Brint bristled. “What’s that supposed?—”
“Miss Helm,” Wembly said, voice rising above them. “I note that you were late for our meeting. Did you have a chance to look over your father’s correspondence?”
Calya dismissed his question with a wave of her hand. “That’s not important right now. Mr. Wembly, I’ve made the arrangements for one of our ships currently at dock here to be available for my business with the Sentinels. I’ll be gone at least a fortnight, given the distance to the Landing. My current schedule?—”
Both men spoke up at once.
“You can’t go?—”
“Desmond’s Landing? Why—” Brint leapt up from his chair, alarm on his face.
Calya glared at them. “I’ve made my decision, Mr. Wembly. End of discussion,” she said, with as much grace as she could muster. Which wasn’t terribly much, but she managed to keep her tone calm, albeit cold. Better than a shout. After all, Wembly wasn’t her father—just a handler.
“You can’t, Miss Helm,” Wembly argued. “A young woman of your standing can’t be playing errand girl on the outskirts of Graelynd. It simply isn’t?—”
“I’m not sixteen and about to debut before the upper crust of Central District.” Calya threw up her hands. “Don’t tell me this sort of thing isn’t done. If I’d been born a man, you wouldn’t be complaining.”
Wembly carried on as if she hadn’t spoken. “It isn’t safe. It wouldn’t be safe for the presumptive heir to a company of Helm Naval’s stature regardless of gender. However, taking into account your father’s role in the government, and that you are a young woman, there are too many risk factors. I am sorry, Miss Helm, but I must insist on opposing your wish to accompany the shipment.”
Brint lurked in the background, leaning against the wall, arms folded across his chest. He watched the conflict unfold with a smirk on his face. Uncharacteristically for him, he didn’t speak. No snide little comments from the sidelines.
If Calya had been in one of her rare charitable moods, she’d have taken Wembly’s admission as something of a compliment. A recognition that she had some value to her family’s company, and that the natural order of things implied it would one day be hers. But at the moment, Calya felt like she was losing, and that tended to make her feel even more obstinate.
“I’ve already signed the contract with the Sentinels and Sylveren University,” she declared. A small lie, but the Coalition of Trade recognized verbal agreements as binding. Wembly could complain to her father all he wanted; it changed nothing. The trustee wouldn’t risk tarnishing Helm Naval Engineering’s reputation by reneging on a deal with as respected an institution as Sylveren.
“On what terms?” the older man snapped, a rare note of true anger leaking into his voice.
“The Sentinels are entrusted with the safe delivery of school property,” Calya said. “It requires certain enchantments to maintain its efficacy, but refreshing them interferes with the spells required for by windrunners.”
If they were lucky, the trip out to Desmond’s Landing could be done in the better part of four days. Just enough for the tea’s enchanted containers to last.
It was all pretense, Calya assumed. By her understanding, the tea was designed with the sole purpose of cleansing the sickness brought on by exposure to the poison that had been decimating Rhell. Regardless of what the research group in the Landing was working on, the Sentinels were essentially just escorting the ingredients for expensive, useless leaf water.
Not that her reasons for the trip were any better. She didn’t need any convincing to hop aboard, but rather a plausible excuse. Following up on the missing wards and seeing the joint protection route with Avenor Guard that continued to have or be party to so many nagging little problems should’ve been reason enough. Calya’s motivation and zeal for Helm Naval had seen her involved in numerous projects over the years—there was nothing outwardly surprising about her desire to go. Why her trustee would suddenly be antsy about safety made no sense.
“I am going, Arthur,” Calya finally said, meeting his displeased look and refusing to look away. “What amendments to my travel plans would ease your concerns? And don’t suggest canceling, because I will not.”
Wembly and Brint exchanged looks. “Better security,” the older man said.
Calya’s brows slowly rose. “There will be multiple Sentinels on board, and it’s a nonstop trip.”
“Avenor Guard would be happy to work with you for this,” Brint said. “I’ve been meaning to get out to the Landing myself to check on one of our projects. I could?—”
“Absolutely not,” Calya said, tone heated. “If you think I’d let you on this trip, one sailing this particular route, you’ve lost your godsdamned mind.”
Brint sighed dramatically. “I said I was sorry, Calya! I made a mistake, okay? I can’t do better?—”
“A mistake?” she yelled. “You tried to ruin me, you fucking self-absorbed?—”
“As a last resort! I was trying to fix things.”
“Miss Helm,” Wembly said, voice sharp. “Mr. Avenor. That’s enough.”
Calya rounded on the trustee, stabbing the air in Brint’s direction. “We can’t trust him. He’s been?—”
“What is going on in here?”
All three of them turned to face the office door, where Anadae stood with a surprised look on her face.
