“I realise it may be too early in my service to ask a boon, Highness,” Harvin said. “But when this is over, I formally request never to be sent to sea again. I’ve seen enough rat-infested bilge tubs for this life.”
Lyrna allowed herself a smile. “Your request is granted, my lord.”
She watched the Shield as he strode closer, face upraised as he found her on the balcony, bowing deeply and extending an arm to where the Sea Sabre was moored.
“My ladies and lords,” she said. “Our vessel awaits.”
“The best way to avoid a trap,” the Shield said, “is to kill the bastard who made it before he gets a chance to set it.”
“As long as you can find him first,” Ship Lord Ell-Nurin pointed out.
They stood around a map table set up in the Sea Sabre’s hold, an extensive chart of the Isles and surrounding waters spread out before them. There were eight other senior captains present along with Belorath, now happily returned to his role as first mate. Ell-Nurin was the sole Ship Lord present, apparently the only member of the council Ell-Nestra could stomach for any length of time.
“Thanks to Her Highness we know the Volarians intend a feint,” he went on, finger pointing to the southern approaches. “Probably here, the most direct route to the capital aided by favourable winds. Whilst we can most likely expect them to send their troop ships to the beaches here.” He tapped at three bays on the northern shore of the largest islands. “Where the wind will be against them, but since they expect us to be fully occupied to the south, it won’t matter.”
“What does that tell you?” Lyrna enquired.
“That they’ll have to separate here.” His finger picked out a small speck some eighty-odd miles to the east.
“The Teeth of Moesis,” Ell-Nurin said. “A prophetic place for a battle.”
“The gods are bound to smile on us there,” Belorath put in. “If they smile on us anywhere.”
“You intend to attack as they separate?” Lyrna asked.
“Indeed, Highness,” the Shield replied. “We tack from the north-west with the wind in our favour, sink the troop-ships first. Without them their invasion is a pointless endeavour after all.”
“What’s to stop them simply joining forces again when they see our sails on the horizon?”
Ell-Nestra’s finger tapped a point just to the south of the Teeth of Moesis. “The Serpent’s Tail. The god left more than just his teeth behind.”
“A great stone reef, Highness,” Ell-Nurin explained. “Their southern division will have to navigate it to join up with the troop-ships. Not an easy task at the best of times.”
“All dependent on whether they stick to the plan outlined in the book,” Lyrna said. “A plan they may never have received.”
“There was more than one book,” Ell-Nurin said. “Safely received in Varinshold according to our sources. We are also advised the Volarian general wrote to the Council-man expressing his condolences at the loss of his son, presumably to a storm since no trace of his ship has been found.”
“We sail with the tide,” the Shield said, moving back from the table.
“The fleet is not fully gathered,” Ell-Nurin said. “Another two days will give us fifty more ships.”
“And hand the Volarians the Isles. We’ve tarried too long as it is, every scrap of sail will be needed to get the fleet to the Teeth in time.” He looked at Lyrna with one of his hateful smiles. “My first mate tells me Your Highness is a great exponent of Keschet. Perhaps you would honour me with a game once we’re under way?”
He was a much better player than Belorath, relying on his own tactical acumen rather than learned strategies, improvising with considerable flair and imagination. But he was also overly aggressive and inflexible in the long game. But at least she didn’t have to string it out.
“Fifty-eight moves,” she said, plucking his emperor from the board. “Very impressive.”
“It must have been hard,” he said, reclining on his stool, his smile now genuine.
“Hard, my lord Shield? Keschet is very simple in essence . . .”
“Not the game. Pretending all those years. Not being you. After all, who wants the keenest mind in the room to be the princess in the corner? Did you do needlework whilst your father held his councils? I expect you’re very good at that too.”
“Actually I never learned needlework. Nor felt the need to sit through my father’s meetings, since I could usually anticipate every word likely to be spoken. But yes, it was hard to pretend stupidity to the stupid.”
