Alana had gone quite pale. In fact, Mareth was not sure if she had not died and instantaneously become her own ghost, such was the color of her complexion, her mouth wide open in a silent scream.
“Admiral Crews, you will also go with Alana. Your objective is simple enough. Stop Ioth’s friendship with Pyrfew. Charm, influence, bribe even. If that doesn’t work then feel free to threaten. And while you are there, discover what we are dealing with. How we beat these turtle ships at the very least. Chancellor, I would like you and Dove to spend time with Alana and bring her up to speed on what to expect when she arrives.” Grey and the spymaster nodded their agreement, though her suddenly stiff shoulders told him that something was gnawing at the Chancellor. Was it just surprise, or anger that he had not chosen her?
“When do we leave?” asked Crews.
“Within a week. You don’t want to be late for the party.”
Mareth stepped from the carriage, turning to offer a hand to Chancellor Grey as she descended to the cobbled street of Harborside. The air was crisp with a cool breeze that chilled his lungs when he sucked in a deep breath. He looked out across the clear harbor, remembering the pirate ships and the giant Draco-Turtle. But today, the harbor buzzed with industry. Merchant ships had returned, eager to take advantage of the weather before winter made crossings more difficult, and the dockside was a cacophony of shouted instructions and carts weaving through the crowds as the porters did their work.
The Drake, Crews’ flagship, was anchored a little way out into the center of the harbor, though the man himself waved from the aft deck of a sleeker, much smaller two-masted schooner, tied off nearby. On its side was painted the words The Darting Seal and its figure head was of its namesake, leaping from carved waves. Porters were carrying the remaining supplies for the voyage up the gang plank and on board. Three women directed the efforts of two men who struggled with the weight of one particular chest.
Mareth walked over to them, almost as nervous as he imagined Alana to be, but he winked at Petra when she turned at his approach—important to present some confidence. “Good morning, Ambassador Narring,” he greeted the middle of the three women, who seemed quite agitated, concerned that the chest might be dropped into the water as it was carried on board. She didn’t respond. But then again, he hadn’t expected her to react to her new name. “Alana?”
She spun on her heel to face Mareth and he considered the distinctly green tinge of her complexion. She hadn’t even set foot on the ship yet. He guessed it was probably nerves; if she was already feeling seasick from standing by the harbor then she was not in for a fun trip.
The last week had been a whirlwind for her; briefing sessions with experts—including the Chancellor— at the palace, hours spent with dress makers and tailors to make sure that she looked the part, and finally the selection of a new name. They had tried to find out if Alana and Petra had a last name; Petra had gone to the Narrows and asked old family friends and neighbors if they knew what their mother and father’s family names had been, but they’d had no luck. Which wasn’t surprising. The vast majority of the population of Kingshold went just by the one name, or even a nick-name; he knew himself how he had gone years in the bars of the outer circle being known simply as Mareth, not even having to make up a last name. The sisters had conferred, and they had come up with something that represented where they had grown up. So Narring it was. Although hopefully Petra would take his name when they married. If they married. Although Petra Bollingsmead sounded so right. Not that there was any need to rush things.
“My lord,” said Alana, bowing her head. Petra and the other woman curtsied. She was a new face, but he could guess who she was. The final addition for Alana; a maid. He trusted that his ‘friend’ had provided a capable one.
“Are you looking forward to your journey?” he asked, doing his best to sound upbeat and put her at ease.
“Oh, yes. I can’t wait. I’m just a little anxious about the voyage,” said Alana.
“Don’t worry,” said Chancellor Grey, coming to stand beside him, smiling broadly at the two sisters. “You’ll either have your sea legs in no time, or spend the whole time on ship vomiting. No need to worry about something you can’t control. It’s none of your doing either way.”
That did not help. Alana’s skin took another step closer to the emerald green of Petra’s dress. Changing the subject, Mareth asked, “Would you like to introduce me to your new best friend?” He grimaced as he finished the sentence, noting the look that the sisters exchanged; he was trying too hard to make Alana not feel like she would miss Petra.
“Of course,” said Alana, thankfully not making a comment and gesturing to the woman. She curtsied again, her shoulder length brown hair bobbing as she dipped. “This is Jill.”
“Nice to meet you, Jill. I trust you will look after the ambassador.” She squeaked a reply that he believed was an affirmation. “Why don’t you go on board and see to her quarters?” Jill scurried away up the gang plank, giving clearer instructions to the porters who had finally wrestled the heavy chest on board. “What is in that chest anyway? Are dresses that heavy?”
Petra rolled her eyes, but it was Alana who answered. “It’s all books. I might have brought half the palace library with me.”
He laughed. Typical! Alana had to pack homework for a long trip. “How did it go this morning?”
“It was fun,” said Petra, smiling to herself as she remembered the old life they had left behind. “We saw our old neighbors. Mrs. Skrudd invited us in for tea.” Alana had wanted to go back to the Narrows that morning and say her goodbyes. Mareth was concerned that she might be thinking about this as a permanent change in status.
“I’m going to miss them,” said Alana. “I’m going to miss you all.”
