1

The high harborside lane in Efastopol had become lined with new decorations. On tall scaffolds facing the Bay hung numerous corpses of haggard sailors, for all the passing population to see. Bruised black, poked by crows, and fast rotting under the scorching sun, those attention-grabbing accessories cast deep shadows of unease everywhere in the capital, and the surrounding regions. There was no need to ask why such atrocities were being committed; the answer was readily available. In addition to the hempen neckties, the corpses each wore large cardboard notes on them, upon which the cause of the sentence was written in clear, capital letters.

I WAS A PIRATE

On the day the executions began, a nation-wide notice had been issued in Luctretz and Tratovia alike, informing the citizens of a generous bounty of twenty marks of silver (equivalent to thirty-five imperial strata) to anyone, who would report a pirate to the authorities, provided the reported information also led to arrest. A full pardon was promised for those pirates who would turn themselves in voluntarily, in exchange for a full confession and the naming of relevant accomplices. Depending on the severity of their crimes, of course. Only the rope awaited known cutthroats.

The bounty wouldn't make anyone particularly rich, but it was a tempting offer all the same. After all, poverty was among the lead causes of piracy in the first place and twenty silver was always better than having not one copper. Following a slow start, growing numbers of reports started to pour in. The military and tribunals worked long days, and executioners had to look up assistants to tie the knots. As more and more boots were left dangling without a chair under them, those identifying as buccaneers began to grow a conscience, and the terms of the pardon suddenly turned a great deal more lucrative than otherwise. The pirate code was more a general guideline, after all, suggestive in nature, and not legally binding. Could it be considered a betrayal of principles, if only factual statements were given of someone else’s deeds? So what if it was let slip somewhere along a casual yarn that Nels Manderville from Calua was a pirate and had robbed and sunk some merchant vessels in the past, for example? Was it wrong to call trout a fish and say it liked to swim?

There was no stopping the landslide.

The more perceptive citizens could make the connection between this abrupt shift in government policies and the increased presence of black-clad knights overseeing Efastopol’s harbor, where numerous large ships were busily being outfitted for battle, day and night. It was becoming somewhat questionable which country they were in at the moment, and the scoundrels afraid for their lives did their best to fan the flames. The authorities had to answer countless queries to assert that Luctretz remained a sovereign state and that all was done with the blessing of the local law-makers.

Even if such assurances rang somewhat hollow.

Day after day, it became harder to tell whether the true ruler of the Principality could be found in the Senate, or perhaps in the large, blood-red pavilion set up in the harbor, marked by the black-gold flags of the Empire of Tratovia, well within view of the corpses. True enough, the latter location was where the mother of the operation held her workshop, coordinating the war preparations without a moment’s pause.

“You’ve gone too far,” Minister Lancaster grunted at Miragrave, glancing at the long line in the distance. The bodies swayed in the sea wind, which carried their foul odor everywhere in the city, to a daunting effect. He turned away with a shudder. In barely a week, his beautiful city had been turned into a dystopian nightmare, a vision of perdition, where paranoia and betrayal reigned. And it only seemed to be getting worse.

“What do you suppose hunting our own citizens will accomplish?” he asked. “This is madness! Madness, I’m telling you!”

“This is the overgrown fruit of your own inaction,” Miragrave answered the Minister. “House-cleaning never looked pretty. But it has to be done.”

“Truly?” Lancaster replied. “I fail to see how torturing and killing starving thieves will help us find her majesty. Aren’t the Confederates more likely to take out their anger on her instead? At this rate, you will never see your ruler alive again.”

“We will, if we do our job properly. If we go far enough.”

“What do you mean?” Lancaster shook his head in confusion.

