Page 22 of A Kingdom Restored

Heath rolled his shoulders, feeling much older than his twenty-one years. “I never claimed to be able to do that,” he said wearily.

The idea of control was something he’d given up long ago. At this stage, if he could keep both his family and Merletta alive, it would be all the triumph he could hope for.

Chapter Seven

Merletta cast her eyes around Hemssted’s large central square. It was bustling with activity, due to the rest day market that had been set up around the stone sculpture that dominated the space.

She’d been quietly watching the ebb and flow of the crowd for some time. She had once again felt the sensation of being followed as she’d traveled from the Center to Hemssted, but she could see no sign of anyone now. Perhaps it was the hubbub of the market, or perhaps whoever it was really had moved on. It didn’t much trouble her either way. It wasn’t as though there was really any harm in someone knowing she was wandering Hemssted on her rest day. In fact, it was probably a good thing—less likely to cast suspicious eyes in the direction of Vazula.

Her thoughts strayed to her friends. She knew if she’d asked, any one of them would have come with her on this exploratory trip. But she hadn’t been able to face voicing her fears and hopes to anyone. Especially when they all had plenty of problems of their own. Emil had been lecturing Andre just the night before on the second year test that was only days away for the younger trainee. And although Merletta usually considered Emil overly cautious, this time she agreed with him. As capable as Andre was, his life would still be in danger during the test which would lead him to the heart of the maelstrom.

Putting the matter aside for the moment, Merletta returned her attention to the market. Judging by the decorations worn by the various shoppers and the nature of the purchases, there was more variation in affluence than she’d expected. Still, everyone seemed fairly well provided for, the fashions more tasteful in her opinion than the flamboyant style often favored in Skulssted.

Was this the environment she’d been born into? She watched a pair of laughing merchildren darting around the tails of roving merchants, as playful as seal pups. Could she have grown up here, perhaps attended just such markets with her parents, if fate had been kinder?

Her thoughts were inevitably drawn to her actual childhood. With memories of the charity home came an image of Tilssted as she’d last seen it. She felt her brow darken as the pleasant picture before her was soured. It wasn’t right that Hemssted continued on in peace and prosperity, while one city away, their neighbors were trapped and beleaguered, their territory being slowly eroded by others from this very group, and their tentative efforts to expand outward crushed by the Center.

Merletta drifted across the square, moving between distracted locals as her eyes fixed on a large residence on the far side. It was as elegantly carved as the Center’s receiving hall, and separated from the chaos of the marketplace by a low decorative fence of what appeared to be whalebone.

Expensive, Merletta noted.

“Who lives there?” she asked a passing market-goer.

The mermaid glanced over her shoulder to see where Merletta was pointing. “That’s the residence of the Ol family,” she said. “I thought everyone knew that.”

Merletta cast another appraising glance at the stately home. So that was where Oliver’s family lived. It looked large enough to house several branches of a family, so it was probably the home where he’d grown up. Lorraine hadn’t been exaggerating when she jokingly referred to him asa mighty member of the Ol line.

“Are you a messenger?” the mermaid asked, eyeing Merletta’s armband in confusion. She clearly hadn’t noticed her Center-issued spear. “They won’t take kindly to strangers knocking on their door out of curiosity.”

Merletta shook her head, turning away from the imposing building. She had no desire to run into Oliver on her rest day.

“I’m not going to knock on their door. I have no business with the Ol family. I thought it might have been the residence of the El family, actually.”

“The El family?” The other mermaid wrinkled her nose in thought.

“Have you heard of them?” Merletta asked tentatively. Emil had given the impression that they were influential, but he’d only been speculating.

“Of course I’ve heard of the El family,” said the mermaid impatiently, supporting Emil’s conclusion. She gestured to a nearby street. “They live down there. It’s the big house with the mollusk shell facade, but it’s not as grand as the Ol place.”

She was off again with the words, clearly intent on whatever errand Merletta had interrupted.

Merletta floated slowly in the direction the other mermaid had pointed, not at all sure of her purpose. How would it help her, really, to see the home of an influential Hemssted family who may or may not be her blood? And yet, she kept swimming forward.

The building in question was as easy to locate as her guide had suggested. It rose above the others around it, the facade glinting green and pearly white. There was no whalebone fence here, but the boundary of the property was clearly marked with a tail-high border of coral, cultivated to grow in a perfect line.

Merletta hovered for a moment, staring at the structure while the flow of passersby continued around her. A number of merpeople, arms full of wares from the market, muttered in irritation as they dodged her, but she ignored them all. As she watched, a middle-aged mermaid with a no-nonsense expression swam briskly past her, swimming up and over the coral edging without a check to her pace. She carried a large basket of woven seaweed, the bundle swaying slightly to her strokes and revealing the fresh goods within.

Without being conscious of her own decision, Merletta found herself following the older mermaid, drifting over the coral with her eyes riveted on the doorway. In response to the mermaid’s call, the limestone door—itself a sign of the family’s wealth—slid smoothly to one side, revealing a merman who wore no decorations whatsoever.

“Delivery of market wares?” he asked impassively.

The mermaid nodded, her voice louder and less refined than his. “Yes, that’s right, but I want the mistress to look over it this time before I leave it. Last week I was accused of selecting undersized mussels, and—”

“The mistress is out at present, but I would be glad to assist.” The cool voice belonged to a middle-aged merman who glided up beside the one who’d opened the door.

“My apologies, Master Elfin,” said the other merman quickly, inclining his head. “There’s no need for you to be troubled.”

Merletta stared at the newcomer. Master Elfin? Was he the master of the house, then? The current patriarch of the El line, perhaps?

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