Viadre proper straddled the Brack somewhere upstream, protected from the swells driven by cold northern winds blowing across the Borel Sea. In ages past, Harborside had been a separate town, where ships too big to ascend the shallow river could shift their cargo to flat-?bottomed barges. Over the years, Viadre had sprawled into the countryside, tendrils of streets and buildings reaching out to engulf the nearby communities, until places like Harborside were part of the city in all but name. The old docks, with their wood piers and crumbling stone breakwater, had been cleared away more than a hundred years ago.
Their replacement was built on a massive scale. The Brack let out into a wide bay, with three channels to the sea separated by a pair of small islands. The old breakwater had protected only a portion of this space, and ships had been forced to ride at anchor around the islands, with frequent wrecks when the winds grew too high. The new breakwater closed off the bay completely, two of the channels blocked by massive wood-?and-?tar palisades anchored to stone pilings. More walls flanked the main channel, including a mobile barrier that could be swung closed at need in high seas.
With the bay protected from ocean swells, docks had sprung up like fungus, spreading out from the river mouth in both directions. Stone quays served His Majesty’s Navy and other official ships, while wooden piers of every possible description belonged to trading companies and other concerns.
All of this Cora explained to Raesinia as the captain slowed the Prudence and carefully navigated the harbor entrance. She was unable to help herself, so Raesinia bore it stoically. To her, the breakwater looked like the outer wall of an old-?fashioned hill fort, rising out of the water instead of clinging to a mountaintop. But there were no defenses here—?no hoardings, no embrasures for guns. It was a deliberate statement, she decided. His Majesty’s Navy was protection enough for Borel, and always would be.
The harbor inside the breakwater made its own kind of statement. Raesinia had often seen the docks in Vordan City and marveled at the complexity of commerce, the sheer number of people hurrying about in what looked like absolute chaos but was actually a strange kind of order. It had always reminded her of an anthill, that same busy sense of motion. But if the Vordan City docks were an anthill, then Harborside was the city rising around that anthill, utterly dwarfing it.
The ranks of docked vessels went on forever, stretching out as far as she could see through the curtains of falling rain. They came in every possible variety and combination of colors, shapes, and sizes, an endless forest of masts with sails tied tight around their spars. Raesinia recognized a few men-of-war, flying the muddy red Borelgai flag, but the ensign of every nation she’d ever heard of was represented, along with quite a few she hadn’t. Small boats scurried around them, propelled by sweating, swearing oarsmen wrapped in brightly colored oilcloth.
“That’s a Hannamen junk,” Cora said, bouncing higher and higher as they came closer. “They’re from the southern kingdoms! And that one’s a League warship. It has to be at least a hundred years old. And—”
“Your young companion knows her ships,” Duke Dorsay said, coming to stand with them at the rail.
“She’s here in her capacity as an official of the treasury,” Raesinia said. “But I find she knows just about everything.”
“Not everything. I—” Cora flushed and stopped bouncing, then looked awkwardly at Dorsay. “Thank you, Your Highness. I’m sorry if I was overexcited.”
“Don’t worry on my account,” Raesinia said, flashing her a smile. “Just remember what we came here for.”
Cora nodded, her eyes going beyond the line of ships. “Viadre.” She looked at Dorsay again. “Will the Great Market be open in the rain?”
Dorsay snorted. “If it closed whenever it rained, we’d only have a market four days a year. You know the saying about Borelgai seasons? We have three.”
“Cold rain, colder rain, and snow,” Raesinia finished. “No wonder your people have such an affinity for the sea. You practically have to swim even on land.”
“Exactly. I’m the odd one because I prefer a good horse to a deck under my feet.” Dorsay laughed uproariously.
Raesinia wondered if they’d have to fight for a berth, but the courier ships had their own pier, patrolled by red-?uniformed guards. The Prudence docked with no delays, and the captain made a ceremony of handing over the official courier bag to a waiting mail coach, which took off at a gallop. Another pair of carriages, considerably more ornate, had been provided for the queen and her escort. Raesinia, her guards, and Eric took one, while Cora and the servants accompanied the baggage. The driver set a sedate pace, and Raesinia looked out through rain-?glazed windows as they wound through Harborside. Viadre had a very different look from Vordan City, quite apart from the constant rain—?the houses were almost all brick, instead of timber and plaster, and they had many stories and steeply canted roofs.
“I’ve met with the ambassador,” Eric said, opening a folded sheaf of paper. “While a formal reception will take some time to arrange, he assures me that His Majesty will want to welcome you immediately. We’ll go directly to the palace.”
“Cora will want to go into the city and see the market,” Raesinia said, most of her attention still on the window. It seemed like such a gloomy place. How do they live without ever seeing the sun? “I assume we won’t talk about anything important today?”
“Ah... probably not, Your Highness.” Eric looked down at his papers. “Word of our coming has only just arrived, so I imagine they’ll want to discuss among themselves before setting up a meeting of consequence.”
“What about these Honest Fellows? The king’s advisers. Do you know anything about them?”
Her tone must have been harsher than she intended. Eric’s eyes widened. “O-only a little, Your Highness. I can, of course, have more information prepared.”
Once again Raesinia found herself wishing for Sothe. If her old friend had been at her side, Raesinia would never have gone into a meeting without knowing who was present and what their allegiances were. Not to mention a standing offer to have them quietly killed. It wasn’t that she approved of assassination as a political tactic, but the knowledge made her a little more comfortable. It wasn’t Eric’s fault, of course. He’s a fine political adviser. He’s just not the Gray Rose.