The sea journey had taken a few days, disappointing in how lacking the interaction with her Guard/Jailors.

  By the time the coastline of Vellano emerged from the morning mist, jagged cliffs crowned with watchtowers and the smokestacks of the northern city, Lynara had committed to memory the names and temperaments of all twelve knights accompanying them, identified the weakest points in their patrol rotations.

  The port of Rothaven unfolded before them as they approached, a sprawling mass of gray stone structures climbing up from the harbor like a disease spreading across the cliff face. Ships from across the known world crowded the docks, most flying Federation colors, though she spotted a few merchant vessels from as far as the eastern sultanates.

  The Ashrab. Far from the third current. I wonder what brings them here, Jinn summoning materials?

  "We make landfall within the hour," Caldus announced, appearing beside her at the rail. His posture remained rigid, eyes scanning the horizon rather than looking at her directly. "You will remain with me at all times."

  Lynara tilted her head slightly, the picture of confused obedience. "I had assumed that was the arrangement, Ser Knight."

  "Plans change. The port is busier than expected." His voice lowered. "There are... complications."

  Interesting development. Deviation from protocol.

  "What complications?" she asked, allowing her voice to waver slightly. "Has something happened?"

  "Nothing that need concern you." His tone made it clear the discussion was over. But his eyes betrayed him, a quick flicker toward a cluster of ships flying Vellano's gray and Black banners. Military vessels, not merchant ships. More than the usual coastal patrol.

  Increased military presence. Recent pirate activity? Border tension? Internal conflict? Insufficient data.

  "As you say, Ser Knight."

  When they docked, the expected harbor officials met them with parchments and quills, ready to record the new arrivals. But Caldus gestured two of his knights forward instead, handing them sealed documents.

  "Change of plans," he said, his voice low enough that only those nearest could hear. "We don't announce who she is. Not here. Lady Brahe is now Lady Amelia Tanner, a minor noble from the southern provinces traveling under our protection."

  Identity concealment. Protective measure? Or something else? Probability of prior incidents involving Sverdish diplomats in Vellano: high.

  Lynara kept her expression carefully neutral as she listened. The deception suited her purposes, anonymity provided flexibility. But it also suggested vulnerabilities she could exploit.

  "The harbor is not safe," Caldus continued. "We proceed directly to the Golden Stag Inn. Hoods up, minimal interaction. The fewer who know a Sverdish noble walks among them, the better."

  One of the younger knights, Ser Tomas if she recalled correctly, spoke up. "The people of Rothaven have long memories, Commander. The raids of '28 left half the city in mourning."

  Sverdish conquest of several coastal villages. Approximate death toll: Six thousand, Six hundred if we only consider Federation combatants. Strategic value: minimal. Brutality: exceptional. Poor tactical decision by the past Flayed King. Wasteful expenditure of resources for minimal gain, sowed without the capacity to reap.

  "Which is precisely why we maintain the pretense," Caldus replied sharply. "Our orders come directly from the Holy See. We deliver her safely, regardless of local sentiment."

  He turned to Lynara, studying her face with those piercing eyes. "Can you play the part of a southern noble? Your accent will betray you if questioned at length."

  She lowered her gaze demurely. "I will speak as little as possible, Ser Knight."

  "See that you do."

  The Golden Stag proved to be less golden than its name suggested, a three-story structure of weathered wood and stone, with narrow windows and a heavy oak door. Its only concession to its namesake was a faded painting of a stag above the entrance, the gold leaf long since worn away to reveal dull brown beneath.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  The sign looks of Aurestian make, perhaps the owner is from there, Potential of disguise faltering in moments: high.

  Delightful.

  Inside, the common room buzzed with the murmur of conversation and the clinking of tankards. Sailors, merchants, and local tradesmen occupied most tables, while a fire crackled in the large hearth opposite the bar. The scent of ale, sweat, and roasting meat hung thick in the air.

  Caldus approached the innkeeper: a balding man with arms like tree trunks and a permanent scowl etched into his features, aquiline blue eyes and a jaw like a brick met a boulder, skin pale. Definitely not Aurestian, recalculate course of action.

  "Rooms for the night. Six. And stable space for our some horses when they arrive."

  The innkeeper's scowl deepened. "Six? During market week? You're fortunate I have three."

  "Three will suffice," Caldus replied, his tone making it clear this was not a negotiation. "And we require a private dining area. Away from..." he gestured vaguely toward the crowded common room.

