Page 47

A male voice speaks from behind me. “If an armored guardsman goes overboard, he turns into an anchor.”

I turn to find Captain Blakemore striding down the gangway leading to his ship. His dark hair is a bit windblown, and his eyes are in shadow, but despite all the guards, he looks more relaxed here than he did at dinner. He’s clearly at home on his ship. His jacket is unbuttoned, revealing a short dagger belted at his waist.

“Miss Cade,” he says, then offers me a bow.

As I curtsy in return, my cheeks warm in spite of myself. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to anyone treatingmewith courtly manners, especially outside the palace. “Captain Blakemore.”

“The guardsmen won’t be going overboard,” Rocco says, and there’s a note in his voice that somehow makes it sound like a warning.

“I rather hopeno onewill be going overboard,” the captain says brightly. He offers me his arm. “Miss Cade, would you like to come aboard?”

“I have things that I need to keep with me.” I pause. “I can wait for a porter.”

“As you like. But I hate to leave you in the rain when some of the others have already selected their rooms.”

Oh.

I’m not sure what to say or do.

Captain Blakemore’s eyes search mine. “Ah, forgive me. Will you be sharing quarters with Prince Corrick? If you’d like for him to be present to choose, I can offer—”

“Oh! No. I—we—he’s—I—” I break off and flush again, because I wasn’t expecting a question like that—and I’m definitely not ready with an answer. I can’t imagine Corrick would expect us to room together. “I’m here as an apothecary. I will have my own quarters, Captain.”

He watches the emotions play out on my face, then straightens. “Of course, Miss Cade. I apologize. My assumption was too bold.” He pauses. “Once again, I sense that I have asked a question that might … put you at risk.”

“No! I’m not—he’s not—” I break off. His expression is so earnest. It makes all my stammering feel foolish.

Rocco saves me. “Miss Cade has earned the king’s favor,” he says. “And his protection.”

Again, the words carry a hint of warning, and the captain’s eyes spark with intrigue. “Noted.”

I’m not sure what to say tothateither. A lick of wind carries across the dark water to swirl between us, ruffling his hair and swirling my skirts. A few drops of rain nip at my cheeks.

“There’s a storm coming,” I say. “Is it safe to leave at night?”

“The winds will put us well ahead of it.” He smiles. “Water is water, Miss Cade. Tonight won’t be our only night at sea.”

“Oh. Yes, of course.” Wind whips between us again, stronger this time, and I shiver as more rain strikes my cheeks.

Behind me, Rocco says something too quiet for me to hear, but a moment later, I realize Kilbourne is pulling my apothecary trunk from the carriage.

“I can ensure your things reach your quarters,” he says. He nods to the captain.

I open my mouth, then close it. “Well, I—I suppose we can get out of the rain.”

The captain offers his arm again. After a moment, I take it.

The gangway isn’t very long, and as we draw close to the top, I see lanterns have been hung along the main deck, and figures in shadows are tying ropes and moving crates. I recognize Lieutenant Tagas and the others who were at dinner, but there are a few people I haven’t seen before. They’re calling orders and directions to each other, and there’s a sense of hurried preparation. No animosity, just a lively camaraderie. These are sailors who are used to working together. No, it’s more than that. These are sailors wholikeworking together. It’s very different from the wary tension among the guards on the dock. The same wary tension that clings to the palace.

That knot of worry in my belly eases, just a bit.

The main deck is broad, with three masts supporting heavy sails, two of which are already unfurled. The largest mast is in the middle, nearly thirty feet high, with a crossbeam and crow’s nest at the top. The ropes lashing the ship to the dock strain and creak as the wind catches the sails. At the front of the ship, there’s a raised area leading to the prow, which is empty, but the back half—theaft, Ithink—has a set of doors that must lead into the officers’ quarters. Ropes and chains and rigging seem to be everywhere, and two men are lugging crates toward an open panel on the deck that must lead to a ladder. The boat shifts in the wind, and the younger one slips on the newly wet deck. The crate drops, cracking onto the planks. Wood creaks and splinters, but the crate stays together—barely.

The older man swears loudly, then growls, “I told you to have these in the hold anhourago.”

“And I toldyouthat—”

Captain Blakemore gives a short, sharp whistle through his teeth. “Gentlemen.”