“The purpose of this operation is two-fold,” Miragrave explained while continuing to view the reports on the desk in front of her. “Firstly, we must make it clear to the enemy side that we mean business, that we have the capacity to do yet worse. They are not in control of the situation anymore. There will be no clemency, there is nothing they stand to gain by harming her majesty. On the contrary, even disposing of their catch now will not stop the retribution that is coming for them. Once we’ve established that the threat is real and her majesty’s safe return is their sole way out of total annihilation, they will turn more willing to compromise on their demands. The second point is in undermining their organization from the inside. By demonstrating to the world that piracy is an unhealthy career choice at the moment, less people will be likely to join their ranks, and those already in will begin to leave. As you’ve so astutely pointed out, there are no real ideals or principles to unite them. ‘Freedom’ may sound like a beautiful dream, but as a motivator, it is weak and vague. The true objective on an individual level is almost always something else, a simple, earthly need. And a base desire like greed is easy to manipulate. Offer a more profitable path and they will not hesitate to take it. These worms will devour their own rotten system inside out. And that will make it far easier to force their leadership into the decisive confrontation. We will offer them the means to a graceful exit. Either they meet us, or collapse and sink on their own.”

“I have to wonder if it will go as easily as you think,” the Minister commented.

“It will, if we make it so,” Miragrave replied. “The Confederacy operates on a strict time limit now. These people are lowlifes and renegades, and they know it. Sooner or later, someone from their inner circles will squeal to save his neck, speak one word too many and that will be it for them.”

“You can’t mean…” Lancaster frowned at the underlying edge in her words.

“The location of their hideout in the Thousands,” Miragrave confirmed his suspicion. “Once we have it, that will be it for them. Check…and Mate!”

“—Marshal!” an officer of the Thule standing nearby clicked his heels and saluted.

“Not you.”

“And the dragon that sank the Thefasos?” Minister Lancaster asked. “I believe you have omitted one vital piece from your game. The presence of a Legendary Beast will pose a significant uncertainty factor to all of our plans. No matter how you plot and scheme, that is not an opponent humans may best, let alone control. If the creature is truly loyal to the Confederates, they may yet turn the tables on us.”

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten. I have a special gift reserved for that thing.”

Miragrave glanced past her red curls at Aurlemeyr, who stood further back, looking exceedingly bored.

“It takes a monster to beat a monster—as simple as that!” she declared, triumph in her voice.

“What a rude woman,” Aurlemeyr remarked.

“——!”

At that moment, everyone’s attention was taken by a sudden commotion outside.

A group of people could be seen coming at the pavilion, royal knights and courtiers, and in the forefront of them, a very angry-looking young man.

As they neared the entrance, Imperial soldiers moved to block the visitors’ path.

“Step aside!” the man growled at them, his face like a cloud of storm, but the sentries wouldn’t budge, answering to no local authority. Forced to stop before the plated obstacle, the man looked impatiently around, searching for anyone he could address his complaints to.

His personal escort was already a strong enough clue to his identity, and his outfit was another. Clad in a deep blue, beautifully embroidered silk coat, precisely tailored to fit his comely form, trousers of similar style, and gold-laced boots, he was indeed a very princely sight. His dark hair he had tied cleanly in the back and his tanned face he’d also had shaved.

Seeing the man, Minister Lancaster wasted no time informing the guards of their rudeness, red to his ears and shaking with embarrassment and rage.

“W-what are you doing, do you have eyes!? Make way, you fools! Is there anything at all inside those tea pots of yours!”

Ignoring the Minister, the knights glanced at Miragrave, who answered with a subtle nod. It was only then that the troops pulled smoothly aside with their lances.

“Minister!” The young man came over to Lancaster. “Pray tell, what is going on in here!? Why is the city crawling all over with Imperials!? Why are our own harbors occupied by the enemy forces!? Why do our people hang murdered above our streets!? Why are our ships being readied, as though for battle!? I hear my viziers say Luctretz has surrendered to Tratovia! Tell me they’re lying! What in the seven blazes has happened in my absence!? Say this is only a bad dream and I will soon wake up!”

“Your highness,” Minister Lancaster answered with a bow, drawing a deep breath, his complexion alternating between sheet pale, deathly blue, and more lively purple, as though he were imitating an octopus. “T-the situation has grown somewhat...complicated, while you were away...”

“You could say that again!” the Prince cried. “Who is in charge here!? Let me see him, so that I may send him his way! This cannot go on any longer!”

“That would be me,” Miragrave now spoke up and stepped forward to face the Prince. “Though as you can see, I am not a ‘he’.”

