Verse X

  It was long since night in Bryndoon, as the firmament had drawn its flukes across the waters and swept away the light. Along one end of the harbor, where the dwellings of the royal guard shared an uneasy coziness with the work tents of the ministry, a school of glow-worm lamps pushed the darkness upward and outward to provide the mers below with one more hour of productivity.

  And what could be done with but one such extra hour a day! wondered Aysmin as she observed the latest of training drills. The speed with which the ministry produced the basic runic armaments would have been scandalous if anyone stopped to consider the implications. The duchess had, and she held no doubt that Mitera Yesca had as well, but for the moment they both had reasons to stay their objections.

  "Such sin against She who loves all," she heard the mitera say, and none too quietly. The two of them rested at the edge of the training range, and had the privilege of privacy so none would hear. "If our targets were ever that which lives and swims..."

  "I would say that the abominations meet both those criteria," Aysmin replied, more from habit than any need to debate. This had been much argued over the past week, behind thick shell walls to muffle the force of Yesca's shouting.

  The octopod was out of the sac, of course. Now that the duchesses of the royal regiments had seen what Ministra Marhyd offered, there was little chance of them giving up any of it until every last abomination had met its end. And possibly not even then; some of the trainees were possessed of an enthusiasm for their new toys which bordered on the unseemly. Aysmin had not yet mentioned to her bond-sister that at least one pod had been sent out already with a runic armament in hand. She only hoped that Grett made good use of it and brought back the princess safely.

  On the range below, Martella din Linnea was at practice with another of the ministra's newest offerings. Aysmin had seen this one, a short baton which from one end spouted a steady and solid flow that would whip through the water and around opponents. Or through opponents, as the spiky-haired mer now proved. The target dummies around her were soon missing parts.

  After a mere week it was nigh impossible to think of this mer as Tachiana din Hillia, the habitual tuli licker. Marhyd had made good on her whimsical suggestion of adoption, and had somehow managed to gift the newly-dubbed Martella a crown of lustrous purple spikes atop her head.

  The mitera had not responded to the remarks about abominations. Perhaps that talk of sin had pertained to something else.

  "We shall let those of future generations judge our actions." Aysmin blew out her gills. "Just as we ensure that future generations exist to judge us."

  "They shall not be kind," Yesca predicted. The grizzled leondra shook her head. "Too many actions, too many sins born of necessity. I merely assume my soul is bound for the indigo hell and strive to bring myself upwards to the firmament."

  "That is one way to look at it, I suppose..." Aysmin left the words to drift, and her sister-by-fate raised none of her own. In the silence they watched Martella destroy the last of the target dummies.

  There was a brief wave of displacement as a large body settled into the sand beside them. "Impressive, is she not?" said Ministra Marhyd with no small amount of pride in her voice. "What grace, what power!"

  "We were only just discussing that," said Aysmin. Beside her, Yesca grunted something akin to an affirmative, bred with a curse word. "Truly, she is a tail's length and more above the rest."

  Marhyd's staccato chuckle poked at the waters. "Heh-heh-heh, but isn't that the truth. I mean no disrespect to you or your fellow duchesses, Your Grace, but if I were to catalog only the most humorous of failures this week... Well, I am glad to have given them the weakest of items with which to practice. A flow-whip such as Martella's would result in a recruit of many slices, I fear." The ministra chuckled at her words. "Of course, I could offer some special training."

  "No." The single barked syllable came from Yesca's throat, just ahead of a growl.

  "Your family has grown large enough as it is," Aysmin replied, politically.

  Another rough chuckle stumbled across the waters. "Yes, yes, that is true enough. And some trainees are coming along splendidly on their own, in any case. Now, if we were to talk of business, Your Grace, have you heard back from Grett? She was a particularly good student, and I have some new toys she might like."

  The duchess kept her expression even. "No, there's been no word, but the Mere Sangolia is a large sea to search on nothing but a whim, no matter how educated. If she does not report back by the end of the week, we shall send a follow-up."

  "And would Her Holiness have any thoughts as to where the princess might be?"

  Yesca harrumphed. "In trouble, but not in peril. That is all the auguries will give, much though we pray."

  "Yes, yes, funny how that works... But have either you come to a decision, or even an opinion, as to my motion to send Marilys and Martella out to search for our errant young lady with the golden hair? I can assure you that they are ready and willing."

  Undoubtedly they were, for Marhyd had told them to be. Aysmin had not dared discuss it with the mitera yet, but... "If you had a target for your little dolls, perhaps."

