Mervidia (18 page)

Chapter
Nineteen

Odette sat alone on a kelp-cushioned stool in front of the dressing table in the bedchamber she shared with her husband. Her tentacles extended around her in a relaxed manner like the skirt of an elaborate gown that a few of the more frivolous, highborn merwin females liked to wear. Her tentacles did not impede her in combat though, as their silly apparel would. Odette wore no such clothing other than jewelry, preferring to wear only what she had been born with.

The female kalku was looking at the smooth flat surface of the broken fragment of a large shell that had been affixed to the block-stone wall behind the table.
It was so well polished that she could perfectly see her reflection within its depths. Like most items in the High Houses, the object had been ensorcelled to preserve and enhance its attributes. It had been expensive, but Uchenna had purchased it for his wife, knowing the pleasure it would bring her… and to him in the favor it would earn him with the beautiful octolaide.

If Odette had flowing locks like most merwin, she would
likely be brushing them while admiring herself. But not only did she not have hair, she also lacked the head tentacles so common amongst other octolaide. Odette was not bothered by either of those anomalies though; she more than made up for them with her sumptuous body and also with her
extensive
collection of jewelry. Uchenna’s rings and such fit into a small carved-bone box that sat on top of the table, but Odette’s trinkets were held in a much larger stone chest to the side of the table, just within reach of her tentacles. The octolaide spent hours at the dressing table, trying on necklace after necklace, plucked from the well-organized strongbox. Every single piece had been a gift from one suitor or another, and of those she had had a gracious plenty.

Odette ran her webbed fingers up the length of the unusual, smooth spiraled tendrils coming off her forehead.
The gesture was one of comfort, reminding herself that as they were unique, so was she. The octolaide dropped her hands to her white throat, untying a weighty stone choker set with black pearls, and let it sink to the table top. With a tentacle, she hooked it and placed the necklace back into the chest. She stroked her neck, rubbing away the burden of the blocky accessory, and tied on her usual kelp necklace, which had originally been her mother’s. It had been the first item Odette’s kalku mother had magically preserved, and she had gifted it to her beloved daughter.

I have come so far from the Ghet,
Odette thought. The fact that she had been born and lived in Mervidia’s slums as a fry was a secret she kept close. She hadn’t even told Uchenna. Only Ambrose knew, and only because he had drawn it out of her during a torturous part of her kalku training, when she had been his student.

Her deliberations shifted back to her mother.
Despite being houseless and spouseless for a long time, Mother eventually raised us out of that squalor
. Odette had never known much about her father, other than he had been a full-blooded octolaide like her mother. She wondered about the validity of the tale though, because Odette’s head features were so unusual. Not ugly by any means, just different. Regardless, her mother’s actions had always served them well, no matter what story she had told; she had secured them both places in a number of houses, each one higher up in ranking than the one before.

The
octolaide matron opened the sinew-hinged door of the small bone cage on the edge of the table,
plucked a sea cucumber from within, and bit into it, devouring the long, writhing worm-like marine animal in three quick bites.
Here’s to you, Mother, may your spirit rest in peace
. She chewed thoughtfully. One of Odette’s earliest memories was of her and her mother hiding in filth, their bellies aching from starvation. She now wanted for nothing, her ravenous childhood hunger faded like an old scar; it was still present, but the memory lacked the intensity that it had had two decades ago.

She peered into the looking shell, glancing at the circular bed behind her, its sharpened bone
canopy falling just shy of the room’s stone ceiling. Their shadows, cast from the orihalcyon sconces throughout the bedchamber, might seem nightmarish to some, like the jaws of some shadowy fish, but they brought her comfort. This room, heavily warded as it was, was the first place she had ever truly felt safe. Uchenna, who was always so busy with Assembly affairs, usually left her alone during the waking hours. Odette flushed, thinking of all the pleasure she had experienced in that bed. In a way, it was her place of work, where she continued to solidify her bond with Uchenna
… and enjoy myself in the process
, Odette grinned. She looked back at herself in the looking shell.
I follow your example, Mother, using my feminine wiles as you did to advance my station, and now I am almost at the pinnacle of Mervidia’s hierarchy. My son or daughter will rule, and I will be royalty. I shall reach what you, Mother, did not have the time to achieve.
Odette wished her mother could be there when her grandchild claimed the Fangs.