  "That'll cost extra."

  "The Order of Simon pays its debts promptly."

  At the mention of the Order, the innkeeper's demeanor shifted a touch. Fear, Or respect. The knights' reputation preceded them.

  "The back room is yours," he said, reaching beneath the counter for a set of iron keys. "And I have three chambers on the upper floor. Best I can do."

  "It will serve," Caldus replied, reaching for the coins at his belt.

  While they conducted their business, Lynara allowed her gaze to wander the common room, cataloging exits, potential threats, and points of interest. Twelve patrons at the bar. Four tables occupied by merchants, judging by the lack of embroidery and golden foil, none from Aurestia. A group near the fire that had the look of off-duty city guards. Two figures in the corner, hooded, speaking in hushed tones: worth monitoring.

  Her attention returned to Caldus as he finished the transaction and turned toward her, keys in hand.

  "We'll take our meal in the private room," he said. "Ser Markus and Ser Donnel will secure the premises first." He nodded to two of his knights, who moved off immediately, hands never straying far from their swords.

  Excessive caution. Suggests intelligence of threats in the area.

  "You've traveled these roads before," she observed quietly.

  Caldus's expression tightened. "Many times."

  "Yet you seem very vigilant today."

  "A diplomatic mission requires additional precautions."

  "Even when the diplomat's identity is concealed?"

  His eyes narrowed at her perceptiveness. "Especially then."

  Before the conversation could continue, the innkeeper returned with tankards of ale for the knights. He set them down with practiced efficiency, then turned to Lynara.

  "And for the lady?"

  The moment presented itself with perfect clarity, the perfect opportunity, any less controlled would break out jumping on joy.

  A measured mistake would do.

  "Water, if you please," she replied with a small, practiced smile. Then, with deliberate motion, she placed her right palm over her heart and extended it outward: the traditional Sverdish gesture of gratitude, common when receiving service.

  The innkeeper froze, tankard still in hand, his expression shifting from neutral to hostile in the span of a heartbeat.

  Reaction within predicted parameters.

  "Where exactly did you say you were from, misS?" he asked, his voice carrying just enough to draw attention from nearby tables.

  Odd tone on that S, impeded speech, or more?

  Caldus stepped between them, smooth. "The south. Lady Tanner hails from Aurestia."

  The innkeeper's eyes never left Lynara. "Funny. That gesture isn't AureStian."

  Conversations nearby quieted. Heads turned. The tension in the room thickened perceptibly.

  I see.

  Lynara widened her eyes, adopting a mortified expression. "I, I don't understand. In my household, it's merely a sign of thanks..."

  "Your household must have strange customs indeed, my lady," the innkeeper replied, the honorific dripping with skepticism.

  Caldus placed a firm hand on the man's shoulder. "A misunderstanding, nothing more. The gesture has different meanings in different provinces." His voice dropped, taking on an edge that brooked no argument. "Now, the water?"

  The innkeeper hesitated, then nodded curtly. "Of course. My apologies for the confuSion." But his eyes told a different story, suspicion now firmly planted.

  As he walked away, Caldus turned to Lynara, his expression a controlled mask of frustration.

  "What was that?" he demanded in a whisper.

  She allowed her face to flush with embarrassment, a trick of controlled blood flow she had mastered long ago. "I don't understand. It's how we express gratitude. Has been for generations."

  "Not here," he said flatly. "Not in Vellano."

  "Oh," she whispered, eyes downcast. "I had no idea. I'm so sorry."

  His jaw tightened, but he seemed to accept her explanation. For now.

  First seed planted. Incompetence established. Position as cultural outsider reinforced. Probability of similar "misunderstandings" being attributed to ignorance rather than malice: increased.

  "We need to talk," Caldus said, gesturing toward the back room where his knights waited. "There are things you must understand about Vellano, no, the Federation, if we're to reach the Holy See without incident."

  She nodded, following him with appropriately chastened steps. Behind them, the murmur of conversation resumed in the common room, but with a new undercurrent, whispers, questions, growing suspicion.

  Phase one initiated. Allow four hours for information to spread through local networks. By morning, rumors of Sverdish presence will have reached critical mass, perhaps a fight is unavoidable.

  As they entered the private dining room, Lynara kept her expression neutral, but beneath the mask of Anya Brahe, she felt satisfaction, the same type one feels when the final domino falls according to pattern, a feeling that never got old.

  The game had begun in earnest.