I can’t bring myself to believe him. Not completely, at least. Not with this much artillery. The Theyn keeps hand-drawn maps hanging on the walls of his sitting room, and though they were never of much practical interest to Cress and me, we used to marvel at the beauty of them and note the differences between the artists’ depictions, how a narrow stream in one was painted as a wide river in another. But I do remember that in no version was the trade route wide enough to hold a boat the size of the one off the coast. In each map, the route was like a piece of string winding through the Haptain Mountains.
“I’m sorry we interrupted your plans,” Søren continues. “I can’t imagine much fresh sea air makes it past this lot unsoured.”
“Don’t be silly. It’s an honor to see so many Kalovaxian men working so hard for the country,” I tell him.
I may be laying it on a tad thick. Even Crescentia shoots me a bemused look.
“And you’ll be leading them?” she asks, turning her attention back to Søren.
He nods. “My first time leading a crew of my own,” he admits, his voice thick with pride. “We leave in a week’s time. These are just the finishing touches. The crew goes through them personally, as a way of aligning ourselves with the ship. It’s an old Kalovaxian custom,” he explains to me.
“Well, the old Kalovaxian custom is for the crew to build the boat itself,” Crescentia adds with a dimpled smile. “But it was amended when the boats kept falling to pieces. Warriors don’t make the best shipsmiths.”
Søren’s eyes spark with a laugh that doesn’t quite make it out of him, but she looks pleased with herself. Her dimples deepen.
“That they don’t,” he agrees. “But we can be trusted with the rigging and finishing. Barely. Would you like a tour?” he asks.
Crescentia opens her mouth to politely decline, but I get there first.
“Yes, please,” I say. “That sounds fascinating.”
She pinches the inside of my arm but tries to hide her irritation from the Prinz. Inspecting boats is not how she wanted this day to go, and even I have to admit that boats and fascinating do not belong in the same sentence. But this is a chance to get information.
Søren leads us to the rickety ladder fitted against the hull and helps hand Crescentia up first. Over her shoulder, she shoots me an annoyed look that I try to match with an encouraging one. She has a tendency toward seasickness, and among Kalovaxians, this is seen as a matter of great shame. I’ll have to give her an explanation later to quell her irritation. If she wants a crown so badly, I’ll say, she’ll need to put up with some discomfort.
When Søren hands me up next, I let my fingers linger on the bare skin of his arm a few seconds longer than necessary, the way I’ve seen Dagmær do at parties. It’s a brief touch, barely noteworthy, but the grip of his other hand at my waist tightens. I feel his eyes on me, but I can’t look at him. My cheeks warm as I pull myself onto the ship and then straighten my dress. Cress fidgets next to me, smoothing her hair and adjusting the neckline of her dress, her cheeks bright pink.
Seconds later, Søren is with us, gesturing around at the ship.
“Drakkars can hold a hundred people a ship,” he explains, confirming my estimation. “Every drakkar is fitted with twenty oars and twelve cannons,” he adds as he offers each of us an arm.
We start toward the prow, the ship rocking gently beneath us. I’ve been on Kalovaxian ships only a handful of times over the years, and I can’t help but admire how they’re built—sleek, simple vessels designed for speed, powered by a complicated set of sails and riggings and oars. They’re very different from the Astrean sailboats I remember from my childhood trips around the country with my mother. Those were toys. These are weapons.
His sailors stop their work as we approach, and bow deeply.
“Men, we have the honor of a visit from Lady Thora and Lady Crescentia, the Theyn’s daughter,” he tells them.
There’s a murmuring of polite words, though they all seem to be directed at Crescentia, which isn’t surprising. These men revere her father as a living god.
“And this, ladies, is the finest crew in the world,” Søren says with a grin.
One of the crew, a young man a little older than Søren with surprisingly dark hair and gold skin, rolls his eyes. “He always says that.”
“As I should, Erik,” Søren answers, grinning back. “I assembled all of you myself, didn’t I? Why would I want anyone but the best for my crew?”
“There’s no accounting for poor judgment, Søren,” Erik volleys back, “even if you are a prinz.”
“Especially since you’re a prinz,” an older man with a ruddy, sunburnt face and a large gut adds with a laugh.
The difference between Søren and his father is jarring. I’ve seen his father have men executed for less insubordination, but Søren’s laugh joins his men’s instead, and it feels even more disorienting. Søren looks so much like the Kaiser that it’s easy to think of them as somewhat interchangeable—just like these warriors are the same, more or less, as the ones who stormed the palace all those years ago.
“Are you feeling all right, Lady Crescentia?” Søren asks, concerned.
I look at my friend, who has, I realize, turned quite green in the few minutes we’ve been on board, despite the fact that the ship is well tethered and barely rocking.
“Oh dear,” I cut in, because I suspect that if she opens her mouth to speak, something else entirely might come out, and the Prinz has been vomited on enough for one week. “I didn’t want to say anything earlier, but Crescentia hasn’t been feeling well today. We thought a spot of sea air would do her good, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. We might be better off going back to the castle.” I put a comforting arm around her shoulders and she sags against me.
“It could be a good idea to let her settle before a rough carriage ride back,” Søren reasons. “If I may, there’s a cool place to sit beneath the trees, there. Would you mind?” he asks her.
Despite her queasiness, Crescentia can’t agree fast enough. I move to go with them, but Søren stops me. “Stay for a few more minutes,” he says. “Erik will continue the tour. You seemed so interested before.”
“I was. I am,” I agree, a little too quickly. “Are you all right, Cress?”
Crescentia nods as she straightens up so she isn’t leaning on me anymore. Her eyes are nearly twice their usual size as they flit between Søren and me. She looks even greener, but somehow I think that’s more to do with nerves about being alone with the Prinz than the sea itself. I give her a reassuring smile as Søren helps her off the ship.