Odette’s thoughts were interrupted as a gulper fish
approached her, stopping in-between her and the looking shell, its milky-blue eyes staring at her expectantly.

How in the world did that get in here?
The octolaide pondered, before she realized just how strangely it was acting. The fish stayed in place, yet still undulated its long eel-like tail, the bioluminescent organ on its tip faintly adding to the illumination in the dim, orihalcyon-lit room. It rotated until its short, scaleless black belly lay exposed to her. It was then that Odette recognized it as a kalku messenger.

The
octolaide drew an ornate bone knife, appearing to the inattentive eye as merely an ornament, from the design carved into her husband’s jewelry box. Obliging the fish’s offered underside, Odette cut it open with a single precise stroke. The animal squirmed in pain as it died, its clear toxic blood flowing out towards her. The kalku waved her webbed hand twice, washing the noxious blood away so that she would not imbibe it. She thrust her hand inside the fish’s gut and pulled out a brown nautilus shell, which she placed in front of her on the table. With a tentacle, the octolaide removed the dead fish from her sight, holding it down near the floor for the time being. She removed a cork of dense sea sponge from the orifice of the shell, opening it up. A small amount of red blood crept out like tiny fingers, reaching for her. Odette glanced to the magically fused-bone door to the room, ensuring that it was closed. Kalku messages usually called for the utmost privacy.

“Vox Sanguinis,” Odette spoke aloud.
At the command, the shell shook as it voided itself of all the fluid it held. She opened her hand beneath the mix of blood and ink, anchoring it in place with a minor amount of her life force, which radiated up from her palm. The viscous crimson liquid swirled in front of her looking shell, forming into Ambrose’s face. His attention was elsewhere and not on her, an indication that Odette was seeing her former lover as he was at that exact moment. The spell fully solidified, as did Ambrose’s attention. As if feeling her eyes upon him, the image of the male octolaide turned his head towards her, locking their gazes. He saw her as she saw him, a direct link across Mervidia from up high in House Chimaera down to where he lived in his cave.

“Ambrose,” Odette said, saying his name with no small amount of disgust.
Her next words were angry, yet said lowly as to not attract attention from the other merwin in her home. “How dare you contact me here in House Chimaera!”

“Greetings, lover,” Ambrose answered with a mischievous grin on his thin lips.
“You looked beautiful in the Queen’s funeral parade. Quite fetching.”

“What do you want, Ambrose?” Odette asked pointedly, ignoring the compliment.

“Why the contempt, Odette?” he replied. “Was it not me that did
you
a favor? I am still waiting on my…
reward
.” One edge of Ambrose’s grin curled with eagerness, perhaps at a past pleasant memory. Odette felt like she was going to vomit; the thought of his hands on her again made her nauseated.
The sex was good, sure, but he is useless to me now
, she thought,
a houseless worm feeding off the scraps of Mervidia.
I did well leaving him behind, when I heard King Reth was looking for a kalku to aid with Damaris’ infertility.
She squirmed, her tentacles writhing with revulsion, as if feeling his filth-covered hands on her flawless pale skin.

“Reward?” Odette hissed, her eyes narrowing.
“Your merwin failed in his task. Why would I reward failure?”

“Yes… yet I did as you asked of me,” Ambrose retorted.
“It is not my fault
he
failed.” The male kalku propped his elbows up on some piece of furniture Odette could not see in the spell’s limited scope. He cupped his pointed chin in his hands, leaning in close and waiting for kind words that would not come from her lips. Once again though, Odette was drawn to the shape of his face, not so different from her own. He lacked eyebrows as she did, and his small smooth nose, while slightly bigger than hers, still looked so similar to her own visage. Ambrose had hair though, long black locks, whose strands floated in and out of the spell’s range.

Perhaps we are not so similar after all
, Odette thought, looking at his hair. Ambrose responded poorly to her silence, perhaps thinking she was intentionally not responding and ignoring him. His forehead creased and his eyes grew angry, their intensity razor sharp.

“I had hoped this conversation would have gone more… pleasantly.
Carrying out your little scheme, I was almost discovered, you know.” Ambrose said, his voice growing cold where before it had been heated with the warmth of desire. “So,
did you
or
did you not
set me up?” Odette weighed her response, carefully choosing her words. While Ambrose was a houseless cave-dweller, he was still the most powerful kalku in Mervidia. He could cause her a great deal of unwanted trouble. The first of which would be his telling Uchenna that she and Ambrose had still slept together for a time, even after she had been wed to the domo. No magic would be necessary for Ambrose to destroy what Odette had taken such care to build; the right words in the wrong ear would cause a combustive chaos that she might not be able to contain.