“And you are…?” The Prince paused, frowning at her. Whatever he had expected to see, a woman of his own age was clearly not it.

“Grand Marshal Miragrave Estheria Marafel of the Imperial Army,” she introduced herself in a colorless voice, as though reading out a list of random words that held no actual meaning. “The Tratovian forces in the city, as well as the army of Efastopol, the Royal Navy included, are presently under my command. Your highness.”

The Marshal then closed her eyes and bowed her head, adhering to the royal etiquette.

“Marshal…?” the Prince asked, even more confused. “What is the meaning of this…?”

“As you have doubtless been informed by now,” Miragrave explained, raising her face, “one week ago, our Empress Ashwelia was captured by pirates en route to the scheduled conference in Efastopol. I came to petition for military aid to recover her majesty, to which the local government has kindly agreed. What you see here is an officially sanctioned joint operation, adhering to the legislation of both nations. Therefore, there is no cause for alarm.”

“Agreed?” the Prince turned to share Lancaster and the Admiral standing beside the Minister a questioning look.

“W-well, I wouldn’t say in good spirit...” Lancaster stammered, flustered, and highly ashamed of himself.

Meanwhile, Admiral Wittingam looked less repentant.

“Though the Imperials’ methods have been a tad...extreme,” he said, “we cannot deny their effectiveness, your highness. Piracy has plagued these waters, politics, and local trade for many generations. Yet, in the past week alone, we have been able to make hundreds of arrests, and have received thousands of clues from concerned citizens, allowing us to shake the corsairs’ organization to the core. Furthermore, thanks to the intelligence the Imperials have shared with us, we’ve been able to identify and apprehend a great many pirate sympathizers as far as within the Royal Court and the Senate, cutting down on corruption within our own governing. I believe that greater strides have been made towards restoring peace and order in Luctretz in these past days, than in the rest of the century altogether.”

“So the end justifies the means?” The Prince turned his agitation at the Admiral. “What you’ve done is offered our land and freedom to our mortal enemy, trampling on our people and very identity as a nation! No order can be worth such a sacrifice!”

“—Correct me if I am mistaken, your highness,” Miragrave’s chilling tone interrupted his venting. “But I was under the impression that Luctretz had a law explicitly prohibiting your meddling in politics?”

“Why, I cannot be expected to remain quiet while you people make ruin of my land!” he retorted.

“Does this mean then that you will make ruin of that law yourself, your own constitution, in favor of the results?”

“That’s—!” the Prince froze, stunned.

“So far as I’m aware,” Miragrave continued, “the purpose of said law is to prevent the Principality from devolving into a tyranny like our Empire. Now, our terrible tyrant is in the hands of lawless anarchists your regime has allowed to sail unchecked to this day. Such is the worth of your values. By refusing to cooperate, do you then mean to say it is your personal wish that her majesty remains captive?”

“N-no!” the Prince exclaimed. “Of course not! I was merely—I never wished for such a thing to happen! Never!”

“Oh?” Miragrave raised a brow at his words. “But it is a fact that her majesty is only a tyrant to you. The ruler of a land that, until very recently, plotted the conquest of your own. I wouldn’t hold it against you, if you were openly happy about this turn of events. Yet, for a moment there, I could’ve thought your concern for her was genuine.”

“Ah…” the Prince tensed, realizing he’d slipped up. “…Why, an Empress or not, she is still a human being, I believe. I-it is only natural, yes? To be worried for the safety of another. Whereas the pirates are terrible...terrible things! Being trapped among such a—barbaric, heinous lot, I should not wish such a fate on my worst enemy!”

“Really? You know these pirates well then?” Miragrave asked, taking a step closer.

“Only as well as anyone,” he hurriedly explained. “I have heard many stories about their kind in my time. Most unsavory stories. And I—wouldn’t mind knowing less, to tell you the truth.”

“Is that so?”

Though she was well more than a head shorter than he was, not a brawny warrior by any measure, it took no small exertions of will for the Prince to stand his ground. The Marshal's red curls streamed like blood across her face, as she stared up into his eyes, smoldering fury in her gaze.

“Your highness,” Miragrave quietly spoke, “the scent of the sea is strong about you. As though you have only recently come from a voyage. Tell me, do you enjoy sailing?”

