Mervidia (8 page)

“I did not
summon
you,” Penn said, returning to his chair behind his shaped-coral desk and gesturing to one of the vacant stools before it. “I
invited
you to come visit me, because I have a job for your Red Tridents.”

Zane settled down onto the offered seat, wrapping his tail around the shaft of the stool that protruded from the room’s stone floor.
It was not a comfortable place to sit, which he suspected was on purpose. “First, one does not decline an invitation from the domo of any house, much less Penn of House Yellowtail.”

Penn grinned, tilting his head in amusement, causing his thick
yellow-orange hair to wave in the water. Zane was reminded of the long flat plants that danced in the flow of the scalding water that jetted from the vents of the House Ignis’ kelp farms.

“Second,” Zane continued, ignoring Penn’s condescending smile, “what can the Red Tridents do that the
vast
army of House Yellowtail cannot?” He did not even attempt to hide the cynicism from his voice. Zane tugged on the bottom of his sharkskin vest, straightening the garment in a gesture that he hoped Penn would not miss.

The smile disappeared from the
domo’s face. “It was an invitation, old friend,” Penn said, his tone a strange mixture of both sincerity and irritation.

Are you irritated because I was offended by your summons or because I reminded you that I know the truth about your Culling?
Zane wondered, running his webbed hand over the front of his sharkskin vest. The leader of the Red Tridents glanced briefly at the burn mark that still scarred Penn’s left palm.

“Regardless,” the
domo continued, “I asked you here because I want to hire you.” The look of incredulity must have been obvious on Zane’s face, because Penn’s smile returned. “There is a matter that I need to be handled discretely. It is something that I believe could be done better by a smaller, more subtle, group such as the Red Tridents, rather than the massive cudgel of House Yellowtail’s army.”

Penn’s phrasing was not lost on Zane.
The domo had subtly insulted the Red Tridents, alluding to their smaller numbers, while reminding Zane that House Yellowtail was a massive military juggernaut that could crush any who opposed them like a crab beneath the weight of an enormous uklod. Zane knew his position; he did not need to be reminded of it.

“And what does the job entail, Domo?” Zane asked, keeping his voice neutral.

“Nothing that would compromise you or your merwin,” Penn replied, his condescending grin now changing to one of amusement. “If I needed something like that done, I would have contacted a faera, and done so much more discretely than inviting you into my chambers.”

“What do you want, Penn?” Zane said, his patience
with his fellow neondra growing thin.

“Domo, if you please,” Penn retorted, his smile shifting once again, this time to one of smug superiority.
“Need I remind you of where you are?” The Yellowtail spread his webbed hands, indicating his office, what it represented, and all the trophies it contained.

“Need I remind you,
out loud
, from whence you came?” Zane replied, all pretense at civility vanishing. The mercenary captain had had enough. He pointed directly at the frilled shark tooth that hung around Penn’s neck. “Despite the fact that we are in your office, deep within the secure confines of your house, no place is safe from the prying ears and blades of the faera. There’s no telling who might overhear.” As swollen a head as Penn had gotten over the many cycles since their Culling and as smugly secure as he was in his position as Domo of House Yellowtail, the other neondra knew the leverage that Zane had over him. Most days, it was probably what kept the Red Tridents from being pushed aside by Penn’s army.

All trace
s of smile or amusement vanished from the domo’s face, like an eel darting back into its cave. “The power I wield…,” Penn began angrily.

“Could all be taken away by my telling the right person what I know,” Zane finished.
He let Penn squirm on his lofty perch behind his desk, before continuing. “Now, again I ask. Why did you summon me, Domo?”

Zane watched Penn slowly get his anger under control before speaking, but even when he did, it was through clenched teeth.
“I want you to investigate Queen Beryl’s death.”

It was Zane’s turn to be rendered momentarily speechless.
A fact that seemed to quell Penn’s rage further. “Pardon?” the mercenary captain managed to choke out.

“I want you to
discretely
investigate the queen’s death,” Penn said. “Then,
if
and when you discover the assassin, I want you to bring the information directly to me and tell no one else.”

Zane’s mind raced, trying to discern the
domo’s motives. “Why?” he asked simply, though the question was infinitely more complicated than the single word implied.

“Why am I hiring you or why do I want to know the assassin’s identity?” Penn asked, the co
ndescending smile returning to his face. He liked having Zane off balance and was unable to hide his amusement.

“Both,” Zane replied simply.

