Fa.s.sur's smile was all teeth and no amus.e.m.e.nt. "She asked us to bring you a message, Coby," he said with a touch of his old savoir faire.

"A message?" the commodore grumbled. "Keep it. I don't care to hear what she has to say."

Sykox smacked the back of Cobiah's head, sending his ponytail flapping about his shoulders. "Ow!" Cobiah swatted back, but Sykox growled warningly.

"Will you cut that out, Coby? The woman's not one of your infernal G.o.ds. She's your wife-"

"Ex-wife."

"Wife," Sykox said firmly, correcting him. "The priests never separated you, and from what I hear, you humans do whatever your priests say, so get over it. I don't care if she's your wife, your ex-wife, or your goldfish; if Isaye's risking herself to help Lion's Arch, then you'll d.a.m.n well hear what the woman has to say." He rubbed at his cheeks, his jowls and muzzle distending in a sad clown face. "I don't care what caused the fight. Just fix the problem!"

Chastised, Cobiah said, "I wish it were that easy." Seagulls circled overhead, their shrill cries echoing. Young voices called out in mock battle cries, and Hedda's low alto broke in here and there as she corrected a grip or straightened a footing. The sun was overly warm for the afternoon, blazing down on Cobiah's head with an uncomfortable heat. Sighing, Cobiah gave in. "Go ahead, Fa.s.sur. I'm listening."

Fa.s.sur's stare was strangely piercing, his tawny yellow eyes both judging and consoling in the same moment as only a cat can manage. He s.h.i.+fted on his padded feet, sinking his claws into the earth between the cobblestones. "Isaye wants to meet with you, Cobiah. She said that she has political blackmail on Prince Edair, and she's willing to hand it over."

"Did she say what it was?" Interested despite himself, Cobiah tried to keep an open mind. "Or how it could help us? Or why me?"

"No." Fa.s.sur lowered his head. He picked at one paw with the claws of the other, choosing his words carefully. "I haven't always gotten along with Isaye, Cobiah. You know that. t.i.tan's blood, I'm the one who got you drunk as a skale when she left." A sharp grin. "But she was willing to risk a lot to get the Pride to harbor, and she managed it despite our personal history. I believe she's sailing true." When Cobiah remained silent, Fa.s.sur carried on. "The route she gave us is clear both ways. If we go out while the tide's coming in, after dark, the Krytans will have their backs to us. More than that. Isaye told us where the patrols will be tonight so we can make it by without alerting them."

Cobiah took a moment to consider. He struggled to trust Isaye, but every time she did something positive, he saw again the image of finding her that day. She'd been meeting with a Krytan agent at one of the havens north of the city-carrying a copy of Cobiah's notes from the council meeting the night before . . . He squeezed his eyes shut against the bright sun, willing the image to fade into spots and flashes. "Is that all?"

"She said that she needed your help, Coby," Fa.s.sur added offhandedly, shoulders rippling in a shrug. "I said I'd tell you." Cobiah tried not to show how the words infected him, charged his spirit with a sudden desire to rush to her aid. No matter how they fought, Isaye always had that effect on him. The charr's yellow eyes crept up from where he'd been staring at the stones on the ground, this time judging Cobiah's reaction. d.a.m.n it, Fa.s.sur. You know me too well.

Feeling equal parts amused and manipulated, Cobiah looked around at the others. Bronn jabbed the commodore in the ribs and nodded encouragement. Aysom gave Cobiah a bobbing, rea.s.suring smile, his long horns tilting back and forth. Sykox's ears flicked back and then forward again as his tail kept up a steady rhythm of annoyance. Thump-thump-thump. Thump-thump-thump. Thump-thump- "Fine!" Cobiah threw up his hands. "I'll meet with her. But not on the Pride. The Nomad's in the blockade with the others, and even Edair's not dumb enough to miss my s.h.i.+p when he sees it. We'll have to use an unknown s.h.i.+p. Then they might think we're Krytan . . . if we're lucky."

"I can help with the 'luck' part." Fa.s.sur grinned. "I still have that old Krytan flag in the hold, from the time we took the Salma's Grace. Remember? Ol' Moran let me take it as a trophy. If we fly that on our mast and they don't see which side of the blockade we came from to start, we should be able to get close enough to signal the Nomad."

"Just might work." Cobiah felt his confidence building. "We'd just need a s.h.i.+p."

