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“Didn’t Tyriot surrender to her?” he asked, puzzled.
Beneath her hood, Sorasa’s copper eyes gleamed. “She may think so. But this isn’t surrender. This is war, and she is too proud to see it coming. All that remains now is choosing where they might strike.”
Dom wanted to trust in her excitement, as he reluctantly trusted her in most things. Instead, he felt a heavy sense of foreboding.
“Erida and Taristan’s true strength is on land,” he said in a low voice. “You mortals can fill the Long Sea with warships but that won’t stop Erida’s legions or Taristan’s corpse army from rolling over every city upon the Ward.”
And it brings us no closer to Corayne. No closer to even a hint of where she might be.
Meliz did not idle, despite a great many sailors calling to her on the streets. A few even applauded, all of them pirates. The Tyri were less effusive. The pirates were their old enemies, and only a common foe made allies of them. For now.
The pirate captain led them up to a blue-and-white-painted doorway. Guards flanked the door, their helmets patterned in fish scales, with golden spears in hand, and short, aquamarine capes draped over their armor.
Neither bothered to stop Meliz an-Amarat, who strode through with ease, the rest tromping along behind her. The captain was clearly well known in the Sea Prince’s company.
Inside, the villa was cool and shaded, the building centered on courtyards of tiled stone and fresh greenery. A good many officers and aides cluttered the halls but were careful to let Meliz pass. In her salt-worn clothes with her unbound, curling hair, Meliz looked like a rag doll against statues. She led the rest through the passages, to a central courtyard with a fountain at its center.
Guards lined the whitewashed walls, watching over a trio of men. All three jerked their heads toward Meliz as she stepped out into the light, her golden smile crooked on her face.
She gave an exaggerated bow, sweeping back an arm like a dancer.
“Your Highness,” she chuckled, as if the title was some wonderful joke.
The Sea Prince did not return the gesture, but his lips twitched, amused by the captain’s posturing. Like his sailors, he was bronze-skinned with curly black hair, close in color to Meliz herself. But his eyes were honey and he wore a simple circlet of hammered gold, a single aquamarine jewel set at his brow.
“Captain an-Amarat,” he said, striding toward them. “We were just discussing you.”
Meliz gave a wave of a scarred hand. “When are you not?”
Then her eyes flicked over the other two, both seated at a little table.
“Admiral Kyros, Lord Malek,” she said, inclining her head to each.
Dom guessed Kyros to be the one in uniform. The other, Lord Malek, wore iridescent purple robes. He had pale eyes and the warm, dark skin of the southern kingdoms.
“It seems first reports are not what we hoped,” Kyros said, his stare burning at Meliz. He wore the telltale blue of a Tyri sailor, and a jeweled sash to denote high rank. “Fleethaven burned but it is not destroyed, and most of the Gallish navy were not yet in port.”
Meliz laughed outright. “Would you like to keep reading your reports, or would you like to hear directly from those who were actually there?”
While Sorasa tucked her face, hiding a smirk, Lord Malek answered with a look of disgust.
“You struck too quickly,” he grumbled. “You did not have the patience to wait for the rest of Erida’s fleet. Nor the courage for it.”
“Courage?” Meliz’s smile dropped, her eyes flashing in a dangerous way.
“Peace, Lord Malek,” the Sea Prince said, pacing again.
“My prince.” Kyros blanched at his lord. “I cannot believe I would live to see the day you defend pirate scum like Meliz an-Amarat.”
“Let us cage the Lioness, and then we can return to hunting sharks,” the Sea Prince replied, smiling directly at Meliz. She only grinned back.
It was like watching two bolts of lightning meet in mid-air.
“Impatience did not force my hand,” Meliz said, swaying as she walked. “But these two.”
All eyes snapped to the Elder and the assassin, spearing through both. Dom shook off their scrutiny, well used to the gaping looks of mortals by now. But he rankled when he saw how they watched Sorasa, each man studying the tattoos peeking out from her clothes.
She did not move under their attention, though he could hear her heartbeat quicken.