  "Oh, but I do!" said the ministra with a contented smirk. "I have only just now received word from my, ahem, special sources that the princess has been sighted in the Mere Almezzeb."

  "What?" Over the course of a single syllable, Yesca's voice raised itself tenfold.

  "The tent city?" asked the duchess. "Or the outskirts?" Either might be bad, if it were brought to light, though for different and equally damning reasons.

  "The great tent of Mezzegheb," Marhyd confirmed. "Why? I have not one idea. Her Highness never did seem the sort to enjoy such goings-on, heh-heh. So? Shall I let my little dears get to work?"

  "It would require the utmost discretion." There was a pain in the mitera's voice as she admitted even that much.

  The light of the glow-worm lamps caught on Marhyd's grin. "But of course, Your Holiness. I shall get on to the arrangements now, and they may depart upon the morning currents."

  Just what they were letting loose upon the waters, Aysmin could but wonder. She prayed for future generations to be kind in their estimation and understanding.

  Verse XI

  When morning came to the Mere Almezzeb, it was with a grand school of shimmers and glints as the light of the firmament split and raced itself across the open sands. There were few things to catch and stop the spread of light, and no shadows worthy of note.

  Resting on the portico of the Wayward Drift, Ardenne took in the scene. It was peaceful in its own way, though so different from her life on the reef. Everything was so different. Even the waters as they played against her skin were warmer, stranger. Her borrowed hammock was bound with a different variety of kelp, and the grain of the weave felt scratchy against her skin all the night long. The pains in her gut, she had brought with her, but those were strange as well. They had subsided, but not sunk too deep. Occasionally an odd motion would bring a wince to her face, but that was all for now.

  None of that had flowed together to form a comfortable night of sleep, more was the pity, which led her to this current now. In silence, she saluted the morning as it arrived.

  The sounds of wakefulness began to rise from the Wayward Drift in myriad little notes, grumblings and mutterings of uncounted voices. Ardenne kept herself turned to the view outside.

  "Hey, who're you?" A face popped into her field of vision: young and speckled, with a gap between the front teeth wide enough for an anchovy to fit through. "Hain't seen you 'round. A little old for the Drift, aren't'cha?" The little mer was ten years old at most, and a striking pink color all over. Scales and hair were deeper in hue, like the firmament in the moments before dusk, while the skin was that delicate color found on the inside of certain shells. The eyes were a bright and inquisitive brown. "Well?" the young mer said.

  "I'm only a guest," said Ardenne. "Passing through. We, ah, arrived last night."

  "Oh, should'a figgered you for one of Sera's friends!" The pink mer flipped and giggled. "I'm Lehaya, by the way. Where ya anchored, 'riginally? Hain't never seen someone with green hair like that."

  "And I've never seen someone with pink hair," she replied. "Not up close, at least."

  Lehaya twirled a lock of hair. "Yeah, it's a nice color, right? The biggers keep telling me I oughta 'prentice with the dance circles in Mezzegheb, make some good pearl, but..." A shrug sent the hair flowing back. "Might be I want something else. Yanno?"

  "Yeah, I... er, the dance circles? As in..." Her guts clenched at the memory of the performers in green garlands. "Wouldn't you be a little young?"

  "Never too early to start a trade, they tell me." The little mer made a face. "So what do you do?"

  "Hunting, on the reef of the Mere Sangolia."

  "Coo-ee, you're far from home, ain't'cha."

  She let her own shrug answer that.

  "But yeah, if you're with Sera, you must travel a lot. Seems like she's been everywhere there is to be!"

  "Is she up?" asked Ardenne.

  "Yeah, saw her and Matron swim out a ways. Probably talking about what trouble she's in now. Yanno..." Lehaya grinned at the green mer expectantly. "If you happen to..."

  "Sorry, don't gossip."

  "C'mon! Please? It's gotta be Free Flow business, right? You can tell us!"

  Us...? Ardenne hadn't realized, had been too distracted to realize, but there was an entire school of young mers floating around her now. No two were of the same color, though all of them together formed a striking display. There was everything from a pale whisp of white to a blue-black dark as ink on the water, and everything in between. Near to two dozen eyes all stared at her in open curiosity.

  "Um..." She left the syllable to tickle the waters for a beat. What was there to say? What could she say? That she had no idea what the question even meant? Or... "Ahem, you do understand," Ardenne began once more. "That I, ah, cannot say anything definite or, or Sera will have my guts for a new hair snood, right?" A cloud of giggles rose to that. "Exactly. So instead, how about the time she and I met..."