Sykox brightened. "Use the scout s.h.i.+p, the Gabrian's Comet. She's small, low to the water, and her captain's a friend of mine. I bet I can talk him into loaning her to you for the night."

"Now we're getting somewhere." Cobiah grinned, feeling the tension leave his body for the first time in weeks. Finally, a plan! They were doing something. Something insane, but something proactive, and that made up for three weeks of pent-up frustration. "Sykox, commandeer the Comet and crew her with the absolute minimum needed to keep her moving. I'll need you to find five sailors. I won't risk any more lives than that on this wild goose chase."

"Four. I'm your first mate," Fa.s.sur growled. "No argument, Coby. My mind's made up. I'm the one who trusted Isaye and brought you the message. If it turns out she was using me . . ." Fa.s.sur's claws snapped in, then out again. "I'll be the one who carves repayment out of her hide."

"Danger, adventure, possible betrayal-by the mighty claw of Bear! I'll not leave you on such an adventure, Coby," Bronn preened. He leaned close and said sotto voce, "Besides, the wife'll have me teaching swordplay all day and all night if I stay here. Spirits of the Wild, protect me from the jaws of yapping pups!"

Aysom nodded. "I'm coming, too."

"Have fun." Suddenly, all eyes turned to Sykox. The orange-furred charr crossed his arms over his spotted chest and lashed his tail belligerently. "What? I'm sure as the Mists not going with you! All this yammering's reminded me that I have some very important work to finish at the docks."

"Work?" Cobiah exclaimed. "What in the Six G.o.ds do you have to work on? The piers are burned! The s.h.i.+ps are gone! It's like a Grenth-blasted graveyard down there."

Sykox sniffed. "You say 'graveyard,' I say 'opportunity.' Lion's Arch still has plenty of men and women ready to crew an armada." The charr smiled, and his long white fangs gleamed in the sunlight. "I just need to find them something to sail."

The Gabrian's Comet was a small schooner, less than two hundred feet long and dwarfed by pinnaces such as the Pride and big clippers such as the Nomad II. Although she typically carried a crew of around twenty, tonight she had only five sailors working amid her rigging. One of them was a human. Two were charr: Fa.s.sur and Aysom. The other two were norn. When Bronn's brother, Grymm, heard about their plan, he promptly stormed into the Crow's Nest Tavern and challenged his brother to a fight to decide which one of them would go. After they spent two hours arguing, breaking chairs over one another, and wheedling the barmaids for more alcohol, Cobiah gave in and brought both. It was far easier than paying their bar tab.

Sanctum Harbor rippled with a wayward southern wind that bled cold from the s.h.i.+verpeaks. They kept the sails closed as they pushed off from the pier, letting the last of the outgoing tide draw them from sh.o.r.e. Only when they were completely surrounded by the waters of the harbor and the tide began to turn inward did they unfurl the sails: dark canvas, stained black with oil from a midnight yew. Harder to see against the night sky.

The wind sang in the taut rigging, swelling the canvases that swayed against the two small masts. It had been years since Cobiah'd been at sea, and the salt spray and rolling bow of the deck invigorated him despite the circ.u.mstances. He stood in the aft of the s.h.i.+p, looking back at the lights of the harbor, searching for the spires of the little chapel on Deverol Island. They'd built it only a few years ago, and Cobiah'd feared the other residents of the city might not take kindly to Krytan religion in their midst. To his surprise, the non-humans had been supportive. Several of the city's norn helped carve the great oak beams of the ceiling, and an asuran inventor had engineered self-illuminating stained-gla.s.s windows just so the little shrine would be hospitable at night. Fixing his eyes on it, Cobiah murmured a prayer to each of the six G.o.ds of his people, wis.h.i.+ng for the best. Grenth, G.o.d of death. Balthazar, G.o.d of war. Lyssa, G.o.ddess of beauty. Kormir, G.o.ddess of truth. Melandru, G.o.ddess of the earth. And on the highest point, Dwayna the Merciful, sweet and gentle comforter of the soul.

He could still hear the priest's voice, trying to console him. "Pray to her, young man. She will bring you peace."

Without meaning to, his mind leapt back to the day he'd first left Lion's Arch, remembering how the white sails carrying him out of the city had looked like an angel's wings. It seemed right that he'd tied Biviane's doll to his belt today, as he'd done in the past when he captained the Pride. Cobiah smiled and brushed his fingers over Polla's faded yarn hair. All the time that had pa.s.sed, from then to now. All the years. All the adventures.

