“As always, it’s a pleasure doing business, Sir Lucas.”
My heart skipped, and I lowered my head, shielding my face with my hood when I heard his name.
What was Lucas doing here? If he saw me, it could ruin everything. He’d start asking questions—questions I was absolutely not ready to answer. Plus, he’d blow my cover. I couldn’t let him notice me. I did my best to blend in with the other sailors lying about on the docks, even started swaying a little like I’d imbibed a few too many drinks at the pub, but my heart was beating furiously as I pricked my ears to listen.
Lucas’s heavy footsteps pounded on the wooden planks leading to the dock. He stepped into a puddle in front of me and turned, the stitching with the loopingLon his boot unmistakable. His tone was professional when he said to Romulo, “I trust I have your discretion.”
“Of course, good sir. My discretion is as good as your gold.”
Lucas paused, probably giving Romulo a nod before he turned and walked down the dock. He didn’t break stride when he passed me, and I lifted my eyes to watch him go. He pulled the hood of his cloak up over his head and left his secret meeting with the smuggler like nothing was out of the ordinary. Of course, who was I to talk? I was going to be doing the exact same thing, but why was Lucas talking to Romulo now? What business did he have that needed such discretion?
“This one’s been waiting for you, boss,” the man with the toothpick said, and it snapped my gaze away from Lucas.
Romulo stood on the gangplank, looking exactly as I remembered him: brown skin, bald head, long, scraggly brown beard, and tattoos covering both of his arms. He wore a sleeveless jerkin and pants, and in one hand, he held a small canvas pouch. “And you are?”
I lowered my hood and stood, and at the sight of me, his expression blanched.
“You all right, boss?” the toothpick man asked.
Romulo didn’t answer. He just waved me on board.
The captain’s quarters on the ship were cramped, serving as both his room and office. His bed, raised on pulleys, hung above our heads over a large table, where a series of maps and a lumpy sizable sack sat, open and ready for business. Romulo stuffed the bag into his pocket, and it jangled, no doubt full of coins. It smelled like tobacco in here, and I did my best not to wrinkle my nose.
“What can I do for Her Royal Majesty?” Romulo asked, rolling up the maps and organizing his table.
“I was hoping you could help me.”
“Help from a simple merchant such as myself?” That was putting it nicely.
“I need a few items that I’d like to be kept…quiet.”
Romulo seemed amused. “Such as?”
“Do you have any kind of…manacles? Shackles?”
“Shackles?” The way Romulo stared at me, I knew it was an odd request. What kind of a queen ordered shackles? “None of my business to know why. Luckily for you, I’ve got some shackles on board. You know captains have needs for such things, though I rarely like to use them.”
“Are they made of iron?”
Romulo narrowed his eyes at me. “Of course. Made by the finest dwende ironworkers of Tikbalang, enchanted to fit any wrist.”
“I will take a few,” I said, though I shuddered to think what they’d been used for. But if the book said that the manananggal was vulnerable to iron, it could be enough to keep me contained if—when—I became one again.
Romulo whistled through his teeth, summoning one of his men, who fetched the shackles for me.
“Anything else I can do for you?” Romulo asked.
“Yes, actually. I was hoping you could find information. About a princess of Biringan, Yara Liliana.”
Surprisingly, Romulo seemed confused. Rarely did he not know something. “Who?”
“She was one of my ancestors. I need to know more about her.”
“Well, I’ve never heard of her.”
“It seems no one has. I discovered some discrepancies in the royal records, and I want to know why hers are missing.”
“Not sure how much I’ll be able to find if even the royal archive doesn’t have anything.”