“You’ll be back before you know it,” he said reassuringly. “And I am sure with an agreement in place. But we will miss you too.” Mareth had moved over to Petra’s side and held her hand as tears slid down her face. Appearances be damned, he thought. This was going to be hard on Petra. He would need to keep her busy. He squeezed her hand before she slipped his grip to move close to say good-bye to her sister. The two of them embraced, whispering words that he made no effort to hear.
Eventually they parted and Chancellor Grey stepped forward to shake Alana’s hand, wishing her luck. Alana put out her hand out for Mareth to shake, but he swatted it aside and pulled her into a bear hug. As he embraced her, he said, “You’ve got this. I know you’ll have plans in the works before you arrive. They won’t know what’s hit them.” As they broke apart, he winked. Would this young woman be able to save his bacon again? She hurried on board the ship, the loading now complete and the admiral ordering the crew to be ready to depart. Midshipmen pushed off from the side of the wharf with long poles and he could hear the calls of the rowboats as they put oar to water to pull The Seal out into the open harbor.
The silhouette of Alana appeared on the aft deck and began to wave, and Mareth hoped they had thought of everything. Uthridge had hand-selected a squad to accompany Alana. Motega, Florian and Trypp were secreted below decks somewhere, not even Grey knowing they were on board. And if anyone was prepared for what lay ahead of her, it would be Alana. He was confident in that at least.
He did wonder if it had been a good idea to have hidden an assassin in their midst. Though what’s done is done, he thought.
It had been odd to meet with Lady Chalice. It had been a conversation he had been avoiding because, frankly, she scared him. That, and the fact that she had previously tried to have him killed. Well, officially he knew it wasn’t her who had wanted him dead, she was just fulfilling a contract. Still, it was hard not to take offense at that.
But there was no better organization to source what he needed; his main concern was working out how he could get Chalice onside, without necessarily bankrupting the realm. Mareth had brought up the strange legal status that the Hollow Syndicate operated within—legalized murder—and he had questioned
out loud whether that was something that could continue if he was supposed to be ‘protecting’ the realm. Chalice had seen his gambit from the outset, cutting to the chase as quickly as he was sure she would cut a target’s throat. The negotiations were brief and now, begrudgingly or not, the Hollow Syndicate was going to try to be more civic minded. The assassin hidden on board, at a very reasonable rate, being the first step in that new relationship.
Chancellor Grey had not been happy when she had discovered what he had done independently. She had arrived at the end of the meeting and, in a way that was most unlike her, she had admonished him for meeting with Chalice in private. It had taken her a moment to regain her composure. In fact, he had been aware at the time that it had looked like she had been running when she had arrived at the door. Peculiar.
He gripped Petra’s hand in his, hearing her sobs and snuffles as her sister departed. Mareth murmured reassuring words, kissed her on the cheek and escorted her back to the waiting carriage. Petra and Grey, now the only two original remaining conspirators, by his side.
He would miss Alana and their friends too.
Chapter 13
The King's Interest
Roasted quail with fried lemon. Sole cooked in butter with olives. Tiny pink sausages sitting next to grilled crusty bread. Green vegetables and glazed carrots. The table looked most appealing; even though the keep was not grand, King Albert clearly kept a good cook on staff. Or maybe it was just that everyone on Hyfil could cook well, as she had been continually pleased with what she had received at The Strawberry.
Albert pulled out her chair himself, and she glided into the gap between the seat and the table. As she sat, she smoothed the skirt of her red dress—made especially for this visit—and King Albert sat next to her at the head of the table.
“I hope, Meredith, this looks appealing to you?” Albert waved his steward over who filled their glasses with a pink wine.
“It looks delightful, your majesty. Thank you.”
Her introductory meeting with King Albert earlier that afternoon had been interesting. First of all, it was clear that this was not a rich royal family. The keep was even smaller when inside than it appeared from the town. There were a few household staff but it seemed that the old Steward, Pallo, did most of the work for the King. It was clean but the rooms were small, the furniture worn and the whole place lacked the hangers-on typically buzzing around someone of his rank. Secondly, Albert was actually pleasant, which, based on her experience, was remarkable for someone who called themselves a King.
He had met her in a reception room where he sat at a desk writing correspondence. He had invited her to sit, and welcomed her to their nation, before launching into a series of insightful and informed questions into her business there. He had heard the rumors and reports of what she had been discussing for the past few days, and his face radiated excitement. King Albert was of a similar age to her, maybe even a couple of years younger, and his clean-shaven face was quite handsome. His broad shoulders hinted at a strong physique that she could not fully see from his position behind the desk. It seemed he was also fighting a constant war against boredom—as he gave her the tour of the castle earlier, they had breezed by rooms stacked with painted canvases and a variety of stringed instruments. There was no partner, nor children in his life, and given the remoteness of Hyfil, not many suitors came calling. Albert questioned her, in particular about Kingshold; the myriad things that were going on every day, the changes that had come to her city and, of course, the vibrant trade that fueled the wealth of the Edland merchants that he had heard so much about.
The afternoon had flown by and Neenahwi had found herself enjoying their conversation. Quite abruptly, he had invited her to dinner so they could talk in more detail. ‘I would like to work out how I can help,’ had been the seal on the invitation.
