He looked back down at the cup.
“If you don’t want it, that’s okay. I just thought—”
He lifted the cup and took a noisy sip. “It’s wonderful. Created by magic and made for me by a royal princess. This is the best tea I’ve ever had. Thank you.”
She laughed a bit and sat down before the lurching of the ship knocked her over. “Lately, I sometimes forget I am a princess. I haven’t thought of myself that way for a really long time.”
“Still, it is astoundingly thoughtful.”
“It’s what I can do,” she said. “I feel useless lately. The least I can do is cook. Problem is, I really don’t know how. But I can boil water like nobody’s business. I’d like to make a cup for Royce. Hadrian says he gets seasick and I always thought tea soothed the stomach, but he’s up in the rigging. Still, at the rate we’re traveling I don’t think it will be much longer before we land.”
Myron tilted the cup to his lips and sipped. “It tastes wonderful. You did an excellent job.”
She smirked at him. “You’d say that even if it was awful. I get the impression I could serve you dishwater and you’d act perfectly happy.”
He nodded. “That is true, only I wouldn’t be acting.”
She opened her mouth to protest, then stopped. “You really mean that, don’t you?”
He nodded and took another sip.
“It doesn’t take much to please you, does it, Myron?”
“Antun Bulard once wrote ‘When you expect nothing from the world—not the light of the sun, the wet of water, nor the air to breathe—everything is a wonder and every moment a gift.’ ”
“And you expect nothing from the world?”
He looked at her, puzzled. “I’m a monk.”
She smiled and nodded. “You need to teach me to be a monk. I expect too much. I want too much… things I can’t have.”
“Desire can be painful, but so can regret.”
“That is the one thing I have too much of.”
“Sail!” Royce shouted from somewhere above them.
“Where?” Wyatt called from the wheel.
“Off the starboard bow, you’ll be able to see it in another minute.”
Arista and Myron got to their feet and moved to the rail. The dark prow of the Harbinger cut a white slice through the luminous green waves. Ahead, the city was much closer. Arista could see some detail in the buildings—windows, doorways, stairs, and domes.
“Which side is the starboard side?” she asked.
“The right side,” Myron told her. “Starboard is derived from what they used to call the rudder—the sterobord—which was always on the right side of a ship, because most people are right handed. As a result, when docking, the one steering a ship always pulled up placing the opposite side of the ship next to the pier so it didn’t interfere with his paddling, or the rudder. And of course that side, the left side, was the port side. Or so Hill McDavin explained in Chronicles of Maritime Commerce and Trade Practices of the Kilnar Union.”
“Hadrian said you could do stuff like that—but until you see it, it’s hard to believe. It’s amazing that you can remember so many things.”
“Everyone has talents. It’s like magic, I guess.”
“Yes,” she said, nodding slowly. “I suppose it is.”
“Look,” Myron told her, pointing.
She spotted dark sails coming out of the dim light. They were far larger than their own—big sweeping triangles of black canvas with a white mark emblazoned on them. The design was a symbol of slashes that looked vaguely like a skull.
“Everyone get down!” Wyatt shouted. “Royce, tell me if they change course toward us!”
Arista and Myron lay down on the deck but continued to peer out at the approaching vessel. The hull came into view as if out of a green fog. It too was black and glistened with the ocean’s spray, looking like smoked glass. With the underside reflecting the unholy glow of the sea, the ship appeared ominous. It looked as if it were something not of their world at all.
A light flashed from the top of the masts.
“They are signaling us,” Royce called down.
“Damn,” Wyatt said. “That’s going to be a problem.”
“She’s changing course toward us.”