So much had changed.

"We'll be at the edge of the blockade in fifteen minutes, sir, if the wind holds. Even if it doesn't, the norn are moving those oars like mad things. The steerage's made for six men to a side, and we've got Bronn and Grymm. I think those two have a bet going as to who can pull harder." Fa.s.sur yawned and stretched his arms up over his head with a whining, grunty noise. He tugged on each wrist, loosening the muscles, and then shook himself all over like a dog rising from a nap. "After that, we're oars-only for another ten or so, and that should get us to the eastern pyramid marker. Isaye said she'd sail there for three nights, waiting to see if we showed. There'll be a red lantern hung on her bow so we can tell the Nomad from the others." The pyramid marker was a set of stones piled high in the ocean, the top of the stack jutting out well above the highest tide. It marked the edge of safe sailing. If a s.h.i.+p sailed any farther toward the eastern coast of the bay, it risked tearing the bottom of its hull against unpredictable ruins, coral, shale, and other dangers beneath the waves.

Although the prince's s.h.i.+ps might notice the Nomad II sailing close to that edge, they wouldn't think much of it. Isaye was one of the best pilots in Tyria, and she knew Sanctum Harbor like no other. The other Krytan captains might even a.s.sume she'd been told to watch for s.h.i.+ps moving in the currents along the dangerous edge. The Gabrian's Comet was small enough that it could hide on the Nomad II's port side, keeping the clipper's bulk between the Gabrian's Comet and the rest of the s.h.i.+ps in the blockade; she'd be hard to spot under casual inspection from afar. The ruse wouldn't have to last long. Cobiah didn't plan to stay.

The tide moved beneath them precisely as Isaye's rough-sketched map indicated. Every piece of wreckage beneath them had been drawn out, with careful timing marked in seconds to indicate when they should turn their rudder. Each time Fa.s.sur gestured to him, Aysom pulled on the rudder, s.h.i.+fting the boat's elegant glide through the calm waters of the bay. Although the currents in Sanctum Harbor were a mora.s.s of unpredictable fluctuation, Isaye's map always seemed to predict where the draw would be. Cobiah busied himself by adjusting the sails, and when Fa.s.sur called for them to ease, he climbed the mast to the low yardarm and rolled her rigging down. He secured the dark canvas with sailor's knots, trying to ignore the stiffness that plagued joints once fluent with such labor.

"Stay silent, everyone," Cobiah murmured to the crew. "The water carries echoes. We don't want the Krytans to hear us coming."

Slowly, her oars piercing the water like sharp-edged knives, the Gabrian's Comet slipped to the edge of the blockade. Lanterns glittered in the distance, tied to the gunwales of clippers and larger galleons. Now and again, Cobiah could hear a watchman call the time or make out fragments of conversation from sailors on the Krytan s.h.i.+ps. Most of the armada was stationary, and the patrols moved as Isaye had indicated. Buoys were fanned out between them, with ropes and nets splayed from one to another, designed to foul the keel and tangle in the rudder of any s.h.i.+p that tried to punch its way through the blockade. The Gabrian's Comet avoided them all-thanks to Isaye's carefully drawn map.

"She's precise," Fa.s.sur rumbled, his voice so soft that Cobiah, standing next to him, had trouble hearing it.

Cobiah couldn't help giving in to a little bitterness. "You think that's something?" he whispered coolly. "You should have seen how methodical she was about copying my notes. The Krytans must have been very impressed." Despite himself, Cobiah felt the tension in his shoulders ease. Whatever crazy plan Isaye was going to propose, thus far her information had been reliable. That eased his mind-a bit. Now he could turn his worry toward wondering exactly what she'd felt was so important in the first place.

Nodding in agreement, Fa.s.sur folded the paper and tucked it into his belt pouch. Squinting, he lifted a hand and pointed across the sea with one long claw. "There. Red lantern."