  "Was it exciting?" asked one young mer, hair and skin a dark brown but with scales of bright blue.

  "Did you kiss?" asked another, mostly in shades of yellow.

  "Yes and... technically yes," she admitted. "So, I'd got myself on the bad side of a pod of Bryndoon soldiers..."

  There were oohs and aahs as she wallowed through the tale, with no few gasps of delighted horror as she described the arrival of the orcs, and laughter at the trick Sera had played to convince their pursuers to leave well enough alone. The part with the technical kiss was met with giggly approval as well.

  "Did you ever find your mom?" Lehaya asked as the story wound down.

  "Yes, but..." She hesitated. "That is a story for another time. It was, it is not a pleasant one, I'm afraid. I, well..."

  "But she's still alive, right?" squeaked a big-eyed little one, perhaps six years old at most, with blue curls cut short.

  "Yes."

  "And she still loves you, right?"

  Ardenne choked on her water right then. "Yes, yes. She most certainly does." The memory of her, at least. "But... but she is still resting at home. It was, ah, it was very rough on her."

  Big eyes rippled around the edges as the blue-curled mer's lip quivered. "I wish I had a mommy to rescue..."

  And the conversation sank like a rock hurled into the abyss. What was a mer supposed to say to that? Ardenne certainly did not know the answer to that question, but she was relieved that the other young mers could handle it in their own way. The entire school converged on the little blue mer, forming a wild mass of color around her as she received hugs from everyone in turn, and then everyone hugged everyone else. Even Ardenne found herself embraced, snuggled, and cuddled too many times to count.

  "I'm sorry," she said once there was space in the water to drift an apology.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  "Don't worry none," Lehaya assured her. The young mer was pink around the eyes and nose, but her voice held steady. "It's something that comes up often enough. We all got our own ways to deal with it."

  Casting a net through her thoughts for something, anything to say, Ardenne asked, "Have any of you had breakfast yet? Maybe I could help? A not-empty stomach deals with most problems, I've found."

  The suggestion was met by a chorus of cheers, and Ardenne found herself dragged through various tunnels and holes in the Wayward Drift until they were arrived at a small open patch set in a natural hollow of the rock. She recognized most of the plants set to grow there, and some of the fishes in their cages. Just what could be made with them remained to be seen.

  "We usually eat at the instruction hall," Lehaya was explaining. "But it's the Lady's Day today, so all the prestra are busy praying for the lost souls of Mezzegheb."

  "Won't do 'em a fat lotta good!" her little yellow friend said amidst much giggling.

  "Yeah, I know, right? But they don't like us visiting their little temple, so we're outta the net for the day. The only biggers you'll see 'round here's matron, 'cuz she thinks all that prayer's a waste of time, too."

  "Don't let her hear you say that," commented the friend with the blue-black hair.

  "Eh, she knows we all know..."

  Ardenne glanced around. "You don't happen to have a cookpot or anything like that?" Much as she liked her fish-meat right off the bone, travel with her new friends had gotten her more accustomed to actual cooking. And a few of those pods in the garden were too tough on their own for a mer's jaws to chew.

  There was in fact a pot, and a large one at that. A box of scrapers and knives got shared around, and the various ingredients were slaughtered, harvested, scaled, peeled, deboned, or cored in swift time. It may have taken them longer to get the cooking pot to work, in fact. While she and the little daughters knew how the thing was used, more or less, that did not mean they had enough experience with it. "We usually let the matron do this part," Lehaya admitted.

  "Well then, let us surprise her this morning," said Ardenne.

  The pot was sealed and set to chuffing in the middle of the crèche's largest chamber. Her friends all wandered in as it cooked, introducing themselves officially to the curious young mers as they did. The twins Jumie and Millie had spent the first hour of the morn searching the area around the Wayward Drift for useful bits of stone and coral, while Rook and Rhiela -- no, she reminded herself: the name was Rhia, for the moment. Rook and Rhia had figured their way through the runic grammar of the aging lamp by the front entrance.

  Under the amazed stares of the crèche-daughters, the twins proceeded to build a new lamp out of the parts of the old, patched together with whatever was handy. Rook was in charge of the enchantment, with Rhia holding their notes and confirming the mystic grammar as the orange mer continued along. By the time breakfast was done cooking, the new lamp could produce a steady glow.

