“I know.”
Luca had come to terms with that truth days ago.
“AndI knowthese things to be true,” he continued, taking another soft step her way. Amarande eyed him wearily—it was written all over the hunch of her posture and the hang of her features that she felt she’d betrayed him simply by not having the courage to end the person who wanted to kill him the most. “Ferdinand and Osana will find Geneva, we’ll be ready and waiting when she comes, and until either happens, you will ensure both of us are prepared for whatever Geneva and the conclave throw at us. All fronts covered—ones with swords, and words. King Sendoa always had a plan and you are his daughter, Ama. Youwillhave a plan, too.”
Involuntary amusement broke through her doldrums, playing lightly at the corners of her mouth. “You put too much faith in me.”
Luca crossed the remaining distance and set his palms firmly on Amarande’s shoulders, aside the thick leather straps of her chest plate. “One can never put too much faith in what he loves.”
The queen stubbed a toe in the dirt, as a grin softened her eyes first, then the sweep of her lips, as they pulled into an undeniable smile. Small, but sure. “Itisthe most powerful force on earth.”
Ula’s wisdom—just as thoughtful as any of Sendoa’s sage tenets.
Luca nodded gently. “It is. Which means it isn’t foolish to indulge in it.”
And then, he kissed her.
All stiffness and hesitation in Amarande’s body fell away, the tension in her shoulders liquifying under his touch. She did not grab hold of him, grip still firm on the practice sword, which remained spiked in the grass between them. When Luca drew away, point made, Amarande’s eyes were slow to open. But when they did, a new fierceness cut through the blue-green.
“Indeed.” She lifted her sword and dinged him swiftly about the chest plate—much preferable to the swat across the brow he’d suggested initially. “Let’s get to work.”
CHAPTER 8
ULAand Urtzi were not difficult to convince—theGatzalhad been Dunixi’s ship, after all. In fact, the biggest problem Ferdinand faced in hunting Geneva on the water, actually, was himself.
He’d never been on a ship. And therefore, he hadn’t known until the first sinking moments when the harbor disappeared into the expanse of open water that he was especially—horribly—prone to seasickness.
For a boy who’d spent nearly his entire life on the back of a horse or in the body of a caravan carriage, it was a shock to learn a specific type of movement could have such a jarring effect. His body, which had served him well—strong, agile, and resilient as it was—could not best this. Not by a long shot.
He did not complain, of course. But Ferdinand also could not stand after a few hours into the journey, relegated to lying still, at the ship’s center, bucket nestled next to his head.
Lucky, then, that Osana was a wonder on the water. Splitting her childhood between her mother’s homeland of Eritri and her father’s of Basilica meant that she knew how to guide the ship, run the sails, and troubleshoot any inconveniences. In fact, the one thing Osana could not fix was Ferdinand.
Over the course of the next day and a half, he tried to move about every few hours. Forcing himself upright, ordering Osana to give him something to do. She did so without mocking him too terribly much.
Finally, as sunset found them on the second full day they’d been at sea, Osana kicked Ferdinand’s foot as he leaned heavily against the mainmast after another spell of nausea froze him in place. “I suppose for all that talk about being a polite pirate, it turns out you’d give the ship back in a heartbeat, manners or no?”
With more effort than he would like to admit, Ferdinand opened his eyes. “Let us hope the second part of my hunch is correct because the seafaring life is not for me.”
Osana tilted her head, her long dark hair trailing down her shoulder in a windswept braid, her olive cheeks kissed with new freckles from days of sun on the seas. Her eyes were the same clear blue of the sky above and they twinkled with mirth as her lips twisted. “You’ll get used to it. After a few more days, you’ll be on your feet and eager to see the world.”
“Or I’ll beg you to shoot me with a sleeping dart.”
She knocked him on the shoulder. “Come now, First Knight and Protector of the Crown, I know you well enough to be sure that you would literally never sleep on the job.”
“You’re correct.” He hated every moment of this new and acute weakness. “But I am apparently better suited for pursuit on land.”
“You’re in luck, because the beaches of Basilica loom ahead.”
“Truly?”
“I’d recognize them anywhere. Come see.”
Ferdinand got to his feet, Osana holding his hand and aiding his balance without further verbal punishment. Instead, she leaned her shoulder against his and whispered in his ear. “Focus on a single spot. A knot in the deck boards, the foremast, the land ahead. Pick one, and stare at it with all you’ve got—it’ll help keep you centered and upright.”
Training his gaze on the mast ahead, Ferdinand did just as she suggested, as they made their way to the foredeck. Osana deposited him gently against the thick stalk of the mast. Once she was sure he wasn’t about to keel over, she pointed to the coastline. It was a study in commerce and contrast—heavy ship traffic, white sand beaches, all roads leading up and up as the mountains clamored toward the sky. The peaks were dark and jagged, hinting to the iron ore living in their bellies, the raw material that made the world’s finest steel.
“The Aragonesti is there, up and to your left.” Osana trained her pointer finger up the faces of the mountains accordingly. “Black as a beetle’s back and as ugly as a frostbit nose.”
