The rise and fall of the ship’s bow became the new beat of Laczlo’s existence. The stormy afternoon and evening of the second day following the battle was particularly brutal, with waves that seemed as tall as their mast and winds that forced them to lower the sail or risk being blown hull-up. But now, the sun was high and unmarred by clouds, the sea calm, and their destination close.

  Following the attack, it had been quiet. That was when his wound started to hurt quite terribly. It was a minor thing compared to one of his druzhina who’d caught a cut across the arm that almost killed him with infection. No, Laczlo was just weak, and such a wound shouldn’t nearly bother him so. Still, Mikha had fussed over him and put stitches in it before his adrenaline had faded and they’d even tossed over the bodies. That night, he drank with his men and handed out trophies from the raiders’ hold: gold armrings, bracelets, and necklaces—most of which were likely pillaged. There was also undamaged mail; good weapons; much silver and some gold, likely from Voivode Gorodenski to kill him; a few surprisingly well-made wool shirts that were also likely plundered; and a set of fine ivory carvings. In all, his men made quite a nice sum from the battle, as did Laczlo, having his men row the raider’s ship to the nearest safe harbor to sell. The captain had reservations about landing in Rodezian land, as did Silene, the spy with a lordly father from the Dynasty, but Laczlo gave the order anyway. Without raiders behind them, he wasn’t as worried about a rushed exit or fears of local antagonism. He figured they could take it slow and breathe. So they sold off the sleek ship for a tight sum to an enterprising freeholder that knew when to not ask questions and went on their way again. When it was all done, and they were sailing north again, he had to say that things felt different with his druzhina. They looked at him differently, he thought. And after fighting beside them, Laczlo admitted he no longer saw them as so threatening. It was refreshing. No, it was more than that—it was heartening, a most inspiring relief.

  Violence didn’t make you a new man. If it did, he would have become one long ago. But this fight, where he’d killed with his own hands and bled alongside his warriors… well, it changed something. Something small, perhaps, but something nonetheless.

  However, the two newly captured raiders were not as benevolent and accommodating as his men. At first, they did little more than cast baleful glares and spit at whoever asked them questions. Then Isak set Oiir upon them, who had taken Afonas’s death the hardest, and wrenched answers with their screaming pleas to stop. Laczlo, for all his newfound pride, hid in his small cabin and spoke to Mikha about the path ahead during such sessions. He’d told the druzhina and Mikha the truth, as far as he understood it, about what they were investigating—they deserved to know after almost dying to another voivode’s orders—and they’d taken to it with no small enthusiasm. Vasia, as Isak explained it, was a thing to protect from external and internal threats alike as a druzhina. It was their duty alongside the defense of their voivode. He, and many of the others, cast curses at the thought of rebellion. Whatever scheme was at work in the north through the exploitation of Deus’s name would be stopped. Mikha was hardly of a different mind, but he encouraged caution and patience far more than the rest, naturally.

  The captured men told them little they didn’t know. They were paid by a man of the keep—a druzhina, he suspected, but wasn’t sure. They were hired to kill Laczlo and Silene and to make the boat disappear. Oiir asked why they sent only a few score of ill-equipped raiders to do a navy’s job, and they said no one else was to be had at that time. Their contact wanted it to be quiet. Besides, they didn’t expect the bulky merchant cog to turn about and make to ram them. Laczlo smiled when he heard this retold by Oiir. It was, after all, his idea that had foiled the rogues’ plans. Still, for the lack of new information, it was hard enough evidence. Once he forced them to sign pleas of confession upon quickly drafted notes of imperial law from Mikha, Laczlo felt all the better whenever they might return to the Kostuveskis. Already, he’d done his duty, he figured, but cautious thoroughness was the only thing that had saved him years ago during the succession crisis, and he was not about to stop short so close to the end.

  Now, they were approaching the mouth of the Baldric River of the Crown of Armagne. It was the thoroughfare of the kingdom as much as the Kastalec was old Vasia’s when its borders still encircled the sea like lions around an oasis. The weather was pleasant, with a steady breeze to keep the sail full and oars stowed as they cut through the almost imperceptible waves of the tide. He stood at the bow, hands on his hips, one at the hilt of his sword, finding the sturdiness of it comforting, especially out at sea, exposed and vulnerable as they were. Silene lounged against the stempost nearby, a lazy gaze out toward their starboard, away from him. He’d long since let her free to roam the ship as she pleased, though she usually chose to be alone. It irked Laczlo at first—admittedly, it still did to a degree—but after speaking to her through their journey, he realized she was still feeling isolated, afraid, and somewhat guarded. He didn’t blame her. After all their verbal sparring, he saw that underneath her thorny exterior was someone just as alone, overwhelmed, and desperate as he.

