“Of course,” he said. “A moment. I’ll join you on the deck.”
The woman bowed again and retreated. Loth reached for his cloak and satchel.
His bodyguards were waiting outside his cabin. Instead of their full armor, the Knights of the Body that Sabran had lent him wore only mail under their surcoats, which were blazoned with the royal badge of Inys. They shadowed Loth as he made his way up to the deck.
The sky was salted with stars. Loth tried not to look too hard at the water as he strode to the prow of the Elegant, where the captain stood with her muscular arms folded.
The Abyss was home to many things that other seas were not. He had heard tell of syrens with needles for teeth, of fish that glowed like candles, of baleens that could swallow a ship whole. In the distance, Loth could make out the hulking shape of a man-of-war, winking with lights. When they were close enough to see its ensign and pennant, he raised his eyebrows.
“The Rose Eternal.”
“The very same,” the captain said. She was an Inysh woman of ruddy complexion and towering stature. “Captain Harlowe knows the Eastern waters. He’ll see you right from here.”
“Harlowe,” one of the Knights of the Body said. “Is he not a pirate?”
“Privateer.”
The knight snorted.
The Elegant drew up alongside the Rose Eternal. No ship could drop anchor in the Abyss, so the crews began tying the vessels together. They drifted in the endless black.
“Fuck me, if it isn’t Arteloth Beck.” Estina Melaugo slapped her hands onto the side and grinned at him. “Didn’t think we’d see you again, my lord.”
“Good evening to you, Mistress Melaugo,” Loth called, pleased to see a face he knew. “I wish we were meeting somewhere more hospitable.”
Melaugo clicked her tongue. “Man walks into Yscalin, but he’s scared of the Abyss. Dry your eyes and get your noble backside up here, lordling.” She dropped a rope ladder and tipped the brim of her hat. “Thank you, Captain Lanthorn. Harlowe sends his regards.”
“Send mine in return,” the captain of the Elegant said, “and good luck to you out there, Estina. Watch yourself.”
“Always do.”
As his entourage gathered, Loth climbed the ladder. He envied Captain Lanthorn sailing back to blue waters. At the top, Melaugo helped him over and clapped him on the back.
“We all wagered you were dead,” she told him. “How in Halgalant did you escape Cárscaro?”
“The Donmata Marosa,” Loth replied. “I could not have left without her.”
His throat ached as he thought of her. She might be Flesh Queen of Yscalin, eyes full of ash.
“Marosa.” Melaugo arched a dark eyebrow. “Well, that’s not what I expected you to say. I must hear this story—but Captain Harlowe wants to see you first.” She whistled to the privateers as the knights pulled themselves and their heavy armor over the gunwale. “Get Lord Arteloth’s people up that ladder and into their cabins. Look lively, now!”
The crew obeyed without question. Some of them even inclined their heads to Loth as they helped the members of the Inysh embassy climb up to the Rose Eternal.
Melaugo led him across the deck. In the candlelit interior of his cabin, Gian Harlowe was poring over a map with Gautfred Plume—the quartermaster—and an ashen woman with silver hair.
“Ah. Lord Arteloth.” His tone was a trifle warmer than it had been at their last meeting. “Welcome back. Sit.” He motioned to a chair. “This is my new cartographer, Hafrid of Elding.”
The Northerner placed a hand on her chest in greeting. “Joy and health to you, Lord Arteloth.”
Loth sat. “And to you, mistress.”
Harlowe glanced up. He wore a jerkin with gold fastenings.
“Tell me,” he said, “how do you find the Abyss, my lord?”
“Not to my liking.”
“Hm. I’d call you a craven, but these waters unsettle the hardest seafarers—and in any case, none can call you craven when you walked so boldly to your doom.” His expression flickered. “I won’t ask how you escaped Cárscaro. Whatever a man does to survive is his affair. And I won’t ask what happened to your friend.”
Loth said nothing, but his stomach twisted. Harlowe beckoned him closer to the map.
“I thought I’d show you where we’re going, so you can tell your people, should they squall to you about the crossing.”
Harlowe leaned over the map, which showed the three known continents of the world and the constellations of islands that surrounded them. He tapped a thick-knuckled finger on the right side.