Slowly, carefully, the schooner pulled up alongside the Nomad II. The waves knocked the Gabrian's Comet against the much larger s.h.i.+p, tossing it back and forth in a softly b.u.mping rhythm. Cobiah had deliberately kept his craft dark, and the Nomad II dimmed her lanterns along the port side, ensuring that the Gabrian's Comet would be further hidden from view of the Krytan s.h.i.+ps floating some distance away on her other side. Cobiah tightened his sword belt nervously, watching a sailor on the Nomad II throw a long rope toward them. Aysom caught it, wrapping the end around one of the cleats near the edge of their deck. Once they were tied off, the larger s.h.i.+p slid a board down to them: a makes.h.i.+ft gangplank so they could come aboard.

Fa.s.sur took Cobiah's wrist in a gesture of brotherhood. "Take Bronn and Grymm with you. Be careful. Aysom and I will keep our weapons out and the Comet ready to push off. The minute you're done, don't waste any time with kissy-poo or lovey-dovey stuff. We need to be back through that blockade and into the city's harbor well before dawn."

"'Lovey-dovey'?" Cobiah stared at his old friend skeptically. "Fa.s.sur, women really are a foreign species to you. You realize Isaye's more likely to kill me than kiss me, right?"

"Speak for yourself," the charr grunted. "I married that Blood Legion minx, if you remember. I know fore-play when I see it."

"Don't worry." Cobiah had to stifle his laugh. "This won't take long." He gestured to the brothers and headed up the slippery gangplank.

a.s.sembled on the deck were four human sailors wearing linen s.h.i.+rts and breeches, a kerchief in green and gold tied about one man's neck. As the three visitors made it up the plank and onto the Nomad II, the sailors on the deck kept their hands near their cutla.s.ses, taking no chances. "The cap'n's stateroom is this way." One of them crooked his arm for them to follow and walked toward the oak doors on the quarterdeck at the rear of the s.h.i.+p.

Although most s.h.i.+ps kept hands active, even at night, the clipper's deck felt all but abandoned. No one was straightening the ropes on the capstan, nor was.h.i.+ng the boards, nor standing guard at the bow or the gunnery. The silence unnerved Cobiah, and their footsteps across the broad s.h.i.+p's promenade felt overloud and strange. Bronn frowned as well, exchanging a glance with his brother, and the two closed ranks to stay with Cobiah and the sailors of the Nomad II. Bronn subtly loosed his greatsword in its back sheath. Grymm cracked his knuckles, exchanging pleasant smiles with the Krytan sailor walking beside him. Just before the sailors opened the doors to the captain's cabin, Cobiah realized something else: none of the men escorting them across the s.h.i.+p had tattoos-not an anchor, or a mermaid, or a pair of crossed swords between the lot of them. They walked stiff legged rather than rolling with the motion of the waves against the s.h.i.+p, and all four fell into the same rhythm, arms swinging in time, footsteps thumping regularly on the deck boards.

These were not sailors.

Cobiah paled. Before he could speak, the large doors on the quarterdeck swung open from the other side. Beyond them, he could see the Nomad II's stateroom. The area was more than a cabin, built to serve as a meeting-room for the officers while the s.h.i.+p was at sea. The area within was lit by hanging lanterns bolted to the beams of the ceiling, their tinted panes casting colored light across the well-scrubbed floors and s.h.i.+ning bra.s.s ornaments.

Yet there was no central table for meetings or meals, no sign of a captain's desk or personal effects other than a few wall hangings that Cobiah recognized as Isaye's. The furniture had been removed completely save for a tall, ornamented mahogany chair with opulently covered pillows that rested in the center of the chamber. Even though they had never met before, Cobiah instantly recognized the man seated there.

Prince Edair.

He was young, only a few years past twenty, with a deeply privileged smile and an athlete's graceful form. Soft hands gripped the hilt of a bejeweled sword clipped to his gleaming patent-leather belt. The man's skin was olive toned, his hair the rich auburn common to Krytan n.o.bility. Handsome, but the way he lolled on the chair spoke of conceited superiority in every self-satisfied posture. From his s.h.i.+ning black boots to his immaculate green-and-gold uniform, the man appeared every inch a Krytan soldier-but not a speck of the clothing looked worn or broken in. Edair straightened his sleeves, keeping his eyes gleefully fixed on Cobiah and the others in the doorway.

Isaye and Tenzin Moran stood to either side of the throne, her hazel eyes unreadable and his gun holster empty. Marines wearing the uniform of the Seraph lined both walls of the chamber, weapons already in their hands. The escorts drew their swords and fenced their three captives in the doorway. Hatches on the deck behind them sprang open with a clatter, and Cobiah could hear thumping, pounding footsteps barging up from the hold.

