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Theodor cracked a grin but didn’t argue with her. “The carriage takes us to Merhaven’s townhouse, where I will have a brief meeting with local dignitaries. Havensport’s city lord, who’s a Pommerly, for what that’s worth. Unlikely to be productive, just a formality.”

  “And we sip tea with their wives?” Annette asked, clearly familiar with this standard protocol.

  “Yes,” Theodor said. “I’m sorry, is that going to be too burdensome? Did you have an appointment with your hairdresser?”

  “I can rearrange it,” Annette joked, sighing with feigned dismay, as though our close quarters on the little Gyrfalcon could have accommodated a retinue of hairdressers and manicurists. “Then back here and embarking by noon?”

  “That’s the idea.” Theodor shrugged. “If they invite us to lunch, I’d suggest we accept—their seafood stews are legendary in Havensport.”

  “Hmm, lunch. I skipped breakfast—I’m going to scrounge something up,” Annette said. She headed toward her cabin, and I had a feeling our steward would be the one to do the scrounging.

  “Not too overwhelming yet, I take it?” Theodor said, moving closer to my side.

  “I think I can handle waving. Smiling, though.” I grimaced.

  “Do your best.” Theodor laughed. Galitha City lay behind us now, the imposing stone defensive wall stretching to the south and, no longer visible to us, the north giving way to a sheer cliff face and, high above, dense forests.

  “It’s hard to believe that most of Galitha is like this,” I said, gesturing toward the untouched forests. “After living in the city, it’s easy to forget that the city isn’t all that Galitha is.”

  “That will be worth remembering for quite some time, going forward,” Theodor said, eyes scanning deep into the forests. “The nobility in the south, in the agrarian regions, are not particularly satisfied at the moment.”

  “They don’t like the changes,” I ventured with a wry smile.

  “Indeed not, most of the provincial nobles voted against reform.”

  “Rules are rules,” I said with a sardonic shrug.

  “And their response—you’re not concerned?” he replied.

  “Of course I am. They can make things difficult moving forward if they don’t wish to cooperate, I’m sure. But they lost. By a slim margin, perhaps, but the law is the law now, as you keep saying.”

  “That it is. Regardless, what little time we spend in ports on this trip south will be smoothing their ruffled feathers. And I’ve a feeling they’ve gone into full-blown molt at this point.”

  I wrinkled my nose at that image—nobles shedding clumps of down like overgrown parrots. “And here I’d just discovered that I like sea travel after all. Too bad official business is going to put such a damper on it,” I said.

  “We’ll have to take a trip then, for fun, sometime,” he said, with a hollow smile that told me “for fun” was unlikely to happen for him anytime soon, if ever. “Speaking of official business—I brought some books along for you. I’ve left them in our cabin. On the other countries attending the summit, so you have some preparation on their customs, clothing, title nomenclature, the like.”

  I forced an even-keeled smile. This was, after all, the duty of a royal consort, even if it sounded utterly overwhelming. “So I have less than a week to memorize the customs of East and West Serafe, Kvyset, the Allied States—I assume their various differences, too?”

  “Well, at least a study on Pellia and Fen won’t be necessary.”

  “That’s right, they’re not important enough to invite. Or are you suggesting I’m allowed to offend them?”

  “You can offend them another time. I’m sure we’ll have some diplomatic visit with Pellia soon enough. Just not this time.”

  “Perfect,” I said with forced cheer.

  “You may want to give some attention to ports and trade routes,” he said. “The largest point of contention for the summit is an agreement suggested by the East Serafans—the Open Seas Arrangement. You won’t be in the official debates, of course, but they’ll probably discuss them during the social events.”

  “The seas seem pretty open already,” I said, glancing around us.

  “Looks are deceiving. As it stands, nations can claim waters near them—prohibit shipping, tax merchant vessels, prohibit military vessels even if they’re only en route up to fifty miles from their shores, with some special rules in place for shared waters. This puts East Serafe at a bit of a disadvantage compared to, say, West Serafe when it comes to throwing their weight around over shipping—they’re barely on any oceanic trade routes at all.”