“Of course not,” she lied, but Ambrose’s face softened, seeming to believe her.
Because he wants to believe I still care for him. What a lovesick fool
, she thought,
so easily duped by a pretty face
. It wasn’t an outright falsehood, but she had never intended that his hired grogstack would have actually been successful in assassinating the Queen. His contracted killer had merely been the decoy, an unsuspecting tool, much like Ambrose himself. “You still failed though, Ambrose. The task I gave you was your last chance to regain my favor. The attempt was botched… therefore,
no reward
. Goodbye, Ambrose. Do not contact me again.” His faced regained its previous anger, his lips tightening into a scowl.

“I am not so easily set aside, lover,” Ambrose said vehemently.
“I….”

Odette closed her fist, severing the connection.
She sighed and looked down at the dead gulper fish in her tentacle’s grasp, its lifeless body bobbing back and forth in the room’s gentle current. The expired marine animal spoke volumes about her and Ambrose’s relationship. It was the perfect visual representation, at least in her mind, that their time together had come to an end.

Chapter Twenty

The sounds of bone weapons colliding together in water carried
clearly across the training yard and were a sweet song to Regent Iago’s ears. Working his muscles instead of his brain trying to figure out the political mind games of the Coral Assembly was a welcome distraction. Taking a rest until his turn came round again, Iago watched as two of his Serfin sparred with their customary spears. He watched them clash their carved-bone weapons together time and time again, each ethyrie trying to twist his own weapon, lodging the end barbs around the other’s haft and twisting it out of his grasp, disarming him. It was an excellent exercise in detaining a foe rather than wounding or killing him. Pair after pair formed up and practiced the technique. Eventually, their faces started to blur together as the time passed, and the regent lost interest.

Not an active participant in the drills going on before him, Iago grew distracted, floating amongst his guards.
The regent’s mind turned inwards and focused on the magnitude of his new station. It wasn’t that he disliked the Assembly or his new duties there; he just felt overwhelmed, young and inexperienced amongst the rest of its more established members. Trying to figure out who was plotting with whom or how to manage trade and food distribution throughout the city made Iago’s head ache. It was a good deal to handle, and he was only two days into his new position as Mervidia’s regent. He remembered Beryl acclimating to the role of Queen, and he had not envied her then. He knew now exactly what she had gone through, just over a cycle ago, and to further complicate things was their royal wedding. Its planning and execution, as well as dealing with her father’s death, had also been thrown in on top of it all.

The last couple
of days had been busy, but Iago’s nights had seemed even longer, as he cried his grief to the cold stone walls of the servants’ quarters adjoining the royal bedchamber. The regent had been unable to sleep in the room he had shared with his wife and had moved into the room next door in hopes of being able to get some rest, with poor results. Her absence mirrored the current state of his heart; he felt numbingly empty. Beryl, who had been his center, had been unjustly ripped away by an assassin’s blade. He missed her. The ethyrie wisely kept his mournful emotions hidden within the confines and privacy of his room. Any such weakness shown publicly would have been used against him by those wishing to advance themselves or their houses.

A company of Yellowtail approached after a match
had finished. The whole group dutifully bowed to Iago, and the attention stirred him from his thoughts. He nodded to them, acknowledging their show of respect. The head of their unit, a muscular female, swam forward. Her blonde, turquoise tipped hair had been shorn to her scalp on the sides, giving her a medium-length mohawk with its strands twisted into dreadlocks. Her golden tail sparkled, which spoke of the cleanliness and discipline of a good soldier.

“May I interest you in a match, my Lord Regent?” she asked, a sly grin on her thin lips.

“I would be honored,” Iago responded, lowering his voice and speaking clearly in his best, commanding voice. He straightened his body, as his attention perked up. In doing so, Iago realized how hunched he had been a moment before. He made a mental note to not let himself slouch so, especially in public.

Iago observed her choice of weapon, a long white bone spear.
His mind raced, tapping into his past matches with spear-wielders and getting into the correct mind set to best defend and attack her.

“When you are ready then,” the Yellowtail said, flashing her white teeth at him once more b
efore turning and swimming to a starting position.

