Chapter 16 #3
She’d drifted to a halt, tugging him with her. But rather than shake off the distraction and smile in apology, she closed her eyes. Sent out her senses into the shipping channels, the currents, prodded at the hulls disturbing her waters.
Big. Big, big, big. Her eyes flew open, and she spun to Viggo. “What ship would be entering our harbor that’s at least three times the size of the Daryatlean cargo vessels?”
Her guard’s eyes went wide. “I don’t know, Your Majesty. The only ships I’ve ever heard of that are that big are the Ellesian triremes. But I can’t think why one of them would be—”
“Frost it.” Relinquishing Nik’s arm, she lifted her skirt with both hands and ran at full speed down the corridor, thankful the door to the reception room they’d been using for these evening debriefings stood open.
Not only did it have in it both table for dining and furniture for lounging on in conversation afterward, it also had an unparalleled view of the harbor.
She darted through the open space between the chamber’s two halves, where Fodur had often gathered them to receive an official envoy, and made for the window. She sent a snowball into the wall in frustration when her eyes told her what her magic already knew.
A low whistle came from behind her. “I’ve never seen one even on a crystal,” Nik said. “Only sketches. They don’t do it justice.”
No, they certainly wouldn’t. The ship currently taking up the entire shipping channel had three masts of solar sails, banks of mechanized oars, and, to make matters worse, boasted the royal crest of Ellas—an owl with a serpent writhing in its claws—as the figurehead.
Usually their traders came on normal-sized ships. Triremes were reserved for more important naval work.
Like war.
A warm hand landed on her back and rubbed a circle. “Breathe, Kyrja. It’s probably just an official response to the announcement you sent about your coronation. Congratulatory.”
She couldn’t recall the king of Ellas ever sending such congratulations to her father for any of his official news.
But then, Fjordlandi hadn’t crowned a new monarch in a century, and Ellas hadn’t had an ambassador present—their previous one had been sent packing days before the attack.
She supposed it did make sense that they would want to send an official response.
“Sure. That could be it.” One thing was beyond doubt, though—it wasn’t merchants on a ship with that crest, it was some sort of diplomat.
Which meant they’d be expecting a proper reception, no matter the fact that they were arriving without warning, late in the day.
Which meant her quiet, recuperative evening among friends—or at least uneasy allies—was about to be blown to pieces. “At least they don’t have their cannons out.”
Nik chuckled. “If they did, you could pack their barrels with ice. Or we could melt them.”
“What are we melting?”
Kyrja had never been so happy to see the grim-faced Daemon stride into a room. He probably could melt any Ellesian weapons from here. Or at least hurl a few well-aimed balls of burning rock at the trireme, from Helviti’s cone.
Nik motioned toward the window. “Looks like an official from Ellas has arrived. On a trireme.”
“Really?” Daemon picked up his pace, but it was eagerness, not distress, on his face. “I’ve never seen one. Are they—whoa. That is a ship. Makes ours look like canoes, doesn’t it?”
Kyrja puffed out a breath. “You’re not making me feel better, Daemon.”
His grin, though, strangely did. This man was older than Fodur, and even if he’d spent the bulk of it in the heart of Helviti, it still meant more experience in his own skin than she had, and with it came a confidence she was glad to have at her side.
On her side…for now. “You have nothing to worry about, Your Majesty. If they were coming to take advantage of the period of unrest that comes with a coup, they’d have their cannons out.
Which I’m assuming is what we’d be melting. ”
On second thought, he was back to not-comforting. “It wasn’t a coup.” Coups were planned events. This had just been a spontaneous fight for the right thing. Which she’d won.
Remember that, Kyrja. You won.
Daemon arched a golden brow. “It wasn’t an insult. If anyone deserved to suffer a coup, it was Isidor. And Axel before him. They both—” He fell silent, gaze snapping to the door as if movement caught his eye.
Kyrja turned to see Perla striding in, still dressed in the butter-soft, honey-brown leather leggings and jerkin that she wore when flying.
Her hair was braided back from her face, and her smile was positively wicked as she noticed Daemon’s slack jaw.
