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Chapter twenty-six

Seraphina

N ever again , Seraphina promised herself for the second and last time as she made her way down the gangplank of the Silver Lady .

Her stomach churned with each sway of the ship within Goldreach’s harbor. Behind her, Duke Percival claimed a firm grip on her elbow and held her steady as they descended together. Before her marched three of her Queensguard. About her throat draped Alyx’s familiar weight.

She stared at the back of Sir Arkwright’s head while she walked, focusing on the way a few wisps of his silver-blond hair curled from beneath his helm rather than on the bile burning in the back of her throat .

It wasn’t until her feet touched steady earth that Seraphina felt confident she could breathe in the ocean’s stench without retching all over herself.

Home .

At last, she was home.

Goldreach stirred all around her, alive with all the familiar sounds and smells of Elmoria. And yet, still, there was an allure of newness.

She turned her head this way and that, drinking it all in, and her curiosity soon filled the space left by the glorious absence of her seasickness.

In all her twenty-nine years, Seraphina had spent little time down by the docks. She had spent little time within Goldreach proper, in fact, aside from her coronation, which had taken place at the cathedral within the heart of the city.

As she stood there, basking in the promise of summer careening off the bay, she searched the faces of all those who passed. Curiously watching, but apart.

Like an outsider peeking in through the windowpanes.

“Let me escort Her Grace off the ship and then I’ll be ready, Your Majesty,” Duke Percival murmured at her ear.

Seraphina dipped her head, acknowledging his words, though the majority of her attention remained on the busy dockside.

There were several other ships that had moored at almost the same time as the Silver Lady , and she watched with a growing fascination as their passengers and cargo spilled forth. Two were clearly merchant vessels from Lothmeer, given the russet cast of the crews’ complexions, and the heavy cadence of their speech lilting over the noise dominating the dock.

The third, though, lay silent and still—a great mystery, given that no passengers had yet disembarked and the ship flew no distinguishing flag. All the same, there was something…oddly familiar about the small vessel.

Narrowing her eyes, she searched that ship in particular for any indication at all from whence it had come. Seraphina entertained that nagging sense of familiarity for a few moments more before a sudden cry of, “Your Majesty!” drew her attention away.

Her heart melted the moment she saw Olivia limping toward her through the crowd.

“Olivia!” Seraphina called out as her friend wrapped her in a tight embrace.

Olivia smelled just as she always did—like whatever latest herbal concoction she was working on down in that workshop of hers, mingled with the scents of parchment and ink.

She smelled like home.

“I missed you,” Seraphina whispered into her friend’s hair.

Olivia pulled from her grasp and flashed a lopsided smile. “Well, of course you did. I’m a delight. Now, tell me everything. We have Drakmor’s aid?”

“Yes, but—”

“Good, good,” Olivia said, not sounding the least bit surprised. “And where is Sir Dacre? I told him to keep close to you.” The other woman narrowed her eyes and huffed out a sigh. “He’s probably retching off the back of the ship, isn’t he? ”

Seraphina’s heart sank to her knees. “No, Olivia.”

She had been dreading this moment the entire voyage. What was she to say? What could she possibly say?

“I…” Seraphina began, though she never finished. She trailed off when she saw Olivia freeze in place while staring at something over Seraphina’s shoulder.

She turned and followed Olivia’s gaze; her heart finished its plummet as they watched Sir Tristan’s stretcher being carefully maneuvered down the gangplank. Beneath the midday sun, the knight resembled a corpse.

But she knew he breathed on.

“He’s not dead,” Seraphina hastily reassured her friend, earning a dull-eyed stare from the woman beside her.

“What is he, then?” Olivia asked, a sharp edge to the question.

“He’s…sleeping. No matter what we try, he will not wake.” Olivia pursed her lips even as Seraphina explained, “I had hoped you might think of something.”

Olivia’s gaze followed Sir Tristan as the servants finished easing his stretcher off the ship. They stepped to the side to await a wagon from the Church to be brought around.

“We already sent for Father Perero,” Seraphina explained to Olivia, luring her friend’s attention back her way.

Olivia scowled. “Why? He needs a physician, not a Shepherd.”