  "Impressive," came the voice of the matron. Mihayela entered the chamber with a fluid grace, while behind her Sera splashed along with a sour expression stretching all the way down to her flukes. Ardenne hoped that this would not prove to be a bad sign. Knowing the red mer's disposition, a happy Sera might have been a greater cause for alarm.

  "Look, matron!" Lehaya called. "It works all right-proper now!"

  "So it does. And breakfast is almost ready as well! What a bounteous Lady's Day, indeed," said the matron. It was hard to miss the twitch of Sera's flukes, just then. "Thank you for showing my little lovelies what a mer can do if she applies herself. Too many leave this crèche to go no further than the tents of the city."

  "Not that those old biddies in the hall taught us much of anything useful..." Sera muttered.

  "What was that, Seraffine?"

  "Nothing but the truth, matron."

  The old leondra's sigh sent bubbles to streak her fur. "I know, but you should not let Skola Ruti or Skola Stefahni hear you say that."

  "As if Old Whiskerbrains could hear me at all."

  "Shall we eat?" Ardenne suggested quickly. A dozen and more little voices chimed in their agreement, and everyone else was pulled into place around the pot as its lid was cracked and warm, delicious currents wafted through. The youngest of the little daughters chased the scents, flushing them across their gills and giggling at the taste. Carved pod fruits and whole fish were parceled out in precise order: first to Matron Mihayela, then to the guests, and then to the daughters from the youngest on up. Sera and the five visitors she'd brought ate sparingly, though it took a brief reminder by way of a fluke slap to rein in Rhiela. The princess blushed, finished what she had, and took nothing else from the limited bounty of the cooking pot.

  Bellies were not filled by the end, but no one complained of hunger, either. It was not an unfamiliar feeling for Ardenne, but the princess had a grumbly look on her face that would likely last the day.

  "Now, daughters of my heart," Matron Mihayela said to the young ones. "You all have your tasks to do. Let us not tempt Skola Ruti or Prestra Seba into more rude words by leaving them unfinished." The old leondra shook her head as Lehaya and her friends launched off in all directions, leaving the chamber near to empty within a few beats. Only the echoes of their giggles remained.

  "Mother of All, lead them not into temptation," the matron prayed. "Because surely they find it well enough on their own."

  That brought a snicker out of Sera. "Some things never change."

  "Yes, though I dare say that none of them are as creative or rebellious as you were Seraffine. But now..." The matron motioned for them all to come closer. "I suppose you have some questions to ask in regards to my little orphelines?"

  The word was new to Ardenne's ears, but it put a name to something that had been eating at her curiosity. "No mothers, the little blue one said. She seemed, ah, upset about it?"

  "Yes, Rulika." Sad brown eyes met hers. "She is young, which makes it hard. And she did not come here until she was almost four years of age, which is worse. Most of them arrive shortly after weaning. Lehaya's own little sister is due to arrive next month, which shall make things exciting! Nothing like an infant to cause confusion."

  "I remember," said Sera. "Pinky was a right mess herself. Serves her right. Stopped by to see Klara the other day, though. Little one's right cute."

  "Wait..." Rhiela was just now catching up to the flow of the conversation, and her confusion still reflected in her eyes. "Their mothers are still alive, but they are here? Why aren't they...?"

  "Because they're unwanted, Brownie. Because we're unwanted... Sink it, should never 've come here." The red mer attempted to launch herself away, only for the matron to hold her back with a gentle hand. "Look... just, look. Some mers aren't suited to be mothers. It gets in the way of their business, or they don't have their own mothers for support, or... or..."

  They never found out what that last 'or' was to be, but it put a fearsome face on the red mer. This time, the matron could not hold her, and she was gone from the room in half a beat.

  Rhiela's question followed on the ripples of Sera's exit. "But then, why choose to accept the blessed sacrament? I understand that not all mers wish to be mothers, or are good mothers even if they do, but..." Not-golden hair drifted messily as she shook her head. "Well, you all have mothers, right? I mean, I know that Ardenne does, obviously, but no one else really talks about family."

  "Mine's gone," said Rook. "Got herself an ague, maybe five years ago? Old Baba took care 'a me even before then."

  The twins were, to all appearances, having a private conversation solely through the medium of their eyebrows. With a sigh, Jumie finally said aloud: "We never knew our birth mother. They found us on the edge of the Mere Tessra? after the Night of the Five Villages, but not her. We were adopted by a mer named Tefira."

  "Otherwise called Mom," said Millie.

  "So it is enough to say that we are interested in what Matron Mihayela is working her way around to telling us, because it might shine a lamp upon the mystery of our birth as well." The twins moved their hands into the signs of polite request, with palms flat and turned slightly.