“I am hiring you because I value your discretion and your position
outside
the normal house politics. Your independent status makes any information you bring me far less suspect than if it were to come from one of Iago’s flunkies.” Penn’s grin spread wider. “Additionally, the person who discovers the identity of Queen Beryl’s assassin, and the merwin who hired him, will garner great praise, and possibly leverage, in the near future. The tide is already beginning to shift, Zane. Even you must be able to sense that from your hovel down in the Ghet. There are great opportunities coming, for those willing to take the initiative and seize them.” Penn’s grin took on a decidedly nefarious quality as he spoke.

Zane
paused a moment to mentally get his tail beneath him before he responded. “It is my understanding that Iago has dispatched his own investigators from within the ranks of the Palace Guard,” he said.

Penn’s eyes flickered nervously for just a moment at Zane’s words.
Ahh,
he thought,
I bet you’re wondering how I knew that already, aren’t you domo?
It was all Zane could do to keep a smile off his own face.
Let’s just say that the faera aren’t the only ones with eyes around Mervidia.

“That is correct,” Penn said, recovering quickly from his surprise.
“However, no one trusts the regent to reveal anything that isn’t directly supportive of Iago’s claim to the throne.” The distaste that the Domo of House Yellowtail had for the idea of the Queen’s consort wearing the Fangs was obvious in his tone. “An impartial investigation is in the best interest of Mervidia, and I knew that you would be a good choice to conduct it,” he stated. “I am also aware that the purpose of your… company is to protect the merwin as a whole.” Penn interlaced his fingers before him. “So, when you think about it, our interests align nicely on the matter.”

There was a smugness in Penn’s last statement that infuriated Zane, both in its hauteur and the fact that the
domo was right. It was in everyone’s best interests that the truth behind the Queen’s assassination be fully revealed, before suspicions surrounding it led to open battle between the High Houses. Most often, when Mervidia’s High Houses came to blows, it was the common merwin that bore the brunt of the devastation, their resources that would normally be used to support and protect the city consumed instead by inter-house warfare.

“Very well,” Zane finally said.
“I know just the merwin for the task.”

“I am hiring
you
,” Penn stated, his hands coming apart and resting on the desk before him as he leaned forward. The look of irritation on his face was a balm to Zane’s wounded pride.

“You said you had a job for my Red Tridents,” the mercenary leader reminded him.
“As their captain, I am giving the assignment to the merwin I feel is best suited to the task and would also garner the least suspicion should he uncover anything… controversial.” Zane leaned back a little on his seat. It was his turn to be smug. He had managed to use the domo’s own words against him and shape things more to his liking.

Penn took a deep inhalation of water, letting it slowly flow out of his torso gills before he r
esponded. “And who do you have in mind for the assignment, Captain Zane?” The domo’s upper lip curled slightly as he grudgingly used Zane’s title. He had been trapped by his own words, and he knew it. The outcome did not sit well with him.

Zane did not care.
“There is a seifeira in my company, who is both clever and trustworthy. He can be relied on to be honest and discrete,” he stated confidently.

“And what,” Penn asked, “is this
seifeira’s name?” The domo was clearly still irritated by the turn of events.

“Lachlan,” Zane answered simply.

“Never heard of him,” Penn said, derisively.

“Exactly,” Zane replied.

When the mercenary captain did not elaborate, Penn said, “Pardon?”

“If you want discretion and a source of information that is less likely to draw suspicion, who better than a merwin with no name to worry about tarnishing and no agenda worth scrutinizing?”
Zane waited while the implications of what he had just said sank in with Penn. As he did, his eyes wandered, looking at the paraphernalia that decorated the walls around them. His eyes fell upon a familiar looking, coral-tipped bone-hafted spear. Anger welled up in Zane’s chest stronger than before, as he turned back towards his
old friend
.

“Those are the terms, Penn,” the mercenary captain said curtly.
“Take them or leave them!” Zane uncoiled his tail from his stool and rose from his seat. “When you have decided, send word….”

“Very well,” Penn said quickly, interrupting Zane.
“I agree. How much will this cost me?” the domo asked.

“That depends on what Lachlan finds,” Zane said brusquely.

“Wait a moment,” Penn said, rising from his seat as well. “How do I know you’re not going to…?”

“Take them or leave them!” Zane repeated, placing his fists on the
domo’s desk and leaning forward, glaring angrily at the Yellowtail.

To his credit, Penn did not recoil, but he was clearly not happy with how events had unfolded in his own office.
After a moment, he mirrored his guest’s posture. “I trust you will not take advantage of the situation and gouge me on your fee,” the domo stated resolutely. “It would not be in your best interest to do so, which I am
sure
you understand,” he said, his words heavy with unspoken threat.

“Of all merwin, you’re not the one who should be questioning my trustworthiness, Penn,” Zane said, matching the
domo’s milky white stare.

For several tense moments, silence and seething animosity hung in the water between the two
neondra.

