Page 43 of The War of Four Winters

"I mean, I'll position myself for maximum advantage while minimizing unnecessary risk," he corrected smoothly. "A lesson our older brother never learned. Ambition without patience is just suicide with extra steps."

Feeling somewhat more human now, I turned to face Tariq, suddenly aware this might be our last meeting for some time.

"If I succeed," I said carefully, "if Michail falls... and you do decide to pursue the throne..."

"Yes?" Tariq prompted when I hesitated.

"Rule better than he did. Better than our father, even."

Something shifted in Tariq's expression, a rare moment of genuine emotion breaking through his carefully maintained facade of casual amusement. "That's not a particularly high bar to clear," he said softly.

"Perhaps not," I acknowledged. "But Ostovan deserves better than what it's had."

"On that, at least, we can agree." He extended his hand in a formal gesture that surprised me with its sincerity. "Safe journey, brother. May the winds favor your sails and your blade find its mark."

I clasped his offered hand. "And may your schemes prove as golden as your eyes."

His laugh followed me as I made my way across the deck toward the boarding plank, Bash chirping a farewell from her perch on his shoulder. The strange little dragon had wormed its way into my affections with surprising speed.

"One last thing," Tariq called as I reached the boarding plank. "That commander of yours, with the impressive scowl..."

"Caris?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Tariq's smile turned wickedly knowing. "If she ever tires of guarding elvish royalty, my crew could use someone with her... particular set of skills. Savarrans appreciate a woman who can kill efficiently while looking magnificent."

I couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity. "I'll be sure to pass along your generous offer. Though I suspect her response would involve several sharp objects and your vital organs."

"The dangerous ones are always worth the risk," he replied with a dramatic sigh.

His laughter echoed as I climbed down into the small rowboat that would ferry me back to Captain Yisra's vessel. Despite everything, I found myself smiling. In another life, under different circumstances, I might have enjoyed having a brother like Tariq.

The short journey between the vessels was unpleasant, each small wave making my stomach lurch despite the remedy's effects. The morning mist had begun to burn away as sunlight strengthened through gaps in the mangrove canopy. Captain Yisra's ship bustled with activity, crew members checking rigging and preparing for departure. Commander Caris waited at the rail, her expression stoic as always, though I caught the flash of relief in her eyes when she spotted me climbing up the rope ladder.

"Lord Consort," Niro greeted me, appearing beside Caris. "Caris was beginning to worry."

"No need," I assured her, making my way up the gangplank. "Just diplomatic discussions that ran late."

Her raised eyebrow suggested she wasn't fooled, but she said nothing as she and Niro escorted me to where Captain Yisra waited near the helm.

"The storm breaks," the captain announced without preamble, gesturing toward the fading mist. "We can depart within the hour if you're ready."

I nodded, squinting against the strengthening sunlight. "How long to Homeshore?"

"With favorable winds, three days. Four if the currents fight us." She studied my face, weathered eyes missing nothing. "Recovered from your cultural exchange, have we?"

I managed not to wince. "Savarran diplomacy involves more spirits than I anticipated."

Her laugh was rough but genuine. "Aye, that it does. Their ambassadors are famous for it. Or infamous, depending on who you ask." She turned back to the maps spread before her. "I've plotted our course to Homeshore. We'll approach from the west rather than risk the main harbor. Less likely to sail directly into a trap that way."

The mention of our destination sobered me instantly. Homeshore. Michail. The moment of confrontation I had both dreaded and longed for since escaping my collar.

"Have the men prepare," I told Caris. "Full armor, weapons ready but not displayed. We arrive under a banner of truce, but I want everyone prepared for the welcome we're likely to receive."

"Already done," she replied, her efficiency unsurprising. "General Niro and the Broken Blades will be ready for whatever awaits us."

I moved to the rail, watching as the last of the mist burned away from Saltmire's strange, still waters. In the growing light, I could see twisted mangroves and half-sunken ships that formed the natural breakwater protecting the hidden cove. Beyond lay the open sea, and beyond that, Homeshore.

The anchor chain rattled as it rose from the water. Sailors rushed about, unfurling sails and shouting out orders. I took a deep breath of salt air.

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