"Can't go backward," Cobiah conceded. "Might as well charge."

In a flash, he drew his sword. He heard the ringing sound of Bronn's two-hander coming free of its scabbard as Grymm bellowed a challenge. "Villains!" the younger twin shouted, his voice carrying like a foghorn. "Fight us one on one, if you dare!" He swatted away a sword pointed in his face and charged into the line of guardsmen to their right, plowing one Seraph with a haymaker as he drove his knee into a second soldier's gut. It didn't take Grymm long to turn that side of the room into a six-on-one brawl.

Bronn turned to the left, swinging his greatsword in broad strokes over his head to drive their opponents backward. Cobiah took advantage of their escorts' surprise to punch one in the jaw with his cutla.s.s hilt. Before the other Krytans could react, Cobiah grabbed one by the shoulder and hurled him into the third, knocking both of them to the floor.

With the norn twins handling the company of marines, no one stood between Cobiah and the Krytan prince. "I might not make it out of this room," Cobiah said threateningly, storming toward Edair, "but you sure as h.e.l.l won't."

"Cobiah, please!" Isaye begged, stepping in front of the throne. "I can't let you hurt him." The gesture was baffling, and Cobiah froze midstride, struck by the tears in her eyes and the desperate tone in her voice.

"d.a.m.n it, Isaye!" Cobiah grabbed her shoulder roughly, pus.h.i.+ng her aside. "This is no time for national loyalty! The man's trying to kill me. He's trying to destroy our city."

"I know," she whispered, tears running down her cheeks.

That wasn't the response he'd expected. He thought she'd fight him or argue-call him names or defend the Krytan prince's actions. Instead, Isaye stood mutely in his path, willing to take any abuse he'd offer. It wasn't like her at all.

His hand softened on her shoulder, cupping it gently instead of gripping with force. "Isaye . . ." Cobiah wavered, taking in her distress. "What has he done to you?"

Just then Krytan soldiers rushed into the room, flooding past Cobiah and hurtling protectively into position around the prince. One of them knocked Isaye aside, leveling his blade at Cobiah's heart. The blow was so violent that she tumbled to the ground, striking her head against the floor of the cabin. Isaye fell limp, dark hair tumbling across her shoulders to cover her face.

More troops pushed through the doorway, overwhelming the twins with sheer numbers. Three guardsmen forced Bronn's sword out of his hands, backing him against a wall with the barrel of a pistol shoved under the norn's bearded jaw. Grymm struggled to cross the room to reach him, dragging two men on each of his legs and another hanging behind him from his broad shoulders. He swung wildly, trying to knock his captors off him, but more and more piled on. A few moments later, there were so many sailors on the norn that Cobiah couldn't see him anymore-and then the entire pile collapsed to the deck, kicking and wriggling in defiance.

"Your Highness!" a guard reported from the Nomad II's deck. "The schooner's cast off. They're getting away!"

"Burn it to the waterline. Use the flaming oil," the prince said lazily, barely bothering to raise his voice. "Do I have to tell you people everything?"

Other soldiers relayed the command, and soon Cobiah heard the tw.a.n.gs of shortbow fire and thuds of oil packets fired from handheld slings. The Krytans stripped Cobiah's weapon from his hand. Keeping their swords pointed at his chest and throat, they forced him against the wall beside Bronn. Cobiah didn't take his eyes off Isaye. Tenzin pushed his way through the soldiers to kneel at her side. The young marine pressed a torn piece of cloth to a wound on Isaye's head, where blood was beginning to mat the silken strands. "Did you have to hurt her?" he said to the soldier sharply.

The man stiffened. "Just following orders, sir."

Even at a distance, Cobiah could hear Isaye mutter something smarmy as her eyes fluttered open. Despite the bleak circ.u.mstances, her voice was full of life and fire-and Cobiah eased back against the wall with a sigh of relief.

"Slap the traitors in irons, including the Nomad's officers." Prince Edair gave a lackadaisical wave of his hand. "Take them aboard the Balthazar's Trident. We'll handle the interrogations there."