“...I do,” the Prince replied with a defiant look. “There can hardly be any man or woman in this land, who wouldn’t feel at home before the mast. Is there evil in that?”

“There is no need to get defensive. I was merely asking.”

“If I appear defensive to you, it is because there is a viper in my yard, with a wicked glint in her eyes.”

“A poor choice of words,” Miragrave told him. “You will find me the very counter-agent of all things venomous, your highness. I do not habitually spew lies, but I can tell when I hear one. By your own admission, you have been away from the city until this very day. Why is this?”

“My family has a villa on the island of Gatting,” the Prince answered, meeting her stare without faltering. “I go there whenever I can, to enjoy summer and the sea with my friends. It is the ideal season for that. A few days out there never fails to lift my spirit. Perhaps you should join me sometime?”

“I might take you up on that,” Miragrave answered. “And sooner than you expect. But, your highness, don’t you find it rather strange that you should take a personal vacation at the same time as you were scheduled to meet with the Empress? Almost as if you already knew she wouldn’t be there.”

“What exactly are you insinuating?” the Prince returned. “As you so kindly mentioned earlier, I have no real political power, nor any say in the theater of the high and mighty. All that is needed of me is my signature at the end of it all. It should then suffice that I appear only on the last day of the summit.”

“You mean to tell me you weren't interested at all to meet the new ruler of Tratovia?” Miragrave asked, lowering her tone to the level of a whisper. “I assure you, her majesty had other ideas. I know the plan, I made it with her. Meeting with you, her fiance, was the number one item on her menu. Or did you not know?”

“—?”

The Prince realized he’d been ensnared and fell quiet.

His excuse might have passed unquestioned with most other people on either side of the border. The First Princess of Langoria and Empress Ashwelia being the same person wasn’t common knowledge, after all. Neither had the Prince known, prior to their meeting in Harm’s Haven. Yuliana had intended for the reveal to be a surprise, after all. But it was a fact she had intended to collaborate with him all along and had specifically asked him to be present from the start of the negotiations. Her identity alone answered why. Therefore, to anyone in the know, his absence on the day of their scheduled arrival was nothing if not suspicious, and his attempt to lie about it twice so.

There was no getting the spirit back in the bottle.

The Prince was not such a masterful con artist that he could’ve feigned full ignorance and confusion before someone who knew the truth just as well as he did. The more he should struggle, the more he was bound to become entangled in the web of deception he had woven.

But if he were exposed here, what would become of Yuliana and Harm's Haven?

What else could he do but try and deny everything? Deny, deny, deny, to the bitter end.

Yet, getting a single sound out of his throat while pinned by the Marshal’s unwavering gaze seemed borderline impossible.

Timely rescue came then from elsewhere.

“Marshal, that is enough!” Minister Lancaster exclaimed, interrupting the awkward staring contest. “We’ve tolerated your savagery this week to an absurd extent already, I will not stand here and let you disrespect his highness any further! There are things I simply cannot compromise on, as a man of my country, and the sanctity of our Royal Family is one!”

“...My apologies,” Miragrave told the Prince, bowing her head again. “I should stress that my hatred for the corsairs is in no way aimed at yourself, or the uninvolved civilian population of Efastopol. So long as they remain uninvolved, that is.”

The deadly gleam wouldn’t vanish from her eyes, but it didn’t seem like she intended to accuse him of conspiracy then and there either. What proof could she possibly have, at any rate? None. The thought allowed the Prince to recover and gather his composure again.

“We all share your concern for the safety of her majesty,” he forced himself to respond. “But I am sure those who hold the Empress understand her importance and will treat her accordingly. The best measure to ensure her safe return should be to listen to the terms the Confederates will issue, rather than to mindlessly massacre the poor who struggle to make a living at sea.”

“I respect your opinion, your highness,” Miragrave answered him, her voice steady as steel. “But you may keep it to yourself. Instead, I can promise you this, your highness: each day her majesty spends in captivity, pirates will continue to hang. Every last one I get my hands on will see the gallows. And once they eventually cave in and sell out their comrades for silver, and I have the location of their miserable nest, I will retrieve her majesty myself, with this fleet you see assembled before you. There exist only two choices for these poor you speak of: surrender immediately, or let the Numénn take them.”

