Page 261 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

His throat ached as he thought of her. She might be Flesh Queen of Yscalin, eyes full of ash.

“Marosa.” Melaugo arched a dark eyebrow. “Well, that’s not what I expected you to say. I must hear this story—but Captain Harlowe wants to see you first.” She whistled to the privateers as the knights pulled themselves and their heavy armor over the gunwale. “Get Lord Arteloth’s people up that ladder and into their cabins. Look lively, now!”

The crew obeyed without question. Some of them even inclined their heads to Loth as they helped the members of the Inysh embassy climb up to theRose Eternal.

Melaugo led him across the deck. In the candlelit interior of his cabin, Gian Harlowe was poring over a map with Gautfred Plume—the quartermaster—and an ashen woman with silver hair.

“Ah. Lord Arteloth.” His tone was a trifle warmer than it had been at their last meeting. “Welcome back. Sit.” He motioned to a chair. “This is my new cartographer, Hafrid of Elding.”

The Northerner placed a hand on her chest in greeting. “Joy and health to you, Lord Arteloth.”

Loth sat. “And to you, mistress.”

Harlowe glanced up. He wore a jerkin with gold fastenings.

“Tell me,” he said, “how do you find the Abyss, my lord?”

“Not to my liking.”

“Hm. I’d call you a craven, but these waters unsettle the hardest seafarers—and in any case, none can call you craven when you walked so boldly to your doom.” His expression flickered. “I won’t ask how you escaped Cárscaro. Whatever a man does to survive is his affair. And I won’t ask what happened to your friend.”

Loth said nothing, but his stomach twisted. Harlowe beckoned him closer to the map.

“I thought I’d show you where we’re going, so you can tell your people, should they squall to you about the crossing.”

Harlowe leaned over the map, which showed the three known continents of the world and the constellations of islands that surrounded them. He tapped a thick-knuckled finger on the right side.

“We’re heading for the City of the Thousand Flowers. To get there, we’ll go through the southern waters of the Abyss so we can catch the westerlies, which will shave a week or two off our journey. We should be in the Sundance Sea within three to four weeks.” He rubbed his chin. “The voyage will be harder from there. We’ll need to avoid the Seiikinese navy, which sees theRoseas an enemy ship—and the wyrms that have been sighted in the East, led by Valeysa.”

Loth had seen enough of Fýredel to know that he did not want to meet one of his brethren.

“We’re aiming for a closed port on the southwestern coast of the Empire of the Twelve Lakes.” Harlowe indicated the place. “There were once several factories there, where the House of Lakseng conducted trade before the sea ban. That was before the Grief of Ages, of course. Arriving at that port should send a potent message to the Emperor.”

“That we wish to reopen a closed door,” Loth finished. “What do you know of the Unceasing Emperor?”

“Almost nothing. Lakseng lives in a walled palace, comes out for summer progress, and he’s marginally softer on trespassers than the salt lords of Seiiki.”

“Why?”

“Because Seiiki is an island nation. Once the Draconic plague got its teeth into it, it spread like wildfire. Almost destroyed their population. The Lacustrine had more room to flee from it.” Harlowe locked Loth in his unblinking gaze. “You just make sure the Unceasing Emperor is fit for the hand of Queen Sabran, my lord. She deserves a prince who’ll love her well.”

A muscle started in his cheek as he spoke. He lowered his head back to the map, jaw clenched, and beckoned his cartographer.

“I will do everything I can for Queen Sabran, Captain Harlowe,” Loth said quietly. “On my honor.”

Harlowe grunted.

“There’s a cabin ready for you. If something knocks against the ship, try not to piss yourself. It’ll be a baleen.” He nodded to the door. “Go on, Estina. Get some drink in the man.”

As Melaugo led him across the quarterdeck, Loth took a final look at the retreatingElegant. He tried not to dwell on the fact that theRose Eternalwas now alone in the middle of the Abyss.

His cabin was finer than the last. Loth suspected he had been elevated not out of a new respect among the crew for his noble blood, but because he had walked into Yscalin and lived to tell the tale.

And tell it he did. He shared his story with Melaugo, who sat on the window seat and listened. He told her of the imprisonment of the Donmata Marosa and the truth about the Flesh King of Yscalin, and described the tunnel where Kit had met his doom. Out of loyalty to Ead, he left out the parts about the Priory of the Orange Tree. Instead, he said that he had crossed the Spindles and fled back to Inys through Mentendon. When he was finished, Melaugo shook her head.

“I’m sorry, truly. Lord Kitston had a good heart.” She drank from her hip flask. “And now you go to the East. I suppose you proved your bravery, but you’ll find it hard out there.”

“For what I have done,” Loth said, “I deserve hardship.” He wet his lips. “It’s my fault Kit is dead.”

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