The Balthazar's Trident was a heavy, broad hulk of a s.h.i.+p, wallowing in the ocean like a pig in mud. She was the very picture of great wealth, with gleaming bra.s.s railings, lily-white sails, and carved ornamentation on every door, hatch, and railing. The s.h.i.+p's name was plated in gold, blazoned in two-foot-high lettering beneath the balcony of her stern galley. The figurehead on her prow was of the human G.o.d of war after whom the s.h.i.+p was named. Twice as large as any other figurehead in the fleet, the statue portrayed him from the waist up as if in battle, raising a bra.s.s trident challengingly toward the sky. The s.h.i.+p had four great masts, so large that the trees themselves must have been over a hundred years old, positioned in a straight line from fore to rear along her deck and rigged with a thick span of interconnecting lines that made up her superstructure. A ma.s.sive golden crown had been embroidered on her forward jib sail, and a series of fifty-foot-long gold-and-green pennants spun from the high points of her mastheads. She even dwarfed the Indomitable.

The Krytan soldiers loaded Cobiah and the others into a rowboat the size of a fis.h.i.+ng vessel and sailed them from the Nomad II under heavy guard. They pulled up against the galleon's starboard wale under the watchful eye of more than twenty riflemen with guns pointed and ready to fire. Instead of a gangplank or a rope ladder, the Balthazar's Trident had two elementalists dressed in gold and green standing at an opening in the gunwale railing. One of them raised his voice as the rowboat took hold of tossed lines from the Balthazar's Trident, chanting a spell upon a box of slat boards. The wind wrapped itself around each plank, rolling them out of the box to balance solidly upon the air. One by one, they moved past each other over the side of the s.h.i.+p, creating the firm shape of a curling staircase.

Prince Edair, seemingly unimpressed, bounded up it eagerly, calling greetings to his men aboard the s.h.i.+p. "Today," he proclaimed, puffing up as all eyes turned toward him, "is a day that will go down in history! Today, Kryta brings to justice the thieves who have defied her. With the blessings of our patron, Balthazar, we have captured the leader of these traitorous pirates. Behold, Cobiah Marriner!" Prince Edair balanced on the edge of the s.h.i.+p's dock, pointing down at the rowboat while those around him cheered loudly, taunting Cobiah and waving their hats in the air. "Next," Edair said, raising his voice as the ribaldry faded, "we shall make right the indignity done to our fair nation.

"Today, Cobiah Marriner! Tomorrow, Lion's Arch!"

Whatever the prince's other failings may be, Cobiah griped silently, the boy's father clearly taught him how to galvanize his followers.

The sailors on the ma.s.sive galleon repeated the chant, firing their guns in the air and whooping in celebration. Edair grasped the railing and leaned over the side of the s.h.i.+p. "Take the traitors to the royal stateroom." His antic.i.p.atory grin turned Cobiah's stomach. "Tell Mercer to ready his bag of tricks. We need more information about the city defenses before we give orders to attack."

"I'll handle the transfer, Your Highness." A woman in red, her body molded by a formfitting, coat-like leather bodice over a tight pair of pants, moved through the crowd to the prince's side. The scarf tied about her waist swayed as she gave a bow, brilliant blue eyes peering out beneath a curl of shoulder-length scarlet hair. One paler lock flashed at her brow, glinting like the brightly colored warning of a poisonous fish. "All will be as you command." The prince smiled and nodded, and the two exchanged quiet words that Cobiah could not overhear.

"Snow Leopard, clever and wise spirit, s.h.i.+eld my eyes," Bronn said. He sat in the rowboat beside Cobiah, staring up at the woman in frank appreciation. "Kill me if you must, boys, but don't leave me alone with a seductress like that! Hedda'd never let me out of her sight again."

The woman inclined her head once more, and the prince smiled. Prince Edair turned away and strode among his swaggering crew, delighting in their admiration, as the red-garbed woman gave a signal to the soldiers on the rowboat. Obeying with alacrity, the Krytans grabbed all five prisoners-Cobiah, Isaye, Tenzin, and the two norn-and began to force them up the magical stairway onto the galleon.

While the Krytans were figuring out the various difficulties of getting recalcitrant norn up a tightly wound spiral, Cobiah took stock of his surroundings. The Balthazar's Trident was the largest s.h.i.+p he'd ever set foot on by far. She was heavily crewed and carried nearly as many combat-trained marines as she did crew. He saw at least two elementalists, though he suspected there were more aboard, and several of those following Edair across the deck wore armor much like Osh Moran had once worn: magic-wielding guardians, Cobiah suspected, as his old friend had been.