  Praise be that He has granted me insight to balance my folly, he thanked in a silent prayer as he watched the strange woman.

  “You’ve been staring at me an awful lot lately,” she said, glancing his way. “If I didn’t know you, I would say you were reconsidering my proposal from Goroden.”

  His cheeks flushed. “No! Of course not. I was just… I was reflecting on this journey.”

  “And my place in it?” she asked with a smirk.

  “Yes, more or less.”

  She nodded, looking off again. “As have I. We will go to Delues and find the source of the coin, their motivations, and their allegiances. Once that is done, I will no longer be of use to you. The question of what will become of me once it is over is worrisome. If it ends so neatly, of course.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, there is the likely chance that this fruit of success rots in your hands and you find enemies that were once allies. Chaos looses, and all is war.”

  Laczlo sighed, gripping his sword a little tighter. “There is that.”

  “So my worries are somewhat offset by the unavoidable potentiality of our mutual demise.” She shrugged. “If this works out in your favor, will you abandon me to Rodezia?”

  “I would not like to.”

  “That is so very reassuring.”

  “I won’t make you a promise,” he said roughly, frustration seeping through. “But I have no plans to betray your desire for freedom, as na?ve as it is.”

  “Oh? Combative and cynical now, are we?”

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  “One day you will face your responsibilities and…” he trailed off, throwing a dismissive waive to the air. This won’t get anywhere. “What do you want, Silene?”

  “A dangerous question. A good question,” she muttered. Throughout, she’d barely looked at him, and now, as her dark eyes held his and sun-touched complexion gave contrast to the lack of warmth in that stare, he felt scrutinized. Weighed. But it wasn’t just that; there was something else there. But what? “I’ve been obstinate. I know this. But ever since Iarek Kostuveski found out about me and blackmailed me for information—” she took a deep breath, flushing away some animosity in her voice “—I’ve been… drowning. You must understand that I wanted to help my family, even though I ran away. I still wished to be the good daughter. But then I was failing, and miserably.” She smiled a self-pitying, sad smile. It reminded Laczlo of himself. “But then Iarek Kostuveski called in his favors, and, well, here I am.”

  He nodded. “That sounds difficult.”

  “It wasn’t just difficult; it was infuriating, depressing, and it made me feel hopeless. Your men dragged me on this ship and set sail from my last chance of success, whatever deformed state that was in.” Again, she took a forced breath and twisted her head as if swallowing something unsavory. “But—with great emphasis—I am trying to come to terms with my situation. And in so, I am recognizing that I have not been cooperative, given your perspective. For that, I apologize.”

  Where is this coming from? he thought, looking into her brown eyes, not so cold, not so harsh, but tight with strain. He’d had a hard time understanding this woman before, but now? “Thank you for saying that. But I still want to know what it is you want. And don’t say it is to be left alone. I know that is not true.”

  “What makes you so confident?” she shot back quickly.

  “Because I’ve felt the same way, and it is not the solution.”

  “Have you considered that we may simply be different people?”

  Laczlo rubbed his face, then jerked his hand away when he touched his stitches on the wound. “You came here to escape your situation, and yet you still strived to help your family with information when you could. You want to feel important, helpful, like you’re making a difference in the lives of those you still care about and feel an obligation towards. Tell me I am wrong.”

  She stared at him, then shrugged and stared at her clasped hands. “You’ve an accurate sense for others, Laczlo, I will concede that.”

  “If you don’t know what you want yet, that’s fine, but help me. We can stop a civil war here. I know you don’t care about Vasia like you do Rodezia, but it’s still people’s lives at stake. Innocent ones.” He bit his lip and risked it, putting a hand on her shoulder. Her head jerked up, eyes flicking to his in a moment of unguarded surprise. “I’ve seen it before. I see what it does to people. The battles and sieges, yes, but the chaos that comes after, the instability. Famine and disease… We can’t let it happen. We simply can’t.”

  She looked at him for a long moment, considering. And then she said, “A sense for others and a way with words. I underestimated you.” A slow smile grew on her face. “I’ll help, but nothing dangerous, you see? Nothing that might risk my identity being exposed.”

  “That is a fair request. Thank you.”