“After you, m’lady,” Iago grinned and extended his arm in a gesture of mock chivalry, waving her forward as if to join her in a dance.
His levity earned many smiles, humor so greatly needed by the demoralizing events of the last couple of days. The Yellowtail contingent joined the ranks of the Serfin, which made Iago a little nervous, thinking the match might be a deadly trap. The regent put his mind at ease though; his guards outnumbered the Yellowtails, and he trusted that they would keep him safe. Also, the palace’s practice yards were always teeming with Serfin, Palace Guards, and neondra, primarily from House Yellowtail, whose members had become the sole defenders of Mervidia’s borders. While the ethyrie protected their regent, it was the resilient neondra that protected the city. Besides, House Yellowtail’s domo was like an uncle to him, and Iago trusted that the stalwart merwin would never wish him any ill will. Although, he wondered if he was being too naïve in that regard now that he was regent; he had seen more than one childhood friendship turned sour by greed and adversity.

House Yellowtail had its own training yard, but it wasn’t near
ly as big as the Palace’s massive terrace of smoothed stone tiles and its impressive view of Mervidia. Like the tentacles splayed out from the waist of an octolaide, the city surrounded the Palace, which in turn towered above the other domiciles. If the houses were Mervidia’s tentacles, then the Palace was its solid torso; the city’s tall center, casing its heart.

Set into the center of the training yard was the Divine Family’s crest.
The symbol mirrored the Fangs, Mervidia’s crown, with great spines arching off a solid band, all in orihalcyon carved down into flat pavers. While the back of the Palace was on the long inner side of the rectangular yard, two buildings flanked each other on the shorter sides of the terrace. The stone commander’s pavilion lay just inside the wall that surrounded the Palace. On the opposite side of the yard, just outside the wall, was the frilled shark pen, with its red coral domed top visible as it peeked over the partition. Iago mentally shuddered, thinking about Beryl’s cousin, Flinn, who met his end at the jaws of the aggressive beasts in a gruesome fashion inside the shark stable just yesterday. The regent had realized too late that his dream the morning of Beryl’s death had foretold the youth’s demise. The Palace Guard was calling it an accident, but Iago, and every other merwin, knew better. The timing was too close to the Queen’s death, and her permanent successor had yet to be named. Someone had craftily eliminated the dull-witted descendent of the Divine Family and made it appear like a tragic calamity. No witnesses had come forward to dispute the supposition, so the matter had been closed.

The regent shook such sorrowful thoughts from his mind and nodded to the Yellowtail, after she had settled into the spot where she wished to spar.
He drew his sword from its sheath on his sharkskin belt and swam across from her to his starting position. The Yellowtails and his guard formed a circle around the two. Iago raised his sword in salute, and the Yellowtail mirrored the gesture with her spear. Afterwards, she immediately lunged at him, but he was ready. His blade met the haft of her spear, knocking the strike aside.

Yes, I much prefer this
, Iago thought, his mind at ease and not thinking of his wife’s murder, as he swung his sword and parried his opponent’s attacks, strike after strike. The muscles of his arm started to burn from the effort, but it was a good sensation.
This, I am good at. Here, I can be confident and not feel stifled or drowned in a sea of devious schemes and plots
.

House Lumen encouraged the two variations of guards to train together
, ensuring that the Serfin and Palace Guard always performed at their best. In their defense of the city, House Yellowtail often found itself in battle with the creatures of the Deeps, so they were always welcome in the Palace practice yard by the ethyrie. The experience garnered from their active duties kept them well-practiced and their skills in high demand in the martial training of other merwin, eager to learn from the veterans.

He didn’t know the female’s name, but he soon learned that she was as strong as she was
proficient in her strikes. She was careful not to threaten Iago’s safety and thus alarm the Regent’s personal guards who surrounded them as they fought. The Yellowtail was a perfect example of the honor, grit, and determination of the city’s guards. Her milky white eyes were fixed in concentration as she repeatedly thrust at him with her bone spear. Her calm face was completely focused, and she fought with calculated finesse. She even surprised him with a blow to his back from her tail, which not only knocked the water from his lungs but also propelled the Yellowtail into her next strike.