Cobiah could figure out everyone aboard except the woman giving them orders. At first glance, she looked like a plaything, someone the prince might have brought along for personal entertainment during the long nights of the blockade. Listening to her iron-in-satin voice, watching the way the marines leapt to follow her orders without question, Cobiah knew that this woman was no one's toy. An adviser, perhaps? A cousin of the royal line? She seemed distinctly out of place, yet the prince had all but deferred to her suggestions. Cobiah stared at her, trying to reach a conclusion as to her purpose and abilities.

A sharp elbow thumped into Cobiah's rib cage, forcing the breath from his body in a pained exhalation and drawing his attention sharply away from the woman in red. When he looked, Isaye was glaring at him. "If you have to hit me . . . hit the other . . . side," Cobiah wheezed, his still-healing dagger wound throbbing with new pain. He'd been lucky not to tear it open again during the battle on the Nomad II. Then again, he hadn't made it close enough to Edair to start a fight.

Isaye grabbed his s.h.i.+rt in her manacled hands, surrept.i.tiously pulling it up and noting the bandages underneath. "You're wounded?" Isaye blinked, shocked. "What on Melandru's green earth were you doing out here if you're hurt? Are you insane? You might have ripped it open again. An enemy could find out and use it against you. The wound could have gone septic-"

"My wife needed me." Cobiah met her gaze evenly. "How could I not come?"

Unspoken implications hung in the silence between them. Breath catching in her throat, Isaye regarded him more gently. "Scamp." Nevertheless, a smile teased the corners of her lips, and she looked away before it caught hold.

Once all five prisoners were on the deck of the galleon, the soldiers herded them through a double-doored hatch in the deck and down a short flight of stairs toward one of the lower holds. Judging by the size of the Balthazar's Trident, there were at least three levels within the s.h.i.+p's body. At least one of them, Cobiah guessed, was solely for housing all the marines. At the end of a long wooden hallway stood a door guarded by two soldiers who were not wearing the standard gold-and-green uniform. Instead, their clothing was simple, a matching dark blue and silver, uniform in coloration but diverse in fabric and pattern. Their dress looked more functional than showy; tied tight with laces, the fabric was kept close to their bodies so it would not hamper movement, and both men carried swords with well-worn hilts. Guards, then, not footmen.

Cobiah hadn't heard the woman in red walking behind them, and he jumped when her voice seemed to appear as if out of thin air. "His Highness will be interrogating the prisoners in the stateroom." She stepped through the group of captives confidently, completely unconcerned that anyone might make an attempt to do her harm. The two guardsmen, one pale and one dark, stood straighter as she approached. Unlike the Seraph, they seemed perfectly comfortable with her presence, watching the woman in red with the ease of long familiarity. Still, she was clearly in charge.

To the pale-haired guard: "Kaj, go to the prince's quarters. He'll undoubtedly ask to see his prize, and I want you there for protection." To the dark-haired one: "Glenn, see that the brig is prepared for five and be sure there's food and water available. Regardless of their current situation, these people are our guests."

"Yes, ma'am." The door wardens snapped to attention, eyes bright with respect.

"Keep your eyes open. The s.h.i.+ning Blade will be expected to help me ensure good behavior while our new friends are aboard." There was a subtle implication in her words, and both guards seemed to relax in their stances. The woman flicked her eyes over the prisoners, not caring if they overheard. "I will be protecting the prince personally."

"Yes, Exemplar." The two young men gave her courteous salutes and quickly began their tasks.

The s.h.i.+ning Blade? Cobiah struggled to identify the reference. At last, he remembered something Isaye had mentioned years ago: the s.h.i.+ning Blade were an elite branch of the military in Kryta. It was said they were complete fanatics, willing and even eager to die at the king's command. If so, and if she was one of them, why was this woman treating the prince's captives so well?

The broad door opened, and the woman in red stepped into the room without another word. The marines shoved the prisoners after, not caring if they stumbled or fell flat as they entered a large audience hall. The stateroom within was enormous, easily the largest hall Cobiah had ever seen within a s.h.i.+p. Wide, red-carpeted stairs flowed down from the main doorway to a ballroom floor, and to either side of the entryway, a shelflike balcony wrapped around the body of the room. The ceiling had been painted to look like a night sky, with glittering, enchanted stars illuminating the upper area, while lanterns hung in tidy rows along the edge of the balcony to bring a warm glow to the lower part of the room. Marveling at the opulence, Cobiah picked his way down the stairs in the wake of the woman in red, trying not to scuff the magnificent Elonian rug. The wall opposite the staircase held six large stained-gla.s.s windows, each patterned after one of the human G.o.ds, the whole looking down over a stagelike dais. On that dais stood a ma.s.sive golden throne.

