‘That was some news about those terrorists, huh?’ she asked anyone listening. Erynn didn’t care who answered, as long as someone did, giving her a reason to linger.
‘We hadn’t heard much about it.’ Hannah took the bait, although her aim was to divert the girl to another topic.
‘Really?’ Erynn sounded surprised. ‘The whole city’s talking about it. It was terrible, a whole squadron or something, a bunch of them anyway, shooting arrows, flaming arrows. And then they had dogs or wolves, or some kind of creatures trained to attack all together. It was horrible. I bet it was Ronans; my father says they’re the worst of the foreigners.’
‘Oh, does he?’ Hoyt said, craning his neck to see her over his shoulder. ‘Does he really?’
Erynn hesitated. ‘Um, yes, well, not all the time, you know.’ She glanced at his shoulder and the bulky bandage peeking out beneath his collar and blushed crimson. ‘Um, I’ll just get rid of this trencher.’ She loaded it onto her tray and was gone.
‘Does she have to keep doing that?’ Hoyt frowned.
‘What?’ Hannah laughed, ‘she’s over the moon for you, Hoyt – give her a break; she’s just a kid. Don’t let your shoulder turn you into an old fart.’
‘ “Over the moon”?’
‘Over the moon; you know, full of passion,’ Hannah explained, ‘she’s intrigued by the mystique of an older man. Trust me; it’s very common at that age.’
Hoyt smirked. ‘So she ought to be after Alen, then. Good rutters, he’s older than… than the city!’
‘Nonsense,’ Alen interrupted, indignant, ‘Pellia was here days before I was born.’
‘Enjoy the attention while you can,’ Hannah said. ‘We’ll be gone from here before too long.’
‘It’s just irritating, that’s all.’
‘It’s adorable, and you’re going to break her heart. There’s nothing you can say or do, short of promising to take her away and marry her-’
‘Stand the tides,’ Alen corrected.
‘Fine,’ Hannah went on, ‘short of standing the tides with her, nothing will ruin her memory of the handsome stranger who passed through her life and ignited the fires of ardent, youthful love.’
‘Holy rutting whores, but do you make this stuff up for the theatre or something?’ Hoyt drained his beer in a gulp.
‘Just the voice of experience, brother, the voice of experience.’
‘Well, I don’t- Oh gods, here she comes again!’
Erynn danced between the tables. She paused in front of the fire, warming herself and trying hard not to look at their table. In a moment, she was on her way over again.
‘Lords, but it’s cold out there, and crowded. There’s hundreds of them,’ she said, trying again to extend her visit.
‘You look tired,’ Hannah said. ‘Do you want to sit down for a bit?’
Hoyt glared at her.
‘I’d love to,’ Erynn grinned, ‘but there’s too much to do. My mother and father would strap me silly if they caught me sitting down now.’
‘At least make sure you get some rest when this is over,’ Hannah said. ‘And don’t worry about the breakfast crowd. No one will be awake tomorrow, not after a night like this.’
Erynn wiped her forehead on her sleeve. ‘How’s your shoulder, Hoyt?’
‘It’s fine,’ he murmured into his trencher.
‘That must have been some fall you took, huh?’
‘Yes, a real nasty tumble.’ He didn’t look up.
‘Well,’ Erynn was running out of excuses to stay. ‘Can I get you anything else?’
‘Another round, please,’ Alen said, loading empty tankards onto her tray.
‘Yes, and a moment’s peace,’ Hoyt said.
‘What’s that?’ Erynn pretended she hadn’t heard.
‘A rutting moment’s peace, please,’ Hoyt repeated, although he already regretted saying it. He wouldn’t look at Hannah, for fear that he might turn to stone.
Erynn didn’t know what to do. Her hands shaking, she gripped the edges of her serving tray like a lifeline. Her lips quivered a moment, and she pressed them together, determined not to cry. ‘Another round of beers, all right.’
Hoyt started, ‘Erynn, I-’ but the girl was already behind the bar.
‘Smooth, dipshit,’ Hannah muttered.
‘Should I go after her?’ Hoyt asked, frowning and tugging at his shoulder dressing.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Alen said. ‘She’ll be back; you can make amends then.’
None of them gave the girl a second glance as she took up a tray filled with tankards and hurried into the street.
Alen had just realised they were still waiting for their drinks when he noticed the young soldier standing in the doorway, staring them down. Erynn had been conspicuously absent since the awkward exchange with Hoyt, and now Alen realised why. ‘Oh shit,’ he said in English.
‘What’s that?’ Hoyt asked.
‘That’s my kind of profanity,’ Hannah laughed, then said, ‘what’s the matter?’
‘Don’t all look at once, but isn’t that whatshisname over there by the door trying to stare us into submission? The one who’s been chasing Erynn’s skirt the past Moon?’
Hannah turned in her chair, ostensibly to order another drink. She caught Morgan’s eye and motioned to him, then turned back to the others. ‘Yes. His name’s Karel, and he looks wicked pissed off about something.’
Hoyt understood. ‘Oh great. That’s just rutting great, just what I need: a lovesick boy angry with me because I managed to put his lovesick girlfriend’s nose out of joint.’
‘And he’s with the Malakasian Army,’ Alen’s said.
‘Yes, right, the baby corps.’ Hoyt tried to laugh it off as nothing. He flushed bright red and, tugging at his collar, said, ‘It’s too hot in here; I’m going up.’
‘Me too,’ Alen said.
‘Should I stay? Try and talk with her?’ Hannah asked.
Alen dropped a few copper Mareks on the table. ‘I think the damage is done. Let’s go.’
They were all upstairs when the representatives of Prince Malagon’s Welstar Palace Home Guard passed through the throng, checked the front room and then moved on towards the wharf. For a few moments, the whole of the street was silent, its collective breath held as the dangerous warriors, their black and gold leather shining even in torchlight, searched for someone. It was a cursory investigation, otherwise they might have tossed the rooms, interrogated the guests or beaten information out of the barman. Only after the soldiers had disappeared back into the city shadows did the revelry begin again.
Redrick Shen was high up in the rigging of the frigate Bellan when Mark Jenkins destroyed Orindale’s merchant fleet, the stone bridge spanning the Medera River and most of the homes and businesses along the wharf. Like many of the Bellan’s crew, he had been transfixed by the carnage. The devastation had been awesome, and rather than flee – there was no reason to believe the Bellan would be spared – Redrick had remained aloft, clinging to the lines and riding the swells that followed the massive, unholy wave as it swallowed the centre of the city.
He was in the shrouds now, riding northerly winds towards the archipelago and the Northeast Channel. Flanking the Bellan to port were the Souzett and the Welstar Prince, both frigates, and jewels in the Parofex Shipping Company crown. Redrick didn’t have any idea where Stahl Parofex was right now, but the Bellan, his flagship, and two other frigates had been impounded by the Malakasian Army, so maybe old Stahl was dangling from the end of a rope in the drawing room of his Orindale mansion. The ships were escorted by a handful of Malakasian naval schooners, another frigate, this one crewed by actual Malakasians, and three smaller, faster boats – two ketches and a sloop – commissioned for what purpose Redrick didn’t know. But all together and from this height, the miniature fleet, all of them under full sail, made an impressive sight.
Redrick guessed the naval cruisers left in Orindale Harbour were Malakasia’s token navy in southern waters, there to oversee the resumption of shipping and commerce in the Falkan capital again. Everything else that could still float was bound for Pellia, via the harrowing Northeast Channel.