  “Compared to us as well,” I said. “We levy a tax on foreign merchant ships utilizing our ports, don’t we?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Quite good. The Open Seas Arrangement would prohibit claiming any waters. No prohibiting or taxing anyone passing through, no matter how close they get.”

  “It seems to only benefit East Serafe,” I said. “Easy to vote down, no?”

  “Except that the Allied States may be on board with it. They benefit from taxes and port fees, but they trade so widely that they lose more to Galitha and West Serafe than they gain. So—it’s rather tied with Kvyset not laying her hand yet.”

  “Sounds terribly exciting,” I said blandly.

  Theodor clapped my shoulder, like an officer sending a private to do some sort of unpleasant task like digging out a latrine. “I’ll quiz you later.”

  20

  CLOUDS HAD ROLLED IN FROM THE EAST OVERNIGHT, AND THOUGH I welcomed the reprieve from the sun, the low gray sky made for a gloomy welcome into Havensport. The Gyrfalcon slid effortlessly into the harbor, and I braced myself for cheering crowds and the feigned smiles that I was sure would be expected of me.

  Instead, the people gathered by the dock were quiet, not part of one undulating mass but sequestered into groups of ten or twelve at most. Bright scarlet peppered the browns and grays and indigos in the crowd, in red caps but also in sashes and cockades and kerchiefs. They hung back, and I found myself mimicking their reluctance and staying away from the rail of the deck. The only detail that had the look of a formal welcome party was the soldiers lining the perimeter of the docks. The garrison of Merhaven’s naval station would have been present at any arrival of dignitaries, but in the presence of the stone-faced crowd, they appeared more of a necessity and less of a formality.

  “I thought you expected a small crowd,” I said as Theodor joined me, looking out over the knots of people waiting on the cobblestone square by the dock.

  “We may require a change of plans,” he replied, scanning the near silence with concern. “I’ve misread something, for certain.” He walked rapidly toward the captain’s quarters, where Admiral Merhaven waited, then turned back to me. “Go find Annette. Tell her—just tell her to wait. And not to wear anything too flashy.”

  I intercepted Annette before she left her cabin, dressed in a modest dove-gray worsted traveling suit. Not flashy at all, even with the pert tricorn hat perched atop her glossy dark hair.

  “Theodor says to wait inside,” I said.

  “Whatever for?”

  We could see the shore from her cabin’s doorway, and I simply pointed. “Well.” She pressed her lips together, turning them nearly white underneath her light coat of carmine rouge. “They look like they could use a colonic, don’t they?”

  I smiled, but it was an empty smile and we both knew it.

  Then a bellow like thunder erupted on the cobblestones and I jumped back, into Annette. A thick plume of smoke accompanied a brief and unimpressive flash. As the sea breeze wafted the smoke aside, I saw the source—a pair of barrels lay in shards and the stones around them scorched. Gunpowder. Annette’s audible gasp next to me mingled with shouts and a few screams from the docks. Not everyone on shore had anticipated this particular form of demonstration.

  The soldiers moved like quicksilver, sliding into position and moving on the center of the square while maintaining some defensive positions nea
rer the docks. Then I saw something that hadn’t been there before the explosion—a pair of figures, like crudely crafted rag dolls, slung with thick rope over a tree branch. Effigies, hung from miniature nooses.

  My stomach clenched and I tasted sour fear at the back of my throat. “Is that Theodor?” I asked, voice tight and distant.

  Annette stiffened beside me. “I don’t know,” she said. “I can’t see well enough—there’s no royal insignia.”

  “It’s someone,” I countered. “Two someones. The king and the first heir to the throne?”

  Annette laid her hand on my trembling arm. “It’s impossible to know from this far away.” She edged backward, as though by instinct. “But that is a fair guess.”

  Lieutenant Westland stood by the railing near the bow of the ship, surveying the scene with a looking glass. “I imagine he could tell,” I said.

