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To his surprise, a row of hunter ships guarded the mouth of the city port. They reminded him of the embargo wall across the Strait of the Ward. Half flew the turquoise flags of Tyriot, embroidered with the golden mermaid. The rest flew no flags at all.

Pirates, Dom knew.

While the rest of Tyriot was under Erida’s control, the rebelling princes and the pirate alliance held the city island.

At the prow of the ship, Meliz stood proudly, one hand on a rope, her body like another sail as her hair caught the wind. She grinned at the island, the blockade, and the ships in harbor. Pride radiated off her, evident even to the immortal.

Orisi was not like the criminal haven of Adira. This was a true city, sprouting across most of the wedge-shaped island. The western side rose to jagged cliffs, the east flat into the blue-green shallows. White-walled temples and red-tiled villas looked out over the water, with market quarters and the docks across the flat below. Even from the port, Dom caught the scent of wild herbs and cypress groves.

While winter fog hung low to the north, the sun shone on Orisi, gilding the sea and the streets.

“It is as if the gods smile on this place, a city in open rebellion,” Sorasa mused as they navigated into the port.

Once docked, the disembarkment was swift, to Dom’s great pleasure. He followed Meliz and Sorasa down the gangway, all but sprinting onto dry land.

Immediately, he swayed on stable ground, kept upright only by hisimmortal grace. Thankfully, Sorasa swayed too. And Meliz swayed worst of all of them, her sea legs permanent as she wove her way down the gangplank. Her navigator, Kireem, followed, along with the Jydi bruiser Ehjer. Both took up flanking position, as if their captain needed protecting in the shadow of an immortal prince.

“If there’s news of Erida’s movements, it will reach the Sea Prince first,” Meliz said, pointing up the hill. “I’ll take you to him.”

The docks of Orisi bustled, the streets bristling. Sailors of every stripe milled about, in all shades of skin. Pirates were easy to pick out, though the Tyri sailors were just as sun-worn and seaworthy. But far more grim, gray despite the sunshine. Trapped beneath the cloud of open war.

The Amhara followed Meliz closely, crouched low in her cloak to hide her tattoos again, her hair hanging loose.

“Should we be on the lookout for bounty hunters or assassins?” Dom asked, bending down to her ear.

He remembered the wanted posters in Almasad and Ascal, emblazoned with their faces and his name. Quickly, he scanned the walls of the buildings edging the dockyard and braced for the familiar sight of his own face.

Sorasa shook her head but pulled up her hood. “You have nothing to fear, Elder. Orisi stands against the Queen. Few here would try to turn you over to her. And I pity any who might try.”

You have nothing to fear.

He eyed her as they walked the jostling streets, hearing what she would not say.

You.

Sorasa Sarn had many enemies, not just the Queen of Galland. She was not only wanted by the crown, but by her own guild. After the slayingof her Amhara kin, Dom suspected another assassin would kill her on sight. If they were not already hunting her across the Ward.

His chest burned with the thought. Suddenly, he felt the urge to open his cloak, to pull her closer. To put himself between Sorasa Sarn and anyone who wished her harm.Not that she needs me for such things, he thought sharply, dismissing the foolish idea with a shake of his head.

She watched him as they walked, a look of disdain on her face. As if she could read his mind.

“Worry about yourself, Dom,” Sorasa spat, walking on. “And hope you don’t make a fool of yourself in front of the Sea Prince. Better not to talk at all, really.”

They wound up the wedge of the rocky island, leaving the docks and the ships behind. But not the sailors. Orisi seemed filled to bursting with Tyri crews, their families in tow. Many had fled the mainland after Erida claimed Tyriot for her own, and left her lords behind to govern. It gave the city the feel of a military fort or a refugee camp. Every door and window hung wide, the people of Orisi welcoming their countrymen.

Dom stuck out as usual, too pale and fair to be of the islands. He stood taller than most, his shoulders jutting out above the rest. Under her hood, Sorasa could be any Tyri woman, bronze-skinned and sharp-eyed.

But they were lost in the chaotic crowd of sailors, pirates, and refugees fleeing their conquered lands. The plaza near the docks looked like an encampment, with canopies stretching from the white walls. Men stood in winding lines, approaching makeshift desks and squinting navy officers. Names were signed and coins passed, along with uniforms.

Someone shouted at Dom in Tyri, pointing from beneath one of the canopies.

He tensed, his body going rigid beneath his cloak. While one handwent for his sword, the other flew to Sorasa’s shoulder, pulling her into his shadow.

“He’s asking if you sail, Elder,” she said, her body tense beneath his hand. But she lingered, if only a moment, before shrugging him off.

He glanced down to catch a flash of teeth as she smirked.

“Erida is in for a terrible surprise,” Sorasa muttered.