  She turned and left the bow of the ship, breeze catching her dark hair and throwing it to the side. Each strand dancing. She didn’t sway like a fool as he did with the waves, having evidently already found her sea legs. Maybe she sailed much before all this? It would explain her comfort aboard the vessel, even in storms. But that could be due to her stubborn belligerence and strength. He admired that in her, even if it had proved frustrating. And yet, he couldn’t keep his eyes from her body as she went, her long legs—the image of them bare and welcoming from Goroden still fresh in his mind—leading to a tight, tempting behind. Knowing how beautiful she was almost naked only served to make it harder to look away. Would she even accept if I asked? No, probably not. Before it was about manipulation. She wants nothing to do with me. He pulled his gaze away with some effort and stared out at the vanishing sea and approaching land. It’s for the better. Kapitalena… she deserves… His mind trailed off, images dancing through, distracting. He shook his head. Enough! I can’t fall to this temptation, Deus above! Be stronger! Laczlo gripped the railing and took in a deep breath, thinking of battle and the sharp fear of it to push all else away.

  To these thoughts, they sailed into the mouth of the Baldric.

  The land was dry and silty, with colors of tan and grey dominating the landscape around them. Even with the Baldric’s constant flow of fresh water from the Kosican mountains did little to feed this starving land. Trees were thin with craggy arms that reached out like skeletons, grass hardly the tall green and gold of his home, but short and withered. It seemed a place where no one could thrive. And yet, for all the apparent near-death of the environment, villages and towns sat all along the river, bustling and active. Small docks for fishermen and small traders’ vessels lined the river, and the sounds of commerce were active in even the smallest hamlets. Armagne was truly a kingdom of trade. But the riches, and the intrigue, wouldn’t be present here. So they kept going, rowing up the river with no breeze to speak of. Hard work, he imagined. Not that he or his druzhina would ever join in—it was what they paid the sailors an almost inordinate sum for in the first place, after all.

  Other vessels filled the river, passing them by like pedestrians upon a road, each giving them a wide berth, perhaps because of the druzhina’s shields hung at the sides like that of a warship. After a little while, as the sun bore down on them from a hot late afternoon, searing the deck and the dry land alike, they spotted the unique outline of a Armagnian war ship. It was sleek and low, not too dissimilar to the raider’s he’d sold off, but with an elevated front and rear called castles like Laczlo’s own cog. Its oars plunged out at tight angles from covered outrigging, the deck above more a narrow strip than the kind he stood on, and the sail was a triangular slice of undyed linen, pale and taught, even in the almost breezeless air. Laczlo squinted at it and tried to figure out how it captured the air while theirs didn’t. He was still puzzling it out when he noticed the men aboard looking his way, and their rowing took them closer as if to meet.

  “Ah, toll,” he muttered, “of course.”

  Whether a ship from Delues or a different, closer town, it made sense to collect what one could from foreign ships, shield-bearing or no. Likely those with shields more than anything, just to be safe.

  It took only a few minutes to reach the other vessel, and oars thrust in the water to slow, they glided to a stop just close enough to speak. A man with a pointed helmet adorned with a rather ostentatious horsehair plume addressed them in their foreign tongue. Laczlo frowned and looked at his captain; the man squinted, saying, “It’s not my mother tongue by any means, but he’s asking from where we hail.”

  “You may—”

  “Excuse me,” Silene interrupted, “but he’s technically asking from where we hail and whom we serve.”

  “You speak Armagnian?” Laczlo asked.

  She raised her brow at him somewhat amusedly. “Would you like me to translate for you?”

  “Tell him this is a ship on Vasian business holding a boyar of Nova.”

  She answered back, her voice, sweet and melodic as it had been in his chamber, now echoed across the water like that of a siren’s.

  The official nodded slowly as he scanned the ship. Laczlo figured this an opportune time to approach the railing and pull his chest up high with the pride a voivode should bear. The man locked eyes with him and shouted back. Silene took the initiative to immediately reply, to which the man scowled and spoke in a lower voice to another on the ship before responding. This time, she smiled and said to Laczlo, “Delues merchants and toll takers—always known for their schemes. I told him his asking was absurd and he should treat a boyar better than that, lest he face harsh consequences from Vasia.”

  “Harsh consequences?”

  She shrugged. “He needn’t know what those are exactly, of course.”

  He paid a toll that felt high but not outrageous, and their ship continued upriver into the late afternoon, with the crew toiling away and Laczlo’s gaze wavering from the water to Silene, rich and tanned skin gold in the harsh sun, hair like dark velvet, lithe form bent against the railing and catching the rare, faint breeze with a soft smile and craned neck. He looked at her and despised himself for it, yet he simply couldn’t stop. And something worrying told him she didn’t quite want him to.