“We have spent all this time talking business,” said King Albert. “Tell me about you, Meredith.”
“I am the only daughter of a merchant. I run the family business of dealing in rare books and expensive jewelry. My family has been doing the same thing with modest success for five generations. We used to serve the various noble families of the Jeweled Continent, but in recent years most of our customers have been the rich traders that we have been discussing.”
“If you don’t mind me saying, you look too young to have such responsibility.”
“My mother and father died at sea some years back, my lord,” said Neenahwi, feigning sadness. “I was their only child. It is my responsibility to maintain our modest legacy.”
Albert’s eyebrows drooped and he reached over to pat Neenahwi’s hand. “I too lost my parents at sea. And I feel a similar responsibility for this nation. What are the odds? We have so much in common.” He smiled, and Neenahwi matched his. She had given much thought to her back story before the meeting today, but he had put her on the spot about her parents and her improvisation, borne on a hunch, did its work.
“As you may have heard, given you already knew so much about my business,” she laughed and he mirrored her mirth without shame. “I was on my way to Carlburg to personally collect a very important package—there has been a particular set of lost family jewels that I have been searching for on behalf of a customer for a while now—when we were set upon by pirates. The captain assured me to stay quiet and all would be fine, but I did not judge the risk reward equation to be worth standing around, hoping and praying not to be taken as part of the ship’s collateral. So, I jumped over the rail before we were boarded. Arloth, thankfully, had the good sight to send me to your beautiful land.”
The King ate while she talked. His eyes fixed on her; his body turned in her direction. She realized that she had hardly touched any of the bounty on offer; she was altogether enjoying the charade of flirting with this young man. It wasn’t a past-time that she had much chance to pursue.
“Praise Arloth, indeed. I believe he may have finally answered my prayers.” Albert had the good grace to blush at the words that had seemingly escaped.
Dinner continued in pleasant conversation, the deserts of delicate custards and fresh fruit finished, until the sun had long set and the stars shone in the firmament above the rocky isle. Neenahwi feigned tiredness and the King quickly called on Pallo to have one of the few castle guards escort her back to The Strawberry Wine. He bid her good night with a kiss to her hand and asked earnestly if she would return the next day to further discuss her plans.
The next day, and the days that followed, were spent in conference with the King. Maps of the town and island were hastily drawn and they discussed options for what would be needed to entice the rich nobles of Kingshold to Hyfil. New inns or houses to rent, festivals, guides to show the visitors sights of the island, from the bubbling hot spas to the dramatic coastline where the sea had worn away the rock into interesting land bridges. All of this Albert described in his office, proving both adept at sketching illustrations of the places and equally passionate about his home. Together they called on other notable citizens of the town and country, traveling by horse and unafraid to arrive unannounced. His spontaneity was refreshing. He would describe their plans to those they visited as if he was a partner in this endeavor, and gained their commitment to be involved. Then each evening they would have dinner and reflect on the day, Albert proving a talented and amusing impressionist as they recalled the people they had met.
On the fifth day after Neenahwi had met the King, she realized that something was different as soon as she awoke. She opened her shuttered windows to look out on what would normally be a view of peace and tranquility, the harbor empty of fishing boats already hard at work. Instead she saw four ships, much larger than the typical vessels owned by the people of the town. Soldiers and sailors alike spilled down gangplanks onto the cobblestones. Adding to the scenes of activity, much more in keeping with what she was used to at home in Kingshold, were the sight of what seemed like every local in town engaged in some activity; whether that be carting barrel
s or sides of pork to the ships, or selling wares and knick-knacks, or in the case of the few town prostitutes, gathering the men behind them like children behind a piper to lead them to the local bordello.
None of this was too concerning in itself. What did trouble her were the metal plates fashioned across the decks of the ships, the dragon heads at their prow, and the sight out to sea that there waited two more similar ships with another pair of the larger first-class ships. These were Pyrfew ships.
She dressed hurriedly and ran downstairs, checking her quick stride as she entered the common room. Seated at a few tables were the officers of those ships, dressed in starched uniforms of green and gold, tucking into plates of food and early morning glasses of wine. Neenahwi caught Karole at the bar, as he rushed to serve the unexpected influx of customers.
“Karole, I am afraid I’m not feeling well. Would someone kindly bring me my breakfast to my room?”
“Of course, miss. Are you going to be alright? I can call for a healer?”
“I will be fine. It…happens regularly.” Karole nodded in understanding.
“I’ll bring it as soon as I can.”
Neenahwi went back to her room and locked the door. She grabbed the stuffed feather pillow from the bed and set it on the floor. Sitting down, she breathed deeply and collected herself. She knew realistically that these ships were not here for her, and they would not recognize her. But in matters Pyrfew-related, she was also self-aware enough to know that she was not always rational. She could not trust herself to be around these people, to hear their words and see them walking around the town. If anything happened, if anything got out of hand, she would have no problem dealing with them. In fact, she could feel the demon stone nagging at the corner of consciousness, willing her to use it—but if she did, it would not be good for the folk of Hyfil.
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