“Very well,” Penn finally said into the angry stillness.
“I accept your terms,” he relented and thrust out his webbed hand to accept the arrangement.

Grudgingly, Zane took his fellow
neondra’s offered forearm, shaking it tersely before turning and swimming towards the door. “I’ll see myself out,” he said, ripping open the bone door to the domo’s office. A pair of armored Yellowtail guards stood outside and turned to face the mercenary captain.

“Oh no,” Penn said smugly, his self-satisfied grin returning.
“I insist.” He gestured to the two guards. “Please, show
Captain
Zane out.”

Chapter Eight

Mervidia’s broad avenues were vacant, and the
eerie evening silence scared Flinn. He swam out from his bedroom’s small balcony and quickly darted into the Royal Palace’s shadows far below. As Flinn raced for the safety of the building’s dark recesses, not one merwin had been visible beyond the palace’s wall, not surprising considering how late it was. Despite the Queen having been murdered in her own bed, his fear of predatory fish appeared to be needless so close to his home and its guards.

Flinn peeked out from his hiding place
behind a stone statue of his great grandfather in the bright coral gardens. Only a few small schools of bioluminescent fish swam by. They darted and swirled about, creating a blur of pale white light as they moved. Even the palace was dim, its interior orihalcyon sconces shrouded during sleeping hours; only the exterior sconces beamed into the ocean’s vast gloom. The young merwin took heart from his ancestor, gripping the cold pale-stone shoulder with his purple-webbed hand and peering into the statue’s eyes, as they looked out at Mervidia with pride. His great grandfather, King Luzige, had been a massive ethyrie, well-muscled and with a towering frame. The sculpture showed the deceased monarch with only a bone dagger belted around his pelvis. When alone, Flinn often imagined he was his forefather, swimming confidently about his room, defending the city with only his small blade, and trying to speak in the deep voice that he imagined his great grandfather had had. As soon as he left his room though, Flinn became the coward again, wanting nothing more than to hide from the cruelty of the Merwin behind his mother’s fins.

After a patrol passed by on the exterior wall that circled the Royal Palace, Flinn swam to
the wall’s base and ducked into a corner. While the palace’s construction was all smooth corners, the wall surrounding the citadel zigzagged back and forth in order to bypass larger obstacles like small reefs and large boulders left to their natural state on the ocean’s stony floor. The wall was more of a visual barrier than a functional one. It really wasn’t meant to keep anything out, when one could just swim over it.

Ensuring that he would not be detected when next he moved,
Flinn paused until the patrol move further down the wall. As he waited for the glow of the guards’ orihalcyon lanterns to fade away, the ethyrie looked back at his home that never ceased to widen his eyes in wonder with its beauty. His great grandfather had had the massive structure erected from stone, procured from the Deep Mines, but not before the surrounding city was built first. The palace was the final touch on the glimmering city in the Deeps, and its towers soared the highest of all the buildings in Mervidia. Flinn’s sister Cassondra raved about what she called the Royal Palace’s architecture, comparing its design to the homes of the other High Houses. Flinn didn’t care for all that technical jargon; he was happy to simply gaze appreciatively upon the fluid lines that seemed to effortlessly float up from the seafloor. The palace’s massive double front doors were beautifully carved with a relief of all seven of the Merwin races floating side by side. Above it, House Lumen’s crest was set with orihalcyon and pearls in the shape of the Fangs, the coveted crown of Mervidia.

The impressive
sigil cast a soft orange glow, shedding its warmth into the dark waters. It also served as a reminder to Flinn that his family expected much of him.
Perhaps too much,
he thought.

The patrol passed
and Flinn flicked his tail, propelling him up and over the wall, leaving the palace behind. He was anxious about entering open water; he would not be able to defend himself should a passing predator spot him. Luckily, the mauve-finned ethyrie was a fast swimmer; a trait that had saved his life several times.
Usually, I just avoid these situations so that I don’t have to flee,
he thought, wondering again why Ghita and Damaris had summoned him.
Surely, it is something to do with my cousin Beryl’s death, but I don’t see how that involves me.

Cassondra, Flinn’s sister, had woken him, saying that his mother and aunt wished to speak to him outside the Royal Palace
, away from prying eyes and overeager ears. Flinn did as he was told.
It is just easier that way,
he thought, usually brought to tears by his sister’s impatience and often unpleasant words when he failed to perform even simple tasks
. It isn’t my fault that I don’t follow directions well, that I can’t wield a blade well, nor heal a wound as most machi can,
Flinn thought.
I haven’t had a single ethyrie vision in my whole life. I am just not like the others.

