want to surrender my place in the program,” she said, her eyes on Ibsen. “But you didn’t give me much choice, did you? You made it impossible for me to succeed, openly refusing to teach me the material, blocking me from doing my own study at every turn. You even changed the watchword that’s stood for generations, just to keep me out of the records I needed to access in order to pass.” She pointed back toward the receiving hall. “You’ve hated me from the moment I swam through those doors, and it’s just about killed you to see me make it as far as I have, hasn’t it?”
Ibsen ground his teeth, his eyes angry as they rested on her. But he wasn’t really the one Merletta had been trying to get a reaction from. The group behind and around her had grown even in the time they’d been in the drop off—a glance behind showed more merpeople pouring through the receiving hall even now. And as she’d hoped, her crowd of champions were taking offense on her behalf, angry cries greeting her words.
“We knew you’d never give our trainee a real chance!”
“And the Center claims that anyone can apply!”
“Corruption!”
“You can’t kick her out!”
Movement from behind the line of guards caught Merletta’s eye, and she started forward in the water. Two forms were streaking across the drop off, green and coral scales glinting through the gloom.
Merletta was taken aback by the strength of the emotion that rose up in her at the sight of her friends. Emil looked as serious as ever, but Sage’s face showed joy alongside her evident fear. She must have wondered if Merletta was dead.
Ibsen followed Merletta’s gaze, his scowl becoming more pronounced at the sight of the approaching pair.
“Stay back, record holders,” he barked out. “This is a matter for the guards.”
For a moment Merletta was confused by his words, then understanding bloomed. Of course! Sage’s test had been weeks ago. She must have passed. She was a junior record holder now, like Emil. Merletta felt a surge of pride for her friend’s achievement, even as her mind reeled from the bizarre realization that life had gone on as normal in the program after her desperate flight.
Looking behind the pair, Merletta saw another group approaching. Agner soon came into clear view, a disordered mess of swimmers behind him. With another lift of the heart, Merletta spotted Andre’s crimson scales. It must be a combat day for the trainees—she’d lost track of days of the week.
“Trainee Merletta!” Agner gave an amazed laugh, his expression suggesting that for him, at least, the surprise was a pleasant one. Merletta actually thought he looked a little impressed.
“Not a trainee any longer, Agner,” Ibsen growled.
“Well, I don’t know about that,” said the combat instructor jovially. “Until she’s formally ousted from the program, I suppose we should continue to address her as a trainee.”