“Now there is no need. The whole world can see your . . .” He faltered and fell silent, turning his gaze out to sea and the great host of ships surrounding them.
“My true face?” she asked, finding considerable enjoyment in his discomfort.
“I misspoke, and crave your forgiveness.”
She busied herself removing her pieces from the board. “I’m sure I’ll hear worse when I return to the Realm.”
“You think they’ll accept you?” he asked. “As you are?”
“You talk as if they have a choice. I am queen by right of blood. That’s all they need to know.”
“And you expect their instant servile obedience?”
“I am returned from the dead, bearing the scars of my suffering in service to the Realm’s need at this time of greatest peril. Surely the Departed must favour me.” She smiled and gestured at the board. “Another game, my lord?”
“I don’t think there’s much point, do you?” He leaned forward, all trace of a smile gone from his lips. “Why did you come? You could have stayed in the isles, sailed safely away if the battle went against us.”
“Perhaps I wanted to see you perform.”
His eyes flicked to the Keschet board. “You told me more than you intended, Highness. With you, seemingly simple moves always conceal complex intent.”
“My intent is not so complex. Win your battle and I’ll happily share it.”
“I intend to.” He rose and bowed before striding off towards the helm.
A night and a day brought the Teeth in sight, a black nub on the horizon occasionally obscured by crashing waves. The Shield ordered the fleet to strip sails and took the Sea Sabre on ahead, dropping anchor barely a half mile away from the Teeth. They were an impressive sight at this distance, great slabs of stone rising from the sea, swirling currents bringing wave after wave to batter their flanks.
“A great serpent’s teeth?” Murel said when Benten had related the story of the Teeth’s origins. She gave a scornful laugh. “All gods are a lie, but that’s a gem.” She fell silent at Lyrna’s glare, the crewmen within earshot bristling with indignation.
“My apologies,” Lyrna told them. “My lady is young and knows very little.”
“Sorry, Highness,” Murel murmured, gaze downcast as the crew resumed their tasks.
“Gods are real to those that hold to them,” Lyrna told her, patting her hand, leaning close to add in a whisper, “But a lie is still a lie, no matter how big.”
The Shield climbed aloft with his spyglass, standing on the mainmast and scanning the horizon, hair whipping in the wind. Lyrna saw Murel staring in open admiration then looking away with a flush on her cheeks when she caught Lyrna’s eye. The hours stretched as Ell-Nestra maintained his vigil, the afternoon sun eventually burning through the haze and the sea calming in the warmer air.
He may very well be wrong, Lyrna thought, gazing at the empty sea to the east. The Volarian fleet could have passed by in the night and we would never know. She had never been a great believer in intuition, preferring reason and evidence to instinct and guesswork. But there was something in his certainty that told her they were in the right place, a lifetime at sea had to be worth something.
She occupied herself searching the waves for sign of the shark but finding no trace of the fin. Perhaps the echo of Fermin’s call had finally faded, or maybe it had sensed the coming battle and gone in search of easier prey. It was strange, but she found she missed it, the constancy of its presence had become a talisman for their continued survival. I should have given you a name, she thought. One should always name a pet.
“Hoist the black!” the Shield’s order sounded from above as he descended to the deck, sliding down a rope to drop at the helm. “Raise anchor! Archers to the rigging!” He took the wheel and spun it as the anchor was hauled from the sea, the ship’s prow pitching as they turned north. A large rectangular banner was raised to the top of the mainmast, completely black with no decoration. The signal for an enemy in sight.
Lyrna watched Ell-Nestra at the wheel, finding his expression graver than expected, the gaze he turned on her speaking of grim tidings. Something is very wrong.
They sailed north for a mile or so, turning and trimming canvas as the Meldenean fleet hurried in answer to the black banner’s call. The Shield gave the wheel to the helmsman and went to the prow, eyes narrowed as he stared ahead. Lyrna went to his side, remaining silent as he continued to stare, face rigid with suppressed anger.
