The Qorrea has apparently returned with the rest of Her Majesty’s navy from an exercise we’ve been told was “exploratory of the roots of our famished seas.” Good news, you think, Max?
Better be, Jon…
At the height of things, most of these desks had been dedicated to the sifting of intelligence. Those operations were now relegated to four desks in a walled antechamber at the far end of the room. Nova made a beeline for it, nodding at the secretaries and press agents at their desks as she passed.
“You’re back early,” called a voice. Luc Derring, the royal press secretary, sat hunched over a photo spread, their wax pencil thrumming rhythmically against the desk.
“Winds were fair,” Nova replied, not stopping.
“Any good news? The merchant class needs it, and I have a few hours before we go to press.”
“You said it yourself: We’re back early. You’re welcome.”
Luc put down the pencil with some force, and Nova sighed, havingto turn and give them her full attention. Luc was tall and brown with a square jaw and large eyes and a smirk that seemed to play mockingly about their lips at all times, as if they knew something you didn’t. Which was often the case.
“You know that’s not what I mean,” they complained.
“I’m sorry peacetime is so boring for your readership.”
Luc’s smirk turned sour, and Nova headed off the tongue-lashing she knew was incoming by putting up her hands to stay it.
“Uncalled for. I’m sorry for that, too. When we have something, you’ll have something. In the meantime, let’s let no news be good news a little while longer, yes? The queen’s Day of Days is around the corner.Ripefor puff pieces. You’ve got this. We believe in you.”
Rounding the corner, she halted abruptly as she saw Cutter standing outside the chamber door.
“Oh good, another conversation.”
“You know the drill,” he said patiently.
Nova sighed. She was a Grey—the surname given to unidentified war orphans—but Cutter might as well have been her father. He took her training as the incoming captain of the queensguard seriously—deathly so, given his own failures.
“Four vessels and four hundred forty-three souls unaccounted for, plus one… third of questionable origin, returned to the sea. Two shoddy cannons but morale is high, if cautiously so. There is one anomaly: Where we found that body, the Qorrea and I also spotted some thrashing on the north side of the island. They were Mer. Feral type. No impression the other commanders noticed, but we didn’t mention it given the state of things.”
“The commanders?”
“General air of respect; light coating of fear.”
“And how wasshe?”
“Fine.” Nova shrugged, searching her memory for anything of note. “Hurand brought up guns again. She was a little tight about that. Otherwise… commanded well, doesn’t want to be here, and so on. The queen?”
“Still herself. Selah’s been here frequently the last week,” said Cutter.
“She say anything?”
“Nothing she isn’t allowed to say,” he offered. The witch who cared for the Bear Queen in her illness wasn’t inclined to say much to anyone except the queen.
“Figures. Alright, well, we caught up?”
“Your assessment?”
“I am certain of no escalating threat against the Crown from within our naval ranks,” she replied. It was more a recitation than anything.
“Howcertain?”
“I am notuncertain.”
Cutter nodded, satisfied. His demeanor was often gruff, but Nova knew how to detect pride in it and she let that feed her. She stood aside to let him pass her on his way back out of the annex, then sighed to reset herself and push through the chamber door.
