Page 67 of Minor Works of Meda

“I think they’ve seen us already,” he said. But he stood and waved.

“Why don’t I ever see a Colynes ship without a Cachian one trailing it?” I wasn’t expecting him to answer.

“It’s Crown’s Right.”

“What?”

“It’s just some stupid… they can’t arrest my father or his generals on Colynes soil.” I noted that he looked frustrated now instead of frightened. “For, you know. War crimes. Because he’s still king there. But they can nab him if he ever goes ashore elsewhere.”

“What, they’re hoping he’ll stick his neck out?”

“Oh, they know he won’t.” The warship signaled back to us with a flashing mirror. Its sails dropped and the ship’s progress slowed. “It’s meant to be a statement, I think. I don’t know. I avoided as much of that political mess as I could at the Temple, but people liked to talk.”

It was one thing to regard a ship from an elevated dock. It was another to be in a tiny sailboat in the ship’s path. If it plowed into us, we’d be churned under and snapped in half. I realized I was going to have to drop the shield now. I still had a lick of stolen fae heat I could burn through, but I needed to work the boat. The extent of Oraik’s sailing knowledge seemed to be the instructions I’d given him between the village and here. I didn’t trust him to pull my boat cleanly beside the warship.

I peered quickly around for the faeries. Seeing no sign of them, I let the shield fall. What little heat was left went with it as I took control of my sail again.

“I suppose it makes it hard for him to start another war, too,” Oraik said. We were lined up with the warship now. The sailors above dropped a rope ladder, followed by hoist-loops. I’d never attached them to a boat, but I started trying to figure it out.

“Hold,” a sailor shouted from above. I glanced up; he was laughing at us. Two men shimmied down the rope ladder with a frightening speed, bowed to Oraik, and practically tackled the ropes.

“Thank you,” I said.

I could have cried with relief.

We were here. I’d done it. I didn’t trust Colynes as far as I could cast a line, but Oraik was their prince. There was still the rest of the Ward and the royals and the faeries to worry about, but now he didn’t have to rely on me alone for protection.

“You can go up,” one of the sailors said. “We’ll get her lifted.”

Oraik was looking nervously at the rope ladder.

“You first.”

“I’m wearing skirts.”

“Please?” he whispered. “They’re staring at me. And go slowly?”

I had to feel a little pity for a prince who’d probably never climbed a ladder before, rope or otherwise. There were now at least fifteen sailors peering over the edge of the ship and trying to get a look at their royal passenger.

I wondered if it was the same ship Kalcedon and I had visited. Then captain Ozeri herself appeared at the railing, evidently just as intent on seeing Oraik with her own eyes.

There was a gap of at least two feet between the swaying boat and the huge ship, and the curve of the hull meant the rope dangled out in open air. I took a deep breath, inched to the edge of the sailboat, and jumped. I managed to grab hold of the rope ladder with one hand and get my other arm speared through a rung. My body swung forward towards the ship as I kicked to find the footholds. Then, dizzyingly, I swung back into the open air. But now I was situated, and I hadn’t even ended up in the water. I climbed up five of the rungs and peered back. Oraik stared up at me with a grimace on his face.

“Don’t hesitate. Just go,” I said.

“Don’t rush me.”

“You’ll be fine.”

He didn’t jump. He stood at the edge of the boat, feet shoulder-width apart and hands up in front of him. Then he practically toppled forward, clawed at the rope, and got it in hand as his feet slipped out from under him.

“See, nothing to it,” I said. Oraik didn’t answer. He just pulled himself up and slowly started to climb, mouth set in concentration and eyes staring straight ahead instead of up. I looked back to my own progress, mindful not to take the ropes faster than Oraik.

At last I reached the top. Two burly men reached forward to haul me up.

“Don’t,” I said, as I felt the stranger’s hands closing around my waist and shoulders. They backed off. Awkwardly I threw one leg over the side of the ship, then the other, and hopped down to the deck with my limbs shaking.

It was a large ship, the dark wooden deck divided into terraces at different heights. Two masts made from the limbless bones of great trees—many times taller than any that grew in Nis—sprouted in the middle, branching into webs of rope, yards, and cloth. Uniformed sailors, each armed with a sword, populated the expanse of wood. Trim wolf-boats hung from the sides of the ship; two mounted skein-bows sat on each side of the deck for ranged combat.

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