Seconds later, S?ren is with us, gesturing around at the ship.
“Drakkars can hold a hundred people a ship,” he explains, confirming my estimation. “Every drakkar is fitted with twenty oars and twelve cannons,” he adds as he offers each of us an arm.
We start toward the prow, the ship rocking gently beneath us. I’ve been on Kalovaxian ships only a handful of times over the years, and I can’t help but admire how they’re built—sleek, simple vessels designed for speed, powered by a complicated set of sails and riggings and oars. They’re very different from the Astrean sailboats I remember from my childhood trips around the country with my mother. Those were toys. These are weapons.
His sailors stop their work as we approach, and bow deeply.
“Men, we have the honor of a visit from Lady Thora and Lady Crescentia, the Theyn’s daughter,” he tells them.
There’s a murmuring of polite words, though they all seem to be directed at Crescentia, which isn’t surprising. These men revere her father as a living god.
“And this, ladies, is the finest crew in the world,” S?ren says with a grin.
One of the crew, a young man a little older than S?ren with surprisingly dark hair and gold skin, rolls his eyes. “He always says that.”
“As I should, Erik,” S?ren answers, grinning back. “I assembled all of you myself, didn’t I? Why would I want anyone but the best for my crew?”
“There’s no accounting for poor judgment, S?ren,” Erik volleys back, “even if you are a prinz.”
“Especially since you’re a prinz,” an older man with a ruddy, sunburnt face and a large gut adds with a laugh.
The difference between S?ren and his father is jarring. I’ve seen his father have men executed for less insubordination, but S?ren’s laugh joins his men’s instead, and it feels even more disorienting. S?ren looks so much like the Kaiser that it’s easy to think of them as somewhat interchangeable—just like these warriors are the same, more or less, as the ones who stormed the palace all those years ago.
“Are you feeling all right, Lady Crescentia?” S?ren asks, concerned.
I look at my friend, who has, I realize, turned quite green in the few minutes we’ve been on board, despite the fact that the ship is well tethered and barely rocking.
“Oh dear,” I cut in, because I suspect that if she opens her mouth to speak, something else entirely might come out, and the Prinz has been vomited on enough for one week. “I didn’t want to say anything earlier, but Crescentia hasn’t been feeling well today. We thought a spot of sea air would do her good, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. We might be better off going back to the castle.” I put a comforting arm around her shoulders and she sags against me.
“It could be a good idea to let her settle before a rough carriage ride back,” S?ren reasons. “If I may, there’s a cool place to sit beneath the trees, there. Would you mind?” he asks her.
Despite her queasiness, Crescentia can’t agree fast enough. I move to go with them, but S?ren stops me. “Stay for a few more minutes,” he says. “Erik will continue the tour. You seemed so interested before.”
“I was. I am,” I agree, a little too quickly. “Are you all right, Cress?”
Crescentia nods as she straightens up so she isn’t leaning on me anymore. Her eyes are nearly twice their usual size as they flit between S?ren and me. She looks even greener, but somehow I think that’s more to do with nerves about being alone with the Prinz than the sea itself. I give her a reassuring smile as S?ren helps her off the ship.
I’m supposed to be seducing the Prinz, not passing him off to Crescentia, but that can wait for another day. These ships were built for something, and I have a strong suspicion that it wasn’t to defend a trade route from a pirate who was—as of my meeting with Blaise last night—hiding behind a forest of cypress trees a mile outside the capital.
“Which parts of the ship were you interested in seeing, Lady Thora?” Erik asks me.
As we begin to walk, the other crew members go back to their duties, not sparing me another glance. If Cress were still here, they would be hanging on each word and gesture, but fine clothes or not, I am still Astrean and therefore not worthy of their attention. Which will only make it easier to gain information.
I don my most innocent smile and link my arm through Erik’s.
“I’ve heard stories about the berserkers. Are they as fearsome as they sound? I would love to see one.”
His forehead creases, and he’s quiet for a few seconds before answering. “I’m sorry, Lady Thora. We don’t have any on board at the moment and…well, I’m not sure the Kaiser would approve of showing you any, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
“Oh, of course,” I say, biting my lip and fidgeting with the end of my braid. “I’m flattered, really, to be thought of as so dangerous.”
He laughs, the tension smoothing from his forehead. “Anything else you would like to see?”
I think for a moment, tilting my head to one side and trying to look slow-witted, even while my mind is churning. “I’m not entirely sure. It’s been such a long time since I was on a boat, sir,” I say finally.
I can tell by looking at Erik that he has no title. He’s too dark in hair and skin, and the palms of his hands are rough with hard calluses. His clothes have been torn and mended a dozen times over. If I had to guess, I would imagine he’s not full Kalovaxian, but rather the product of the siege of Goraki—the last country the Kalovaxians conquered before Astrea—taken pity on by whichever highborn man fathered him.
His neck flushes red at my address and he hastily waves it away. “There are no sirs, or lords, or even prinzes on a ship, Lady Thora,” he says.
“Then perhaps there should be no ladies either,” I reply, earning a laugh.
“Fair enough,” he says. “Why don’t we start with the bow and work our way back?” he suggests.
“Oh yes, please,” I say, following him toward the front of the ship. I keep my eyes wide and eager, ready to hang onto his every word. If he’s feeling confident and important, he’s more likely to let something slip he shouldn’t. “I would love to get a better look at the dragon figurehead. Is it true they’re as popular in the North as birds are here?”
“I wouldn’t know, La—Thora. I’ve never been farther north than Goraki,” he says, solidifying my suspicion.
“Well, they must be magnificent at any rate, though I don’t know if seeing them is worth braving the cold weather,” I say.
An idea suddenly occurs to me, though I know it’s a dangerous one that could turn bad very quickly, especially after my berserker question might have already raised his suspicions. But the threat of a partnering with Lord Dalgaard is nipping at my heels.
“I hope it won’t get too chilly in…oh, where was it S?ren said you were going? I’ve never been very good at geography,” I say with my best attempt at looking sheepish.
He gives me a sideways glance, but if he finds anything strange about the question, he doesn’t say. He clears his throat.
“The names do tend to run together,” he agrees. “But not to worry—the Vecturia Islands are only a bit north of here.”
That was easier than I expected. Too easy, I can’t help but think—though why should Erik think my question was anything other than an idle query from an idle mind? It’s practically small talk.
The Vecturia Islands. I repeat the name over and over in my mind, determined to remember it. Something about it pricks my memory, but I can’t place it. Hopefully, Blaise will be able to the next time I see him.
Crates of ammunition are stacked next to cannons. I run the numbers in my head quickly. From what I can tell, it looks like each box can hold roughly ten cannonballs, and there are five boxes sitting at each cannon. S?ren said there were twelve cannons….That’s six hundred shots altogether. And there are a fleet of these warships, with the largest operating as the command ship, where S?ren will give orders from.