He was so overwhelmed by his surroundings that it took Cobiah a moment to realize there were people in the room. Indeed, there were at least fifty, all dressed in exquisite and expensive clothing, hair done in elaborate braids and decorative twists, their faces painted with the hauteur of n.o.bility. Cobiah's eyes widened as he realized he must have been walking through the creme de la creme of Divinity's Reach. Although a few of them wore weapons, most were decorative, bejeweled-and had probably never been drawn. The music of stringed instruments faded and died to a hushed silence, broken only by soft, t.i.tillated whispers through the crowd.

Each step felt like it took an hour. The crowd parted, their eyes raking over him, hiding murmurs and smothering laughter behind their hands. Cobiah felt his face grow warm with humiliation; here he was in ripped breeches and an untucked linen s.h.i.+rt, bearing the obvious stains of sail and brawl, walking among people whose silken skirts and golden coronets were worth as much as his entire manor. An old anger p.r.i.c.ked within his chest. He pa.s.sed a table laden with punch and fluffy pastries, his stomach rebelling at the oversweet smell. These privileged idiots were dancing and feasting, playing politics while Lion's Arch starved.

A herald at the front of the room sounded his trumpet, and the n.o.bles quickly turned toward the dais, sinking into curtsies and bows. As Cobiah watched, Prince Edair, newly changed from his soldierly uniform into clothing more suited for a royal ball, strode into the room across the dais followed by three more blue-garbed s.h.i.+ning Blade. The crowd burst into polite applause at the sight of their prince, loudly admiring the pattern on the sleeves of his golden doublet, the deep color of a purple s.h.i.+rt made of rare Canthan silk, or the immaculate s.h.i.+ne of his high black boots. Apparently, extravagance was in. Personally, Cobiah thought Edair looked like a dancing peony.

Turning away from the stage, Cobiah used the time to count his opponents. Two s.h.i.+ning Blade at the door. Three more onstage. Perhaps twenty Seraph marines standing guard around the room and, of course, the woman in red. Grymm noticed him glancing around and gave the commodore a tense smile. Isaye caught him as well, but her reaction was less approving. She kicked his ankle surrept.i.tiously, saying, "They will kill us."

Edair took the time to pause and speak with a few of his supporters at the edge of the stage. He smiled and shook hands, exchanging pleasantries with the n.o.bility while the prisoners waited in a clump at the center of the room.

"What is Edair doing?" Tenzin stared at the prince in frank disapproval.

"Making an a.s.s of himself, it seems," Bronn grunted disparagingly. "Is that man seriously wearing silk to a war?" The norn spat on the floor derisively, causing nearby courtiers to shrink away and stare in disgust.

Cobiah shook his head. "No. He's humiliating us. Deliberately. Letting the n.o.bles stare their fill at his 'prisoners of war' . . . all the better to inflate his pride."

After a few more minutes, Edair made a great show of draping himself onto the throne. "Bring the traitors closer. If they tell me all I want to know, I may choose to be merciful," he said in a tone that was anything but. The Seraph escort dragged the prisoners to the front of the room, lining them up in a row before the dais. The exemplar climbed the dais, her red leather coat brus.h.i.+ng the edge of the stairs, but paused before she reached the throne. She took up a position there, her eyes resting thoughtfully on Cobiah. Aware that he was the focus of her steady contemplation, Cobiah felt his neck heat and his cheeks color, and he turned away. He was too old to fall for such an obvious ruse.

"Very well, then." Edair straightened the five-pointed crown on his head and fixed a stern glare at the captives. "You will tell me the best methods of attacking Lion's Arch from land and sea. Where the defenses are positioned and a summary of their capacities." Glancing at the woman in red, he finished graciously, "I will use the information to seize the city with as few casualties as possible. Your people will be spared and even allowed to leave. But they cannot remain in Lion's Arch unless they submit to Krytan rule." A smattering of polite applause rippled through the a.s.sembled crowd.