  “Perhaps,” Annette said. “In any case, I assume we’re not going ashore.”

  I leaned against the nearest wall, watching the effigies sway gently in the sea breeze as though they were merely toys, not threats. No one seemed to claim them or make a move toward them—or, I noticed, toward the quay or toward the soldiers.

  Then the first bottle landed in the water.

  “Down!” Ballantine shouted as more bottles rained into the sea, hurled by clutches of men and women on shore.

  Annette gripped my arm and pulled me backward, into her cabin, but I strained to see. The bottles weren’t doing anything—just floating. Floating with something stuffed into each one, something white and, to my first glances, something that looked like coarse fabric.

  I let Annette pull me inside and she slammed the door. “We’ll wait to see what Theodor wants us to do,” she said, as much to herself as to me. “No one can reach us on the ship, not without launching boats—and we can be out of the harbor before they’ve cleared their docks.”

  “I didn’t think—I thought we were past this,” I said, shaking. “Past fighting and past division. The reforms—I thought—I thought—” To my surprise I was nearly crying, images of Red Cap protests six months old dredged up from my memory, the slick texture of fear coating every thought. My brother nearly shot at a protest. The scythes and guns in the streets the night of the coup. The wet stain of blood on the stairs of the palace. “It can’t be,” I whispered.

  “It may not be anything of import,” Annette said, but her voice was hollow and insincere. Long minutes passed in silence, the closeness of the cabin pressing in on me from all sides.

  A sharp rap on the door made us both jump, but it was, perhaps predictably, Theodor.

  “It’s the city lord, Pommerly. And Merhaven.” He ran a hand through already-disheveled hair. “The effigies.”

  “It’s not you?” I gasped before I could think better of it.

  “Are you disappointed?” Theodor cracked a strained smile. “No, it’s not me. Those people are happy enough to see me. And you. And probably Annette, though, no offense, I don’t know that they’re worried much about dignitaries or royalty.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that the crowd out there is unhappy with their local governance and wants to tell us about it.” He pulled several scraps of canvas from his pocket and held them out to me. “These were in the bottles.”

  “Not explosives?” Annette managed a small smile. “My cousin the lieutenant seemed to think they were water-borne grenades.”

  “Explosive enough,” I murmured. “Traitors to the people, traitors to the Crown,” I read as I passed the rough canvas to Annette. “More taxation without election, there will be men without heads.” I scanned several more. “They’ve refused to hold elections?”

  “It appears so.” Theodor shook his head. “Merhaven said there had been delays in enacting some of the reforms here, but this suggests deliberate avoidance—or, at least, that the populace interprets it as such.”

  “And how do you interpret it?” Annette said, squaring the stack of canvas as neatly in her hands as she could.

  “I don’t know. I hadn’t seen Merhaven as an obstructionist, but then again, he’s been in Galitha City for the past few months. It’s entirely possible he’s guilty only by association as the most powerful lord near Havensport.”

  Annette considered this, then looked toward the shore again. “But the city lord?”

  “Yes, he should have, per the Reform Bill, been joined in governance by an elected committee. That has not happened. The people seem to think that their best recourse was to make me aware of this by a demonstration.”

  “My goodness, they could try writing a letter next time,” Annette said.

  “They learned from the revolt,” I said quietly. Both watched me. “Words alone didn’t suffice then, I imagine the people believe they can’t suffice now. They had to show some force.”

  Theodor’s face grew taut. “That interpretation doesn’t bode well.”

  “I know.”

  “I imagine we’re staying on board, then?” Annette said.

  Theodor swallowed. “On the one side of it, yes, there’s been a threat to safety and we ought to cancel our events on shore. At the same time—the people don’t seem to be a threat to us. The soldiers will of course obey our royal person”—Theodor cracked a smile—“and there may be much to be gained in terms of the people’s confidence by going ashore.

  “At the very least, I do have to meet with Pommerly. There is no reason not to be moving ahead with the implementation of the reforms. In fact, there is nothing worse than not moving forward—it shows incompetence and weakness on the part of both the Crown and the local lords.”

