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“Do you wantloyaltyor do you wantobeisance, Your Highness?”
The prince looks right back at him. “For a man who seems towant to protect his crew,” Corrick says, “you couldn’t go wrong with either.”
The captain goes very still. “Don’t threaten my crew.”
The words are spoken quietly, slowly, with emphasis on each syllable. They crack through the room like a bolt of lightning.
Corrick’s jaw is tight, and I know that there’s a part of him that wants to have this man dragged to the Hold. It’s the same part that made me think he would have cut that man’s throat in the candy shop.
My own chest is in a vise grip, and I want to say something to undo this. It’s like the moment I sat in the confectioner’s with Karri: there are too many sides at work, too many people to keep happy.
But it’s Laurel who speaks up.
“Your arrival comes at an interesting time, Captain Blakemore. Our sector is being forced to provide medicine to the people of Kandala, and here you appear, ready to negotiate the cost for another country.”
The captain hasn’t looked away from Corrick. “You have toforceyour sectors to provide medicine? When people are dying?”
The censure in his voice is impossible to ignore.
“There is no proof that you have more Moonflower,” says Allisander. “You want our steel, and a great deal of it. What proof do we have thatyouwill arrive with the medicine you’re offering?”
“It’s a worthwhile question,” says the king.
Captain Blakemore spreads his hands. “I have no proof other than what I’ve already given. But I do have a ship. You’re welcome to return to Ostriary with me to complete the negotiations with their king yourself.”
“You can’t possibly think the king of Kandala would board a ship based on nothing more than your promises,” says Corrick.
“Then come yourself.” The captain casts a darkly amused look at Corrick. “If you’re interested, I highly suggest you leave my crew unharmed. You know your own sailors can’t make it.”
“Who says your crew needs their captain?” says Corrick.
“Corrick,” I whisper.
“I won’t sail for anyone else,” says Marchon, and it’s probably the first thing he’s said since sitting at this table.
“Nor will I,” says Lieutenant Tagas.
Sablo slaps the table and then his chest. He nods his agreement.
Captain Blakemore smiles, and his eyes brighten with something akin to true delight. “Nowthat,” he says, “is loyalty.”
“It’s impressive,” says Harristan. His voice is cool and low, undercutting all the tension in the room. “It speaks to your character.”
Even Corrick looks over in surprise.
The captain could gloat, and I half expect him to. But the smile on his face eases, and his expression is as earnest as it was when he was only speaking to me. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
Corrick looks like a coiled spring waiting to release, but this seems to unspool some of his anger.
“I’ve sailed a lot of ships,” Marchon says. “Under a lot of captains.” He nods at Captain Blakemore. “When war first broke out among the islands, Cap’s the only one who stayed near the shoreline, picking up survivors. He didn’t care which side they were fighting for. If they were broken and bleeding, he’d pick ’em up.”
A raw note in his voice makes me wonder if Marchon was one of the broken and bleeding. I glance at Sablo, the man who doesn’t speak.
By choice?Corrick asked.
No, the captain said.
Captain Blakemore watches my eyes flick between the members of his crew. “We all have a story, Miss Cade. You’d do the same, I’m sure.”