Flinn was more than happy to go see the
frilled sharks. That was a task he could do, and do so gladly, feeling at peace near the animals when he assisted the shark trainers in their exercises. Flinn had a bond with the Royal Palace’s mounts that most thought asinine. He quite enjoyed their company though, especially when his own kind picked on him so relentlessly.
At least, the sharks do not judge me. Only Mother and Auntie Damaris understand me as well and accept me for who I am.

Ghita and Damaris wanted their meeting to be a secret, so Flinn avoided the guards that p
atrolled outside the Royal Palace’s expansive wall. He thought himself brilliant for stealthily dodging between the moving patrols, doubled in number and passing more frequently after the Queen’s assassination. Flinn would dart behind a rock outcropping or under a large clam to avoid their searching eyes. He kept getting an odd taste in his mouth whenever he would stop, but he didn’t think anything of it.
Next time,
maybe I need to linger a little longer amongst the schools of cleaning fish,
he thought, thinking the anomalous tang was the result of poor hygiene.

Flinn a
rrived at the frilled shark pen, which was situated not far from the Royal Palace. However, it was distant enough that should one of the predators break free from a trainer that there would not be many casualties before the beast was put down. The area around the pen was empty, as expected, save for the mounts themselves. The enclosure was an exceptional piece of architecture, a giant dome of spell-hardened fire coral, rumored to have been originally grown from a small sample taken from King’s Reef itself. The machi said that the spirits of the past monarchs helped break the sharks and keep them in line, making them humble beasts ready to serve their masters. Even Flinn knew that such talk was nonsense. He knew these beasts and had bonded with them. The only thing that kept the sharks inside was their fear of the stinging red coral.

Flinn approached the pen and carefully placed his hand
through a small gap in the coral. Immediately, his favorite frilled shark swam to him and placed the center of her broad nose into his palm. Her body was at such an angle that she could regard Flinn with one of the small milky eyes on either side of her great snout. The sharks’ eyes always reminded him of merwin eyes.

Flinn
did not fear the creature’s rows of barbed teeth; the ethyrie saw into the beast’s mind, knew that she was happy to see him and was hoping he had food for her. When he felt regret that he was not there to feed her, he could feel her disappointment. She allowed him to stroke her smooth skin as she swam away. Flinn did so, careful not to stick a finger into one of the seven frilled gills on either side of her neck, just in front of her pectoral fins. That tended to make the sharks angry.

Remembering his reason for coming to the pens in the first place, Flinn looked around for his aunt and mother.
Not seeing them outside, he decided to look in the nearby stable, a small stone building with only two stalls where the shark trainers did much of their work. The stalls had hardened sharkskin tethers knotted securely around bone poles that were driven deep into the rocky seafloor. The straps were tied around the animal and held it in place, as a bit and saddle were fastened to the mount. They kept the trainers’ hands safely to the side of the sharks’ mouths.

Upon entering and s
canning the building, Flinn saw no one on the main floor. He raised his gaze to the loft above, where the tackle was stored. An ethyrie was watching him from above. Fear gripped Flinn’s stomach for a brief moment, until he recognized the merwin as one of the shark trainers. However, before Flinn could call out a greeting, his stomach lurched and his head spun, as if it had been struck. Every nerve in his body screamed with…
hunger
, blind unbridled hunger.

Flinn felt the sharks’ turmoil before he heard the crash of their bodies breaking th
rough the pen’s bone gate. The trainer’s head disappeared back into the loft, as the frilled sharks swarmed into the stables, headed straight for Flinn. He tried to send them soothing thoughts, as he did during training and when they were bridled, but something else demanded the sharks’ full attention. His girl, his favorite, bit into his side, ripping out a huge chunk of his torso and pelvis, right at the base of his main tail fin.

The sharks swarmed Flinn in a feeding frenzy, biting deeply into his pale flesh and mauve-colored fins.
The water rapidly clouded with his blood, red tendrils streaking from the mouths of his
friends
. He managed to scream for a few short moments before the excruciating pain he felt came to an abrupt end, and he felt nothing. Flinn guessed that his spine had been severed after seeing a shark dart away with part of the back of his upper neck, his long burgundy hair trailing from its mouth.

Time seemed to slow down
and Flinn was only vaguely aware of the sharks coming and going. He stared dully at a shredded pouch floating sluggishly across his darkening vision, along with some of his other ravaged belt pouches. The first bag struck him as odd. It was not his, and red blood still seeped from its interior. He finally recognized the pouch for what it was… a Culling bag.
The strange taste in my mouth when I stopped,
Flinn recalled.
It was blood,
he realized
,
and I trailed it right up to the shark pen.
Flinn died, his body being torn apart and devoured by the animals he had loved, knowing that he had been betrayed.