Leda

Chapter Twenty-Four: Ven Lund

The sea seemed an endless mystery to Meracad ˗ the way its colours merged and morphed from milky-white to grey and then an ever darkening blue. Its roar and suck and roll. The mesh of froth and seaweed it sprayed across the beach. And that scent of hope and danger which rolled in on the waves; which whispered to her, "Hal is alive" and then taunted her, "No, she is dead."

"We'll dine well tonight." Josen favoured her with yet another of those smiles which spoke charm but intimated threat. "I cannot guarantee another decent meal in weeks."

She glanced around, taking in the fishing boats which bobbed against the harbour walls, the pair of three-masted galleons anchored off the coast. The small port of Loefmer was a mere strip of parallel streets ˗ ships chandlers and inns to the fore, smokehouses and fish merchants to the rear. No place to get lost, to disappear ˗ no one from whom she might seek, beg or steal a ride back to Colvé without Josen's knowledge.

"I wouldn't try it if I were you." He observed her lazily, clearly having read her thoughts.

"I don't know what you mean." She looked down at her hands.

He smirked and stared out to sea, shading his eyes. "If I were to offer you some advice..."

"...which really isn't necessary."

"But if I were, I would suggest that you reach your daughter as soon as possible. Before my brother gets to her."

"So I suppose I should be grateful to you, Prince Josen." Her voice leaked irony. "For steering me from harm and taking me to her. But at what price?"

He nodded. "You'd make a merchant, my lady, but you already know the price. I ask only that you persuade Leda to ally herself ˗ and Dal Reniac ˗ with me. Against my brother."

"And if I were to advise you..." Meracad cast a look around the docks at the swarthy fishermen, the merchants, maids and beggars, "it would be to avoid talking treason in public."

"A politician as well as a merchant." His patronising grated like a blunt knife on rough stone. "Very well ˗ you're right. I should hold my tongue."

He jutted a thumb in the direction of an inn slotted in the very midst of the quays, a coach house and stables to its right. "Here I believe we can get a good meal and a night's rest without fear of a bad stomach or a slit throat."

Their cart was taken within, and they stepped through into a cramped, smoke-choked chamber, its darkness broken only by the dim glow of candles, for the tiny windows admitted no real light. The place reeked of stale, spilt ale and fish, and was packed with merchants and maids, with fishermen and deckhands, with smokehouse apprentices and ships captains, their conversations a confused roar. Meracad's head swam as Josen guided her to a table and they sat down.

"Are you not afraid that people will recognise you?" she asked.

His thin lips flickered into another smile. "I know many of these people anyway, Lady Meracad. I've had dealings with them ˗ as merchant Prince and as their client. It would be futile to disguise myself. But word of our whereabouts will not have reached my brother yet. He'll imagine I've ridden North. When he does find out..." Josen worked at his chin with finely manicured fingers "we'll be well out to sea."

"I understand." Although in truth, Josen set too much store in his own confidence, she thought. Words flew like birds around the empire. It was hard to imagine that Castor hadn't already launched guards after his brother. And when they found her with him...she shuddered.

A young man hovered at their table ˗ youthfully handsome with tight dark curls, greenish feline eyes and a warm, freckled face. "What can I get you, Sir?" He threw an inquiring glance at Meracad. "My Lady?"