“Do you want to discuss whatever that was?” He nods to Aura.
Calder doesn’t respond or avert his gaze from their course.
“I know you spent every waking moment at her side from the second we arrived in Treland. Consider me impressed that you did so without alerting Uncle Sig.” He leans closer, lowering his voice. “Let me drink the tea.”
The Iss Drengr raises a brow.
Edmund nudges his arm with his elbow. “Loosen up, my tightly wound companion. I know you are not so archaic as not to understand my meaning. Let me in on the gossip. I’m a Gothi, for gods’ sake.”
“Hardly.”
“Did you actually manage to fuck a daughter of Sigvid?” His hands fly up in defense. “She is my cousin, so no envy here, but the sheer audacity is remarkable.”
Calder points to the horizon. “We are coming into port.”
He glances at the Princess, still sleeping against the side of the hullunder his monstrous cloak. He watches the faint rise and fall of her chest and wishes he could save her from the chaos to come.
“Does the mighty and powerful Iss Drengr have a soft spot?”
Calder grunts. “Fuck off, Edmund.”
“On some level, it must be awkward. A Drengr of Sigvid and all the history you watched unfurl with her parents. Not to mention, you are old enough to be her father.” He picks at his cuticles. “My parents told me everything.”
“Fuck off, Edmund!” Thora’s terse tone has the Gothi leaping at her command.
“I see.” He shimmies back to the mast. “I will remember this when you all want to drinkmytea!” He points between them.
“Noted.” Thora cracks her neck and fingers.
“What is your plan when we dock?” Thora does not bother reigning in her aggression. “She will be in danger from the other Jarls and the Queen. We all will be.”
Calder strokes his beard. “We need to disguise you two. They expect Edmund and me to return.” He glances around the ship. “I have an idea. Here, Edmund, steer the ship.”
“Oh,nowyou want me-”
Thora shoves him toward the stern. “One more time, Eddie, one more fucking time, and I’ll have Aura turn you into a toad again.”
That isseidrI would like to see.
Edmund scoffs, muttering about fly breath.
Calder kneels beside the Princess, gently waking her. “Aura.”
She stirs, blinking groggily. “Did we make it to Skalor?”
“Almost.” Calder sits her upright and carefully unravels her braid from her silver tiara. He wraps the headdress in a swath of cloth and safely packs it away in one of the few bags left aboard.
“What’s going on?” She catches sight of Thora and Isabel exchanging clothes, and realization dawns on her. “I imagine the Princess of Treland with her dark auburn curls is noticeable throughout the Endless Shore.”
“No one can match your beauty. That is true,” he whispers. “Ifyou step off my ship as a free woman, there will be suspicion.” Calder tousles her hair, leaving it as untamed as possible.
Aura grips his wrist, her gaze flicking between him and Isabel. “She and Lavinia.” Her lips mouth the words. “Together.”
He nods in understanding with a grunt. She releases him, glaring at Isabel. Thora slices off random patches of the dress while the Manchineel curls her lip.
Naturally, she is working with the Queen.
“I have to dirty this dress.” Calder rubs any muck and sand he can into the fine crimson fabric. He rips random strips until the Princess looks worse for wear. After removing a thick section along the hem, he wraps her curls in it, keeping them out of sight.
