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“Should we inspect the rest of your cargo?”

The man stares at me as his jaw moves side to side with agitation. After a long moment, he curtly extends his hand. “I’m Captain Caldwell. Welcome aboard The Graceful Glory.”

13

Clover

The ship sputtersalong the sea at a snail’s pace. The Vallen propulsion apparatus squeaks and wheezes, and a few minutes ago, it quit running altogether. Thankfully, after Captain Caldwell hit it with a hammer several times, swore at it ruthlessly, and then gave it one mighty kick, it gasped back to life.

Yes, High Vale ingenuity is a thing to behold.

The ship’s massive paddlewheel now rotates through the water, looking like it might fall off at any moment. One paddle is missing altogether, broken sometime in the past. It makes the wheel remind me of an old man without a front tooth.

Captain Caldwell has no crew, which is a concern and a relief. Apparently, he’s been manning The Graceful Glory alone for years. He won’t tell us where or how he got the ship, but I have a suspicion he won it in a game of chance.

“Nothing like sunset on the sea,” Caldwell says as he joins me at the rail.

I give him a sideways look. “Shouldn’t you be at the wheel?”

He dismisses the notion. “I tasked the young lad with it.”

Bartholomew is navigating? That’s concerning. Though is it any more dangerous than leaving Captain Caldwell in charge?

“Did you find a cabin to your liking?” he asks.

Since the vessel was a passenger ship at one time, there are certainly plenty to choose from—and each is uniquely furnished. My choices included a cabin with dusty rugs piled atop the bed, one with a rat’s nest under the dressing vanity, and another full of paintings that are forgeries of many I’ve seen hanging in the castle.

I ended up choosing the cabin with a massive harp shoved next to the bed—the most innocuous of the lot. Before I go to sleep, I’ll rip off the dusty covers and lay out my bedroll. It will be fine. It can’t be worse than sleeping near an aynauth after all.

“I did, thank you.”

“Have you been to Ferradelle before, Lady Clover?” the captain asks.

“I have not.”

“How did you end up with your eclectic group?”

“Eclectic?”

He snorts as he stares across the water. “You have a Woodmore traveling alongside a High Vale, a human commander, his human squire, and the kingdom’s crown prince. I’d say that’s the definition of eclectic.”

I look at him with a start, uneasy now that I know he recognized Lawrence. “I prefer to use the term ‘well-rounded.’” After pausing a beat, I add, “But you haven’t gotten your facts straight. Lawrence isn’t the prince. They just happen to share the same name.”

He studies me from the corner of his eye. “Oh? Then who is he to be throwing money around without care?”

“My grandfather struck it rich in the fishing trade,” Lawrence says, magically appearing at my side. “I’m a self-proclaimed layabout, reaping the rewards of my family’s hard work.”

Caldwell turns to Lawrence, crossing his arms. “And it’s only a coincidence you look exactly like our heir to the throne?”

“Do I?” Lawrence asks me as if needing to confirm. With a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, he turns to the side so I may inspect his profile. “What about now?”

“Hmmm,” I say as if musing it over. “I’m not sure your head is quite big enough, though it is certainly large. But Prince Lawrence’s ishuge—as it has to be to contain all his pride.”

Wryly amused, Lawrence turns back to me. “So, you’re saying I’m the handsome one?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You have a tan line, Your Highness.” Caldwell gestures to Lawrence’s forehead. “Your skin is paler where you usually wear your circlet.”