  "How could I refuse such manners," said the matron. "Truly, I wish you all could stay longer, only I fear that the skola would call the guards of Mezzegheb down on you if they found you here. They do not much care for outwater mers learning the dirty little secret of the sands, not at all. But... in for a minnow, in for a flounder, I suppose. To put it baldly, none of the orphelines, the young daughters of this crèche, were born by grace of the blessed sacrament."

  Rook squeaked. "That's possible!?" The twins had matching, troubled expressions on their faces while Rhiela was simply shocked speechless.

  It was all slipping into place now. "That's why they don't go to the temple for Lady's Day," said Ardenne. "The prestra don't think they're worthy of the honor, or something like that."

  "I think my young charges make them nervous," the matron admitted. "Nor do they want it widely known that the blessed sacrament does not confer motherhood, but rather facilitates it. To tell the truth, it has always been possible to have daughters without the benediction of a prestra sacrista, but it is truly a rare thing to happen. That we have so many here is a testament to the nature of Mezzegheb's entertainments and how often a favored performer may participate in them. There are entire lineages of dancers born daughter to mother without aid, and they all find themselves here, eventually. Even if the mother does wish to keep her daughter, the prestra skola and the viceroy's ministry find ways to convince her. I dare say most of my little dears would have a loving mother here if they were not banned from visitations. That is what happened to poor Rulika and her mother."

  "And to Sera?" guessed Ardenne.

  "No... Seraffine is a special case in many ways, and I suppose that I should let her do the telling of them in her own time. But," said the leondra as she brought her hands together. Let us finish up our work here. Messra Ardenne, if you could handle the dishes? Messras Jumella and Jumilla, could you install our new lamp? Messras Rook and Rhia, I might have a few more runeworked items in storage that could use your assessment. If you need any assistance, the orphelines should be done with their chores soon. Your presence will surely encourage them to swiftness."

  The six of them went in all directions from there, each to consider in her own way the lessons learned that morning.

  Verse XII

  It felt good for Jumella to work with her hands, the way she was meant to. Her good tools may still have been on the float, safe-guarded at the port for the next week grace of a generous deposit of pearl to the local authorities, but the Wayward Drfit had a decent enough set available in its store rooms. The old blocks of shark-bound stone were old and soft at the edges, but still serviceable. As she rubbed a chunk of coral into a more rounded shape, Jumella let her thoughts roam.

  Her sister echoed them out loud: "Do you think that's why our birth mom left us? We weren't supposed to happen?"

  It was not the most pleasant of thoughts. Jumella's grimace served as her answer.

  "I mean, yeah, it makes sense, and it would explain why there's no record of a twin birth..."

  The shuf-shuf of the shark-bound stone filled the space of the waters.

  "So what do we do?" Jumilla did not quite wail, but her own borrowed knives were put aside for a moment. Now was not the mood.

  Jumella paused in her work. "We do as we have been," she said. "Travel the seas. Learn, discover, and return home to tell others what we have seen and done. And make sure that Mom knows exactly how much she means to us."

  A sisterly chuckle rewarded her for that. "Okay, like the story of the lonely hermit crab. No place like home, and all that."

  A slight shift in the current told them that they had a visitor. One of the orphelines, the one mostly in shades of yellow, poked her head around the corner to blink their way. "Oh, um, don't wanna interrupt or nothing..."

  "Never a problem," Jumilla assured her. "What's floating, ah..."

  "Oh! I'm, uh, my name's Nameel."

  "Good to meet you, Nameel," said Jumella. She held up the shark-bound stone. "These aren't yours, by any chance?"

  "No! Um..." The little mer hesitated, light brown eyes darting around. "I mean, yeah, I guess they belong to the crèche? But no one's using them."

  Jumilla was examining her knives. "That's a shame. Lots of things you can do with good tools, even if they're old."

  "Really?" The orpheline's eyes had an amber gleam to them that put Jumella in mind of certain works of jewelry their mother had made.

  "We could show you a few," she offered.

  Nameel took the shark-bound stone from her hands, visibly struggling with its mass as she lifted it up. "Whew, that.s a heavy. How do you two biggers manage?"

  The question was answered well enough with a single arm, subtly flexed until the muscles swelled thicker than the yellow mer's neck. "Years of practice," said Jumella. "But let's get you a smaller tool from the kit box." A selection of better-sized implements was available, and the twin offered the younger mer one of those. It fit Nameel's hand better in every way that counted. "See? Now you're ready to start."

