Page 47 of The War of Four Winters

"They've fortified the eastern harbor," Captain Yisra said.

I took the spyglass from her weathered hands. Iron-tipped barricades jutted from the water like teeth. Soldiers in golden armor patrolled the walls. Not zealots. Trained troops.

"We won't be docking there," I said, passing the glass to Commander Caris.

"Three thousand, at least," she confirmed. "Well-armed, well-supplied."

"That changes nothing," Niro said as he arrived. "We sail under the banner of truce."

I almost laughed. "You don't know my brother. For him, faith is just another weapon."

"Your men are ready?" I asked Niro.

"They were born ready." A hint of amusement flickered across his face. "The question is, are you?"

The question hung between us, heavier than it had any right to be. Was I ready to face the brother who had sold me into slavery?

"I've been ready since he put a collar around my neck," I said, my voice rough.

Niro studied me with battlefield-worn eyes. "Rage makes for poor diplomacy, Lord Consort."

Captain Yisra shouted orders, and the crew moved to carry them out. Black sails lowered, replaced by white truce banners. Beside them flew the blue of House Starfall.

We approached the western harbor. Soldiers on the seawall pointed and ran to secure the harbor. A horn sounded in three short blasts.

"They're sounding an alarm," Niro said beside me.

Minutes stretched thin. Then a procession appeared. At its center walked a figure that made my heart stutter. Tall. Clad in ceremonial golden armor that caught the winter sun. A mask covered the upper portion of his face, polished metal formed into features more beautiful than those it concealed.

Michail. My brother. My betrayer.

Behind him walked Modir Caracas, bald head gleaming, a serene smile fixed on his face.

Shock froze Michail's face when he spotted me. Even at this distance, I saw the moment of recognition, and the quick recovery as he hurriedly gave orders.

My fingers crushed the ship's rail. Wood creaked under my grip.

"Be ready," Niro cautioned. "He'll try to turn this to his advantage."

"He always does."

The ship bumped against the dock and crewmen rushed to secure lines. Michail and his entourage reached the harbor stairs. His mouth had shifted into the same controlled smile I remembered from childhood, the one that never reached his eyes.

"Deep breath," Niro murmured. "Remember who you are now. Not a slave. Not a prince. You're Lord Consort to the Rebel King."

I adjusted the Starfall blue jacket. Its weight felt like armor.

"Stay close," I told Niro. "But let me speak first."

Captain Yisra lowered the gangplank. "My ship remains ready," she said. "First sign of trouble, we're gone."

The gangplank hit the dock with a hollow thud. I squared my shoulders. I was no longer the broken slave he'd sold. I descended onto the dock. My stomach lurched with the shift from the sea to land beneath my feet. Niro followed a half-step behind. Six Broken Blades came next, hands conspicuously away from weapons.

Human soldiers drew back. Some made warding gestures at the sight of elven warriors, while others muttered prayers to the Eight Divines. One soldier traced the sign of the Warrior across his chest for courage. Another whispered to the Mother for protection. A third clutched an amulet of the Stranger, as if its magic could shield him from elven sorcery.

The air between us thickened with hatred. I could almost taste it, metallic and bitter on my tongue. These weren't just the usual suspicious glances humans cast toward elves. This was something deeper. More primal. The kind of hatred that would drive men to commit atrocities without question.

What had Michail been telling them? Humans and elves had always maintained a careful distance. Centuries of raiding and slavery breeding justified resentment. But this was different. Their eyes held the fervor of those who believed they faced not just enemies, but demons. Monsters. Abominations before their gods.

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