  “If you’re going,” I said, raising my chin, “I am, too.” I considered, then added, “But I’m not drinking tea with a gaggle of perfumed ladies. Why are these messages written on canvas?”

  “Shipbuilding and fishing are predominant trades here—this is old sailcloth. I think they were establishing themselves as tradesmen.”

  “Then I want to see the fishing docks. Or the shipwrights. Something that tells them we’re listening to them.”

  Theodor hesitated, weighing, I was sure, the dangers of sending me on a one-woman diplomatic visit to the working class of Havensport. “Merhaven will arrange something. You will be under guard, of course.”

  “Of course,” I replied. “Annette, care for a short shore visit?”

  Annette took a deep breath. “Why not?”

  21

  THE FISHING DOCKS OF HAVENSPORT WERE SMALLER THAN GALITHA City’s docks and far more specialized. While Galitha City welcomed droves of domestic and international trade, the Havensport docks seemed focused nearly solely on welcoming nets full of fish. Shadowed by soldiers, Annette and I toured the open space where loads of fish were hauled off boats and the low-eaved buildings where they were sorted and salted. Annette wrinkled her nose, deftly pulling a kerchief dosed with scent out of her pocket, but I inhaled the base, honest smell of work.

  “The primary export from Havensport to the rest of Galitha and overseas is salted fish,” the portly packinghouse owner said, wiping nervous sweat from his hands. Tasked last minute to allow a pair of ladies from the royal delegation to tour his facility, he was handling things surprisingly well, especially given how the soldiers insisted on examining every nook and corner of the building before allowing us to proceed. “Oceanic whitefish and silver cod, mostly.” He paused, gauging our interest. I gave him an encouraging smile even though I didn’t particularly care. “They take the salt well.”

  A flash of red caught my eye from across the building, the dim interior highlighting the interruption of color.

  The packinghouse owner stiffened as he noticed the bright spot, as well. A cap—a cap in a style I knew all too well. “Hey! Put that thing away,” he shouted, taking off at a surprisingly nimble clip toward the offending workman.

  Several other workers flanked the first man, producing their own caps. “You know,” the owner said in a huff, “that those
are not allowed in my place of business.”

  “Why not?” I said, approaching him from behind and surprising both him and the workers with my question.

  “They are—” He closed his mouth, reddening, unsure what to argue to a royal consort, even if she was a common-born seamstress. I raised an eyebrow, well aware that we were both navigating what, exactly, my sympathies were and happy to let him make the choice of what to say next, because I certainly didn’t know what angle I ought to take. “They are disruptive,” he finally decided.

  “Disruptive,” I repeated. “The cod don’t take salt as well when they’re packed by workers in red?” The men fought not to crack smiles, but the glare of their employer subdued any amusement at the comment.

  “No, not—no.” He flushed darker, right up to his balding crown. “I need my employees focused on their work, not on dissenting with the Crown and with one another.”

  I considered this. “Galitha has always welcomed a culture of open speech and has avoided hindering the printing presses. I suppose that I see wearing even such a noxiously bright cap as a part of that.”

  “Be that as it may,” he replied with controlled politeness, “you haven’t got a business to run.”

  “I did,” I retorted before I could stop myself. The red-capped employees watched, tautly interested in the outcome of this exchange.

  “And today, of all the times—I simply do not want you to feel threatened by this… demonstration.”

  I could have laughed—as though a few red caps could, after the Midwinter Revolt, after Pyord, after all I’d been through, make me feel threatened. Annette, beside me, merely smiled in bemusement.

  “You’ll find we are not so easily frightened,” I reassured him. “But I am curious—why are you still wearing those caps? In Galitha City, they’re a celebration, but you do not seem to be a very festive sort.”

  The man in the middle, the first to have put on the cap, hesitated before his neighbor nudged him to speak. “Things aren’t so celebratory here,” he said. “We got news of the reforms, same as everyone, but nothing has changed.”