“We’re heading for the City of the Thousand Flowers. To get there, we’ll go through the southern waters of the Abyss so we can catch the westerlies, which will shave a week or two off our journey. We should be in the Sundance Sea within three to four weeks.” He rubbed his chin. “The voyage will be harder from there. We’ll need to avoid the Seiikinese navy, which sees the Rose as an enemy ship—and the wyrms that have been sighted in the East, led by Valeysa.”
Loth had seen enough of Fyredel to know that he did not want to meet one of his brethren.
“We’re aiming for a closed port on the southwestern coast of the Empire of the Twelve Lakes.” Harlowe indicated the place. “There were once several factories there, where the House of Lakseng conducted trade before the sea ban. That was before the Grief of Ages, of course. Arriving at that port should send a potent message to the Emperor.”
“That we wish to reopen a closed door,” Loth finished. “What do you know of the Unceasing Emperor?”
“Almost nothing. Lakseng lives in a walled palace, comes out for summer progress, and he’s marginally softer on trespassers than the salt lords of Seiiki.”
“Why?”
“Because Seiiki is an island nation. Once the Draconic plague got its teeth into it, it spread like wildfire. Almost destroyed their population. The Lacustrine had more room to flee from it.” Harlowe locked Loth in his unblinking gaze. “You just make sure the Unceasing Emperor is fit for the hand of Queen Sabran, my lord. She deserves a prince who’ll love her well.”
A muscle started in his cheek as he spoke. He lowered his head back to the map, jaw clenched, and beckoned his cartographer.
“I will do everything I can for Queen Sabran, Captain Harlowe,” Loth said quietly. “On my honor.”
Harlowe grunted.
“There’s a cabin ready for you. If something knocks against the ship, try not to piss yourself. It’ll be a baleen.” He nodded to the door. “Go on, Estina. Get some drink in the man.”
As Melaugo led him across the quarterdeck, Loth took a final look at the retreating Elegant. He tried not to dwell on the fact that the Rose Eternal was now alone in the middle of the Abyss.
His cabin was finer than the last. Loth suspected he had been elevated not out of a new respect among the crew for his noble blood, but because he had walked into Yscalin and lived to tell the tale.
And tell it he did. He shared his story with Melaugo, who sat on the window seat and listened. He told her of the imprisonment of the Donmata Marosa and the truth about the Flesh King of Yscalin, and described the tunnel where Kit had met his doom. Out of loyalty to Ead, he left out the parts about the Priory of the Orange Tree. Instead, he said that he had crossed the Spindles and fled back to Inys through Mentendon. When he was finished, Melaugo shook her head.
“I’m sorry, truly. Lord Kitston had a good heart.” She drank from her hip flask. “And now you go to the East. I suppose you proved your bravery, but you’ll find it hard out there.”
“For what I have done,” Loth said, “I deserve hardship.” He wet his lips. “It’s my fault Kit is dead.”
“Don’t do that, now. He made a choice to go with you. He could have stayed in Yscalin, or aboard our ship, or he could have stayed at home.” She handed him the flask. He hesitated before accepting. “You’re trying to persuade the Easterners that they need as much help from the West as we need from them, but they’ve survived on their own for centuries now—and an alliance with Queen Sabran, a gift to any prince on our side of the world, might not tempt the Unceasing Emperor. She’s royalty to us, but a blasphemer to him. Her religion is built on a hatred of dragons, while his is built on an adoration of them.”
“Not the fiery breeds.” Loth sniffed the flask. “The Easterners don’t worship them.”
“No. They fear the Nameless One and his ilk as we do,” Melaugo conceded, “but Queen Sabran might still have to sacrifice some principles if she means to go through with this.”
Loth drank, and immediately choked the burning liquid out through his nose. Melaugo laughed.
“Try again,” she said. “Goes down easier the second time.”
He tried again. It still seemed to strip the lining off his cheeks, but it warmed him to his belly.
“Keep it. You’ll need it in the Abyss.” She got up. “Duty calls, but I’ll ask one of our Lacustrine seafarers if they can teach you about their customs, and at least a few words of their tongue. Let’s not present you to His Imperial Majesty as a complete idiot.”