The ship was a marvel to look at, built for speed with the skill the league had been refining for generations. The body of it was sleek and dangerous looking, covered all over with the shiny, brilliantly white coating that all league vessels wore. He knew it was made with sap from certain trees in Aushenia, but the exact formula they used was a carefully guarded secret. For that matter, just what its function was remained something of a mystery, too. It covered every beam of the hull, the railing, and the deck. It was as if the craft had been dipped in a vat of the stuff and lifted out shiny, slick. Once the ship was at sea, the rows of wide-armed masts would unfurl sail. He had seen that from a distance, and imagined they could set several jibs as well. The ship was likely the fastest Dariel had ever laid eyes on.

Rialus was there to meet him on deck, looking paler than usual. The councillor had proposed that they journey by land across the Tabith Way, reaching the port of Tabith and sailing from there onto the Gray Slopes. The proposal had made Dariel grin. Though it was a reasonable enough suggestion, it was clear from the manner in which Rialus proposed it that he was not comfortable with the idea of being so completely in league hands. Dariel was not either, but they were going to have to get used to that. Sire Neen himself would be traveling by sea, so it would look awkward if they did not as well. Plus Dariel loved the sea. He had loved it when he was hunting league vessels; he was sure he would still love it now, despite the strangeness of being a guest of his old enemies.

"Is that Rialus Neptos?" Dariel asked, grinning. "Or is it his ghost come in his place?"

Rialus did not catch or acknowledge the prince's humor. "The captain says we should leave within the hour to have advantage of the tide. Have you come ready to sail?"

"Yes, yes. All my things were loaded yesterday." He looked down at his new clothing, at the Marah sword at his side, and at the supple leather boots he now wore, as if to say he carried all his possessions on his person. "I'm as ready as I'll manage."

And just like that he was thinking of his last moments with Wren. He knew it would not be the last time. He would smell of her still, and each morning he would awake thinking of her. That was how it had been during his work in Aushenia. He would wonder if he had at last planted a child in her. They had certainly been hoping for one, for years now, it seemed. Perhaps he would return to find her rubbing a small bump in her belly. He hoped so, but he had decided the trip was worth its perils. The promise he had made Aaden-for he had agreed to the boy's request-convinced him of that. Perhaps he would accomplish greater things than Corinn had planned. He would achieve more on this mission than had been asked of him, and she would later come to thank him for it. That was what happened with his rebuilding projects. It could happen with this, too.

"You said your farewells to the queen-"

"Yesterday," Dariel said, a little sharply.

There had been a small banquet in his honor. Nice enough, Corinn wishing him success at strengthening the empire's bond with the league, as if that were his only mission. More than one person had asked veiled questions about his feelings about the league, considering his conflicts with them during his youth. He had joked in answer, his grin and humor seeing him through it. Inside, he harbored the same unease himself.

For her part, Corinn seemed completely unconcerned. Perhaps she was concerned, but how to read that possibility Dariel was not sure. She had embraced him in parting, looking into his eyes and saying the kind things one expects a sister to say to her only brother. It had felt wonderful at the time, as if he were still a boy and her affection for him a balm. In the bright light of morning-and with Aaden's request still on his mind-he saw her face but no longer felt the warmth he wished he could.

"I can't wait to get outward bound," he said, to himself as much as to Rialus. "Ocean air: that's what I need."

"Finally!" Rialus said. "Calrach. I was starting to doubt he'd come."

But come he did, and he did not seem too happy about it. He strode at the front of a small band of Numrek. His feet smacked audibly on the stone dock. His arms swung about him as if they wanted to batter somebody, as if he was just hoping an offender would be fool enough to get in his way. He snapped his head from side to side, looking for an insult that the backing-away crowd did not offer. His hair, long and black as a courtesan's, swirled about him as he moved. It was an odd display, full of agitation. That was something Dariel had witnessed often enough on Numrek faces, but this was different. Whatever had insulted Calrach was not to be found in any of the cowering folks around him.

"What's he in a huff about?" Dariel asked.

"That's not anger. That's the Numrek version of fear."

The Numrek entourage mounted the gangplank like invaders. They were up in a few moments. Calrach shouldered through the Ishtat guards who awaited him. They milled about, several with their hands at their sword hilts. But the Numrek were no martial threat. They carried no weapons, and whatever angered Calrach had no human form. He roared something to his companions. They answered back just as belligerently. A moment later they had all vanished into one of the hatches leading belowdecks.

Rialus whispered details of the preparations Calrach had demanded. Dariel listened, as alarmed as he was amused. Chains? The threat of some blood-rage madness once they were out of the sight of land? He had never heard anything like it. "The Numrek fear the sea? Why?" Dariel asked. "It makes no sense."

Rialus shrugged. "They're strange brutes. If it weren't for the chance to see their beloved homeland again, I doubt they'd ever board an ocean-bound vessel. They say they can't swim. Too heavy, apparently. That could be true, although I've never seen one of them so much as try. Sunning on the beaches of Talay suits them, but they never actually went in the water."

"Anyone can drown, Rialus. Left adrift in the open ocean, everyone does drown. Even you, my friend, but I don't see you shouting to be chained. From all I've seen and heard, the Numrek are fearless. They fight to the death for an afternoon's amusement. What's that game they play where they take turns throwing spears as one of them runs an obstacle course? How can you do that on a whim and yet be afraid of-" The prince paused and studied Rialus. The small man had gasped something and stood clenching the railing, looking queasy. "Are you going to be sick, Rialus?"

"Of course not."

Dariel took a half step to the side, not trusting the man's self-assessment.

The councillor sputtered a moment before finding his voice again. "Who-who can explain another's fears?"

"My sister can," Dariel said wryly. "Or at least she knows how to exploit people's fears." He checked himself and said no more. Why had he even said that? Rialus was still Corinn's trained weasel, likely making notes of any slight uttered about her, even by her brother.

Dariel excused himself. He drifted away without a precise notion of where to go. He knew there were many eyes on him. Ishtat Inspectorate officers stood at silent attention at regular intervals around the deck. Sailors glanced at him as they prepared the ship for departure. A small group of leaguemen stopped their conversation with a pilot and watched him with their expressionless faces. Some even looked down-archers who sat guard in baskets atop the masts.

Dariel would be watched every minute he was aboard. So he would try to get used to it, to ignore it. He could not help taking in the details of the ship, and nobody had yet told him not to. He ran his hand along the railing, feeling the strange yet graspable texture of the white coating. It slid beneath his fingers when he moved them, but with the slightest pressure the stuff gripped his skin. The surface was not entirely easy to walk on, and-noting that many of the crewmen went barefoot-he decided that helped them keep their footing better than shoes. He imagined that water, on the other hand, must slip along the ship's hull without the slightest friction. This ship must be fast, indeed; and it must cut the water with such stealth that the waves might barely note its passing.