The pair had only been at it for a short time, yet the Regent’s blood was pumping and his chest heaved.
His breathing became more labored, as he sucked large amounts of water through his neck gills and out his sides. This extracted as much oxygen from the brine as possible, fully fueling his muscles. He wondered if she was toying with him. She was clearly talented and seemed to be letting him score a few points he hadn’t truly earned. Iago knew her actions were meant to be noble. One would not dare beat up the acting leader of Mervidia, however temporary the position may be, in front of his personal guard.

Iago was not offended in the least.
He was certainly holding his own and showing a considerable amount of skill as well. As she landed the butt of her spear into his side once again, the regent reminded himself of one of his father’s tutelages, “
a warrior must fight those more accomplished than himself if he wishes to improve his abilities.”
He was grateful that he had donned a sharkskin vest, which gave him some protection. However, it being laced on the sides so as not to infringe on his breathing left him partially exposed. She wasn’t going easy on him, despite the complimentary points, and he knew he’d have the bruises to remind him of that fact. Iago’s father, Vaschel, had him trained well though as he grew up in House Paua. There was little that Iago had not been taught
while being groomed to be Beryl’s consort: weapons, how to read and write, how to weave kelp, how to tend a field, how to interpret his machi visions, how to keep himself well-groomed and his iridescent pink scales sparkling, how to ride a frilled shark, etcetera. Despite his thorough martial training, his Yellowtail opponent was better, naturally talented and more experienced; a worthy challenger indeed.

Twirling his gleaming tail, Iago twisted away from an attack to his midsection and returned the strike with his uklod short sword.
Swords were uncommon in Mervidia. Usually bone was crafted into daggers or longer weapons like spears and tridents that thrust instead of hacked. Slashing was slower in water and took more effort, whereas a thrusting weapon easily slid through it. However, Iago liked to stand out, and his weapon had its strengths despite being somewhat slower.

T
he female overreached, and her strike missed its mark. Iago sliced at her neck, stretching his arm straight out until his elbow was almost fully extended. She raised her sharkskin bracer to deflect the blow with her armored forearm. The regent had expected her to react as such and suddenly reversed the grip on his sword. A new attack arched down to the base of her right breast, which like its twin was covered in a kelp bandeau top. As was expected in a sparring match, Iago pulled his strike, so as not to actually harm his opponent. He held the sword against her skin, yet did not cut her flesh. His attack would have killed her, cleaving in between her ribs to her heart and lungs beneath. Iago paused so that all could see that the match had come to an end.

The
Serfin clapped and cheered for their triumphant regent. Iago lowered his sword and re-sheathed it. The Yellowtail saluted him, thumping her spear to her chest, keeping herself upright with balancing swishes of her gilded tail. The congratulatory shouts were interrupted by a deep voice calling out, easily heard above all others.

“My Lord,” the owner of the voice called, his tone full of concern.
“I must speak with you right away.” When they saw to whom the voice belonged, the Serfin parted and allowed the neondra access to the regent. Penn, Domo of House Yellowtail, swam forward and bowed before Iago, his arms at his sides and his bare torso bent forward from the top of his vibrant brassy tail.

The Yellowtail leader looked no less impressive as he genuflected.
Penn was a massive merwin, nearly as big as a grogstack. He was covered in corded muscle from his thick neck down to the tip of his long tail, where his fin’s bony spines burst forth in a wide spread. The glittering gold skin in between the tail spines was unmarred and undamaged, despite his being a renowned hunter. Oftentimes, such enthusiasts would bear the scars of their trade, a bite mark at least, but not Penn. Upon first glance, his body appeared untouched. He was near flawless, save for the burn on his palm that he refused to talk about. His house practically worshipped him. Iago had joked with him once that if the neondra actually took a wound that he would bleed respect. Iago bantered with Penn, because the regent was not fooled by his friend. Surely, the domo had taken wounds before. He was just very good at hiding it, perhaps having a jellod machi heal his injuries, so as not to leave behind any scars. Machi healers were not cheap, but Penn’s pouches were deep; he could afford them.

Iago had befriended Penn in his younger days, often seeing him in the training yard or around the Palace on Assembly business.
He looked up to the older merwin as one might to an older brother or uncle. As long as the ethyrie had known the neondra, Penn had always worn a simple, frilled shark tooth necklace on an eel skin cord. Iago had eventually gotten him to say that it was his first trophy from the trials of his Culling. It was a simple trinket, and the only one of Penn’s trophies that he did not boast about. Iago had never inquired further about the tooth, not wanting to evoke any bad memories that might be attached to it.