“He needs all the help he can get at this point,” Seraphina contradicted while she glanced back to the Silver Lady , to watch her godparents descending in Sir Tristan’s wake. Poor Duchess Edith looked just as ill about the edges as she had felt mere moments ago .

The sight of Duke Percival’s valet walking behind, trying to carry her godfather’s enormous varhound down the gangway, might have lured a chuckle from Seraphina’s throat had not such a dark cloud lingered over the docks. With that reminder of Sir Tristan’s condition hanging over them all, it would have felt disrespectful to laugh.

“Olivia, dear,” Duchess Edith called the moment she stepped off the gangplank. “It’s so good to see you.”

And though her friend looked a good deal more sullen now, still Olivia swooped in to claim an embrace and a cheek kiss from the duchess while muttering, “It sounds as if you all had a bit of excitement on Nerina Reef.”

Duke Percival grunted. “One hopes you had a good deal less here. No doubt you’ve already heard the news?”

“About Sir Dacre?” Olivia asked. “Yes, I heard.”

Duke Percival frowned at that. “No, not that. I mean, yes. Yes , that is a sad bit of business.”

Seraphina presented a tight smile when her godfather shot her a look over the rim of his spectacles and continued on with, “I was more referring to the fact that Aldric Hargrave is apparently still alive and was reinstated as a Prince of Drakmor shortly before Her Majesty proposed a marriage alliance with him and promised to one day name him king.”

Olivia slowly swiveled back her way, moving with all the woodenness of a carved figurine. Seraphina reluctantly met her friend’s gaze.

Blinking the once, Olivia asked, “What? ”

“It’s a long story,” Seraphina murmured under her breath before a horse’s sudden scream pulled her attention back to the third ship moored nearby. Her eyes traced the path of a great black stallion the dock workers were now trying to coax off the vessel while she promised, “I’ll tell you later. But let’s be off for now.”

A growing sense of urgency gnawed at the pit of Seraphina’s stomach.

She needed to be away from here. She needed to be properly home and to relieve the Lord Exchequer of his duties as the temporary Steward of Elmoria. She needed to learn of what all had happened in her absence and to bring her Privy Council the news.

It was that last thought that saw her lips twisting with distaste as the carriage driver brought the coach around.

She was all too happy to share the good news—that King Edmund had already authorized his troops to mobilize before they left Nerina Reef. A letter by way of usuru had been sent immediately after the general assembly.

Soon, the siege on Mysai would be at an end.

But she dreaded sharing the bad news—the fact that she was engaged to Drakmor again. The marriage alliance her father originally forged was once again secured.

She was now simply betrothed to the wrong Hargrave.

Accepting aid from the footman who opened the carriage door for her, Seraphina climbed inside and slid herself into the corner of one bench .

“I’ll ride with Sir Dacre to the cathedral,” Olivia called out as Duchess Edith climbed into the seat next to her. Duke Percival wedged himself on the bench opposite.

“I’ll see you soon,” Seraphina promised Olivia before the carriage door snapped shut against the whining protests of Rogue, left to lope along next to the coach outside.

Alyx gave a great stretch of her feathered wings, mussing Seraphina’s hair, when the carriage rumbled into motion.

Seraphina sighed and tucked the loose strands of her hair behind her ears. “It will be good to be home,” she commented, simply to fill the silence. “There is so much to be done.”

Duke Percival rumbled his agreement and rubbed his left knee. “At least now we have a bit of light in the darkness. The summit went well…all things considered.” After a beat, he added with a glance flicked her way, “You should be proud of yourself, Your Majesty.”

Seraphina thinned her lips and glanced out the window, watching the city shift and change as they approached the gates of the palace. Proud of myself ? For what?

Certainly, she'd secured for Mysai the military aid her people needed. But at what cost?

The memory of the Crow of Drakmor’s one dark eye staring at her with all the silent judgment she was used to receiving from none other than the Duke of Coreto himself pierced through her thoughts, sapping what little joy remained in her victory.

She still hadn’t worked out how to rid herself of that unfortunate development. But at least she now had time to riddle it all out.