The assembled Ship Lords sat in silence as she spoke, most staring in dumb shock. Others, like the man seated in the middle of their line, with growing rage. A wiry man with the aspect of a fox, his gloved hands clenched repeatedly as she spoke on.
“‘The Serpent’s Den is known to retain a fleet in home waters for defensive purposes and resistance from this quarter can be expected to be fierce. A feinting strategy is therefore recommended, one division engaging the enemy to draw them away from the islands whilst another lands the invasion force. See table seven for suggestions on the makeup of the land forces . . .’”
The wiry man held up a hand and Lyrna fell silent. “Belorath,” the Ship Lord said to the captain. “You vouch for this woman’s veracity?”
“I do, Lord Ell-Nurin.”
The Ship Lord turned back to Lyrna. “You have prepared a full translation, I believe?”
“I have, my lord.” She came forward and handed him the bundle of parchment.
“What an accomplished hand you have,” Ell-Nurin observed, scanning the first page. “For a merchant’s daughter.”
“My father relied on me to pen his correspondence, his own hands being victim to the bone ague.”
“I am well acquainted with the merchants of Varinshold. Unlike most of my countrymen I was never a pirate and always found a welcome there, provided my hold was full of fresh tea of course. Tell me, what was your father’s name? Perhaps I knew him.”
“Traver Hultin, my lord. He dealt mostly in silks.” A real merchant with a real daughter, one of many to beg her father’s favour over the years.
“I’ve heard the name,” Ell-Nurin said. “And yours, lady?”
“Corla, my lord. Merely a mistress, not a lady.”
“Quite so. You wish to return to the Realm, I believe?”
“I do, my lord. As do those with whom I escaped.”
“The Isles has never welshed on a bargain.” He nodded at the captain. “See to it when we’re done here. For now, Mistress, please leave us to discuss these matters in private.”
She bowed and went to the chamber door, catching only a few words before they closed behind her. “You sent word to him?” Ell-Nurin asked.
“A boat was sent as soon as I arrived, my lord . . .”
The others were waiting on the quay, all dressed in a mismatched variety of Meldenean clothing and looking much like the pirates who had brought them here. They all rose as she approached, hope and wary expectation bright in their eyes.
“The captain will arrange a ship for us,” she said. “We should be on our way come the next tide.”
Harvin gave a whoop of relief, hugging Benten about the shoulders whilst Orena gave the first smile Lyrna had seen on her lips. Even Iltis seemed on the verge of a grin.
“Why?” said a small voice, and Lyrna turned to find Murel standing apart from the group, eyes downcast.
“What?” Orena asked her.
“Why go back?”
“It’s our home,” Harvin said.
“My home burned down with my parents inside,” Murel responded. “What’s there for me now?”
“The Realm is invaded,” Lyrna said. “Our people need our help.”
“What help can I give?” the girl asked. “I can’t fight, have no skills beyond needlework, and I was never even much good at that.”
“I saw you claw a man’s eyes out on the ship,” Harvin pointed out. “Seems to me you fight well enough.”
“She has a point,” Orena said. “All that awaits us in the Realm is war and death, and I’ve seen more than enough of both.”
“So now what?” Iltis replied. “You’ll just wait here for the Volarian fleet to arrive?”
“There are other ports,” Murel said. “The Alpiran Empire, the Far West.”
“You forget something,” Iltis said in a harsh tone, his expression bordering on anger. “We owe this woman a debt. All of us would now be resting in the shark’s belly but for her.”
“And I’m grateful,” Murel said, voice slightly choked as she reached for Lyrna’s hand. “I really am. But I’m just a girl, and I’ve been hurt enough.”
Queen of the Unified Realm, Lyrna thought. Unable to persuade five beggared subjects to risk themselves in her service. Watching Murel’s sniffling, she remembered her first sight of her, the veil of hair over her face as they led her aloft, her whimpered sobs. “I’m sorry,” she said, squeezing the girl’s hand. “I will not ask any of you to come, you must all make your own choice. But I will sail for the Realm, alone or not.”
“Not without me,” Iltis stated. “I’ve not killed enough Volarians yet. Not by far.”
“I’m with you, my lady,” Benten said. “My father will be expecting me. Can’t handle the nets so well by himself any more.” From the catch in his voice she knew he was talking about a dead man.
Iltis turned to Harvin. “What about you, outlaw? Got guts enough to fight as well as steal?”
“You saw my guts on the ship, brother,” Harvin replied with a dark glower before turning to Lyrna with apologetic eyes, reaching for Orena’s hand. “But I have . . . a responsibility now.”
Seems I don’t see everything after all, Lyrna thought.
“You don’t have to go,” Murel said, still clutching Lyrna’s hand. “Come with us. With you we could do anything, go anywhere . . .” She trailed off, eyes widening as she noticed something over Lyrna’s shoulder.
She turned, seeing Ship Lord Ell-Nurin approaching along the wharf with a purposeful stride, flanked by at least twenty armed sailors. He stopped a few yards short as the sailors fanned out on either side and the three men closed in protectively about the women.
“Belorath was slow in relating all details of your voyage,” the Ship Lord said. “Including your remarkable facility for Keschet. Traver Hultin liked Keschet too and he did deal mostly in silks, but he smuggled tea and his daughter was fat. Also he rarely shut up about his single visit to the palace, how he had met the King’s daughter and been greatly impressed with her knowledge of his favourite game, though he was a rather poor player as I recall.”
Ell-Nurin dropped to one knee, keeping his gaze fixed on her face. “On behalf of the Ship Lords’ Council, I bid you welcome to the Meldenean Isles, Highness.”
They put her in a well-appointed room on the topmost floor of a tall building overlooking the harbour. Iltis had stepped forward to prevent her being taken, Harvin and Benten close behind, but she put a firm hand on his chest. “No, brother.”
“Is it true?” he asked her in a whisper, eyes tracking over her face. “Highness?”
She patted his broad chest and smiled. “Don’t linger here. Take the others and go, far away like Murel said. Think of it as my first and last royal command.”
They left her alone for four days. Servants brought food, bowing and leaving without a word. Later, equally silent maids brought dresses. They were fine but simple, the colours muted. Suitable for an execution? she wondered.
Ship Lord Ell-Nurin arrived on the evening of the fourth day as the harbour lights came to life below her, the multiple god-crowned towers of the city fading to dim grey spear-points. The Ship Lord came alone, bowing low once again, face absent of humour or false respect, something she found stirred her gratitude.
“You have everything you require, Highness?” he asked.
“Save my freedom.”
“A salient matter we’ll get to shortly. I thought you might like to know your subjects refused to leave. They were offered passage to the Realm in accordance with our agreement but steadfastly declined to take it.”
“They are unharmed I trust.”
“We quartered them downstairs, quite unmolested I assure you.” He rose and went to the veranda, standing aside and indicating for her to join him. They stood regarding the darkening city for a time, Ell-Nurin’s eyes frequently returning to her face. After a moment she took the scarf from her head and stepped closer to him, angling her head to display the full spectacle. “Please, my lord. Feel free to take a good long look.”