“Dresses earn a sneer, but my flight suit a stare—noted.” She gave a saucy wink, but then the teasing hardened to seriousness as she moved her gaze to Kyrja.
“I see my hurrying was unnecessary—you noticed when they entered the harbor waters, I assume?”
Kyrja nodded and turned back to the window. “Were you in the air? Could you see who’s on board?”
“Yes but no. The only people on deck were sailors, and they were, let’s say, less than enthusiastic about the snow.
I imagine your new ambassador from Ellas is no more eager to be out in it.
So, you know.” Having walked the length of the room while she spoke, Perla stopped now at Kyrja’s side and bumped their shoulders together.
“Either clear the weather if you’re feeling nice, or give them something worth complaining about. ”
The advice brought a smile to Kyrja’s lips.
She knew well how foreign traders and diplomats alike grumbled about the difficulty of sailing into Fjordic waters, given that the constant cloud-cover rendered their solar sails useless.
Which was part of the point. But she’d just as soon hurry the new ambassador along so they could get the meet-and-greet over with.
So she parted the clouds enough to fill their sails with sunlight, laughing with a bit too much glee when the trireme lurched forward in the water, the sailors clearly unprepared for the sudden burst of energy.
She slowed them, of course, before they could do any damage to her docks, using the icy water to maneuver them into the only space big enough to host the massive vessel—a space that four ships usually fit in.
Manipulating the clouds off the sails then, she instead let the evening sun light up a path from the dock to the palace steps nearest this dining room, draping the edges of it in curtains of snow.
Perla laughed too. “Man, now I feel jealous. I missed out on the golden carpet treatment. But I’d better go change into a dress. I’ll tell the staff to set an extra place on my way out.” Another wink toward the men. “Sorry, Dae. But you can watch me sashay out, if you want.”
He rolled his eyes and then directed his face squarely to the window.
Though of course, Perla just called out, “I know you can still see me in the reflection!” and gave her hips an extra sway.
Blizzards—if she couldn’t have Dania here with her all day, Perla was proving the next best thing.
Could Kyrja just do the opposite of her father and refuse to ever let an ambassador leave?
The princess had proven to be more knowledgeable about leading a kingdom than her jokes let on—not surprising, of course, given that she’d been the heir to the most powerful empire on earth for a hundred fifty years.
Kyrja had no idea how she’d even pretend to manage without Perla’s advice.
At least this part she knew. Ambassadors came and went so often under her father’s regime that Kyrja had been to more welcome dinners than she could count.
Usually she’d have donned a more formal gown than the one she was wearing, but there was nothing wrong with the ice-pink selection Dania had chosen for her today.
Standing beside her two leather-clad companions, she looked ready for a ball in comparison.
Not that she cared about their clothing choices, but… “Did you two want to stay for this? You’re welcome, of course, and will be meeting whoever Ellas has sent soon, regardless. But you’ve made your opinion on formal events clear, and this dinner is about to get a lot less relaxed.”
Nik looked to Daemon. Daemon adopted his usual pose, arms folded across his chest and scowl in place. “You think I’m going to pass up the chance to intimidate an Ellesian the moment he arrives? It’s like you don’t know me at all.”
She smiled. Then didn’t. “I imagine you realize how desperate the leadership of Ellas is for magic. They’ll probably try to lure you to come there. Promise you riches, power, whatever you want.”
He held her gaze, nothing in his eyes betraying even the slightest flicker of temptation at her words. “What I want is a fair Fjordlandi, Kyrja. I want to live in peace in my mountain, knowing my people are thriving and that I’m a part of that.”
Exactly what she wanted too—minus the in-the-mountain part. She nodded, throat too tight for words.
Was that enough to be a good queen? The desire to serve her people? Just because she’d overpowered her father and his High Council, did that really mean she had what it took to lead? To correct the course her nation had been on for centuries?
Taking up the reins as they’d been held so long would have been easy.
Or doable, at least. Like she’d found with her siblings’ duties, maintaining the status quo wasn’t that hard.
It was changing things that kept her up all night, shivering in her own cold.
Changing things that took more strength than she was sure she had.
Changing things that she’d been willing to fight for to begin with. So if it was the Giver’s will, he would just have to provide her with the strength to achieve it.