As the water folds over Thoth’s head, the cold jars his bones and he inadvertently takes a gulp of murky brown liquid. Luckily the water’s deep enough to cushion his fall, but the force of the throw was enough to send him to the bed. He kicks off from the bottom and emerges a few seconds later, coughing and spluttering in a manner which would be undignified for anyone, but is particularly demeaning for a water-bender. Clearing his lungs and getting air into them is all-consuming for a moment, so he doesn’t immediately notice that the laughter has stopped. He manages to stop coughing just in time to hear a word in a voice he knows all too well: father. Pushing his hair out of his eyes roughly with one arm, he swims a couple of strokes back to the edge of the lake and leans against it, not quite ready to pull himself out yet.
He stays quiet and stares at the water while Tris demands the pendant back, feeling his cheeks burning with humiliation. Tarquin and his gang never used to bother Thoth on the castle grounds out of fear that the prince might catch them, but since he’s moved here they’ve had no choice. Generally they only harass him when they know for certain that Tris won’t interrupt them – if he’s out hunting or something – but in recent months they’ve been getting bolder and bolder. They’re not the only ones who wanted it kept quiet, either: Thoth has never given Tris, Nim or anyone else at the castle any reason to suspect the extent of the bullying. He is, has always been, an independent child. Thoth has never wanted anyone to fight his battles for him, and rarely thinks to seek out help for a problem. On this occasion, however, the reasons for the secrecy are more complex than that. Tristan isn’t just his best friend, he’s the only fairy friend he has and just about the only person in the world he trusts completely – and now Tris knows he’s a loser.
The next thing he’s properly aware of, since he isn’t closely following the conversation, is a dark shape sailing over his head and an enormous splash behind him. Connected with the water as he is, Thoth feels its displacement acutely and braces himself against the wave which knocks him against the edge. As Tris reaches down to offer him a hand, there’s a torrent of spluttering, coughing and incoherent threatening noises behind him. Thoth ignores the hand offered and hauls himself out of the lake, twisting around to sit at the edge so that he’s faced away from all of them – except Tarquin. The two boys make eye contact and, for a moment, it feels like the rest of the world has been blotted out. Thoth has never been great at reading faces or empathising with others, but nobody could mistake the message written plainly into Tarquin’s expression: I’m going to get you. Tris is right. Tarquin can’t touch the prince of Shaman, so he’ll get Thoth instead later when Tris isn’t around to protect him. An uncharacteristic surge of fear flows through Thoth’s gut and he sits there, frozen, until Tarquin breaks eye contact and swims to the edge. He pulls himself out, stands up and runs a hand through his hair to push it out of his face.
“You’ve got it all wrong, Tris,” he says in an unusually measured voice. Thoth can’t see him, but he can imagine him smiling. He feels Tarquin’s hand fall onto his shoulder and, obliging the force in the fingers, obediently gets to his feet. Tarquin spins him around to face the group (he keeps his eyes determinedly on the floor) and puts a suffocating arm over his shoulders, making him feel more like a prisoner than ever. “We’re just two good friends fooling around, isn’t that right, Thoth? I’ll see you later, buddy.”
Tarquin releases him, gestures to his friends and the five of them make a swift getaway. Feeling suddenly able to breathe a lot easier, Thoth turns away from them and fixes his gaze on the lake, watching his papers drift gently away on the currents.
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