  "So, um, what are we making?"

  Her twin held out a chunk of old coral. Its mass was compacted, eroded, with all manner of possibilities still held inside. "You tell us," Jumilla said to the young mer. "Find us a shape in there, and we'll show you how to bring it out."

  *

  There were too many things in the seas which Rhiela did not know, and this fact brought her nothing but frustration. The Temple had never made a secret of the fact that it kept secrets, but a mer could logically guess what the subject matter might be, if not the details: the blessed sacrament, other sacred spells, rites, and lore, anything about the old magics that were deemed too dangerous for any mer to use. Those were the sort of things she would expect the Temple to keep close to its chest, for the value or the danger they represented. But this...

  Daughters without sacrament, treated like muck and ignored, all so that none would hear or care they existed. Never had she thought the Temple act so wrongly till this.

  It was two weeks and a little more since her own birthday, when she had given solemn oaths to lead, nurture, and protect the mers of her realm, and just because she had immediately after swum off on an ill-advised adventure, that did not mean she could take her oaths less seriously.

  But what could she do for those poor little ones, these orphelines? She did not know the answer to that, and the frustration was a jagged shark's tooth in her gut.

  So now she focused on something else she did not know well at all, but it was an honest sort of ignorance. She knew just enough about runework to be secure in admitting she did not know much about it.

  Somehow that made it more palatable.

  Across from her, Rook was working hard from the opposite direction, figuratively speaking. The orange mer had plenty of practical experience with runework, but little depth when it came to theory. Even though half-again-half of everything Rhiela had learned from Marai went on the swift current between her ears, on the way out as fast as it went in, what bits had remained stuck inside amounted to a greater education than the streetwise mer could ever have gotten for herself.

  Rhiela just didn't know how to apply what she knew, while Rook did. Together the two of them made one almost competent apprentice, she figured. Unfortunately, they lacked a teacher, and the shell library from Baba Rill was hidden in the float outside Mezzegheb.

  "Okay, I'm thinking I got this figgered," said Rook. The orange mer never took her eyes from the object in her hands. It was a shaped piece of stone, almost a cube except for how its edges were subtly out of proportion. The matron had claimed it to be runework, and a quick check had confirmed as much, but otherwise no one could say what it was supposed to do. Catching the flash and flicker of the runes as their bright shadows passed under Rook's fingers, Tiala could make out the grammar of flow, of ebb, and of the caloric force -- but what those together might command, she could not say.

  Not far distant, they had an audience. The littlest orphelines had flitted off for a game in the mid-day waters, but the older daughters had stayed in to watch the runework with interest. "So... what is it?" asked Lehaya. "And how're you doing all that? Where'd you learn it? What--"

  "All good questions," said Rook, with all the pride of someone barely older and hardly wiser getting the chance to show off. "I been studyin' with Baba Rill in Bryndoon since I was like eight years old, since before my mom passed. Mom taught me a bit, too, but it was mostly Baba. How to use stuff, how to look it right, sometimes how to make it. Rhia here's got the more classical ed-yoo-kay-shun, so if yer all be wantin' the fancy words, she's yer girl."

  "Oh? Oh! Yes, that's right." Now she truly wished she had paid better attention in those lessons with Marai, because the orphelines could have shaken the waters with the force of their excitement. "But, ah, I am afraid we cannot stay long. It's, ah..."

  "Just a guess, and yer all can correct me, but we're a-thinkin' our friend Sera ain't too popular with certain mers hereabouts," Rook said with a bubbly lack of tact.

  "Ain't that the truth." Lehaya led the chorus of giggles. "If the skola from the instruction hall hear she'd been by, it'll be nothing but penance prayers for the next week!"

  "Which is why yer not gonna be tellin' anyone, right?" Rook had a fine wink that spread the laughter even more. "But yeah, this here's complicated stuff, an' we can't teach much 'a anything in an afternoon. I'll try to explain it as I go, though. So this here part..."

  The grammar of magic was a wondrous thing, a poetry of force scribed upon the world itself. She and Rook had different approaches, coming from different directions, but still Rhiela could appreciate the little orange mer's budding talent. The orphelines could ooh and aah, and perhaps be inspired. That would not be enough, but it would be a start, like a pattern of runes laid in advance.

  If... no, she told herself, when she returned to the palace and took her proper place as First Daughter under the firmament, the plight of these poor young daughters would be a thing she could see to. And then, she decided, it would be time for the mitera to answer a few questions about the blessed sacrament.