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"Attack. Prince Avaneer has murdered the king."

The room filled. People poured in from every entrance, guards and advisors and servants and people who had simply been nearby when the horn sounded and had no idea yet what they were running toward. Avaneer was sitting up now, blinking, the sword still in his hand, and I watched him look at it and understand nothing about how it had gotten there and begin to understand everything about what it meant.

I bent over and picked up the goblet that had spilled on the floor before emptying its remnants onto Avaneer's head, then I bent down and whispered.

"I hope you don't mind. Your father won't be on time for dinner."

Eravic's hand closed on my arm.

I looked at him. He nodded once.

We moved.

We made it back to the ship breathless.

"Move," Eravic shouted the moment his boots hit the deck. The crew did not ask questions.

He turned to me.

His hair was disheveled. His shirt was torn, no thanks to me.

He grabbed my shoulders. "That was insane," he said.

"Yes."

"And dangerous."

"Also yes."

"And could have gotten us both killed."

"Possibly."

"And the plan changed approximately four times between the pillar and the throne room."

"Plans are living documents."

"And—" He stopped.

I took a step toward him. "And what?"

He looked at me.

"Absolutely fucking brilliant," he said, lifting me in the air before setting me down. "Not bad for a lad."

I laughed as he set me down, then grabbed his arm as I felt the deck shift beneath me. Or perhaps that was me shifting. I could not entirely tell. The tincture Elsan had given me had carried me further than I expected, and now the carrying was done and the debt was arriving all at once.

His arm caught me before I reached the conclusion of that thought.

"I have you," he said quietly. He was already moving, steering me toward the stairs, and I let him because my legs had decided to become a general suggestion rather than a guarantee.

"You will need your cabin," I said. The words felt slightly further away than I intended them. "For cross redheads."

"Mm."

Down the stairs. Through the door. The pillow was cool against my face and the sound of the water against the hull was steady and even and very much the last thing I was going to be aware of for some time.

"And buxom brunettes," I murmured.