Over his adventurous years at sea, the Prince had met many villainous individuals, dangerous cutthroats, and standard lunatics. But here he doubted if he had ever faced such overwhelming malice before. He also knew all too keenly that it was his own naivety, his desire to change the world, which had brought this shadow of death upon his people. Without saying another word, he turned around and departed, to head back to the Royal Castle.

“How could the Divines allow this!?” Lancaster lamented, and left also to return to his own office in the Ministry, to cool his profoundly shaken head and heart.

But, watching them go, Miragrave meanwhile turned to her magic officer.

“Uleison,” she said, “have your familiar follow his highness. Something tells me he’s going to set sail soon again, and the island of Gatting will not be his destination.”

“Very well.” The Major nodded and exited the pavilion to call his pet falcon.

“Marshal?” Admiral Wittingam wavered, stunned. “Surely you do not think…?”

“How was the enemy able to intercept her majesty’s ship?” Miragrave said. “That question has haunted me without rest for all this time. I am confident ours aren't to blame. But only the date of her arrival was shared with the Principality’s side. It would take a seasoned sailor, with great familiarity of the Imperial ports and their activities, to calculate her majesty’s route and send word to any Confederates in the region. There aren’t many out there with access to such wealth of information, nor the necessary freedom of movement to act on it. I should hope I’m wrong about this—but I fear it is not a matter of that level anymore.”

2

Whether he intended it or not, the Prince’s public appearance served to impart a visible calming effect on the city. In his absence, the more extreme armchair theorists had suggested he was being held under house arrest, or had fled the country altogether before a coup d’etat. All such speculations were proven false by the sight of him walking freely about. It was only now that the public could believe they weren’t being invaded and the legal government was still in place, regardless of the statements of said government itself.

But, as Miragrave had promised, the pirate hunt did not end there. More criminals were arrested and met their wretched end, and similar operations were carried out also in the Imperial provinces north of the Bay. Did this have any effect at all on the illusive Confederacy? This remained to be seen.

Late in the following day, a series of late night news reached Miragrave in her cabin aboard the Thule in anchor. The sun was about to set, but there seemed to be no end to all the work.

First, two of her majesty's maids requested an audience.

The servants had very little to do without their master, and might as well have gone to land to enjoy a paid vacation. Yet, those two had expressed a strong desire to follow the Marshal and be among the first to reunite with the Sovereign, as soon as she could be rescued. And Miragrave never failed to find work for willing hands, taking them gladly into her service.

However, it turned out the two were not entirely content with their lot, and perhaps more trouble than they were worth.

“Marshal,” Tilfa said, stepping up before the cabin desk, “pardon me for disturbing you so late in the day, but I’d like to make a complaint.”

“Marshal,” Hila said, stepping up next to Tilfa, “pardon me also for adding to your causes of insomnia, but similarly to my colleague, I’d like to make a complaint.”

Miragrave stopped her pen and looked up.

“What is it?” she asked. “You’re bored? Out of work? Why, you should’ve told me sooner. Wait but a moment and I shall get you more things to do!”

“Ahaha, your sense of humor is quite something, Marshal,” Tilfa replied, not so easily intimidated. “But I’d like to restore to your awareness the fact that we are servants of the Imperial Throne, and in no way obligated to follow military command. What work we choose to do, we do only out of the kindness of our hearts, to ease your titanic burdens. And it is well outside office hours now. So I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline.”

“Certainly,” Hila added, “if good Marshal were to assemble any more layers of irony about her person, surely nothing of her visage could be seen, and she’d have discovered the most convoluted method of invisibility to date. But that’s not what we are here for, as should be evident by the fact that it is indeed outside office hours.”

“Understand also,” Tilfa continued, “that we would not trouble you, busy as you must be, if it weren’t a matter of some importance and urgency. I should also stress that this is not merely an issue between a superior and a subordinate, but also a request of some confidentiality, from a fellow woman to another.”

“True as day,” Hila nodded, “this is a sensitive matter which requires the sort of subtle delicacy and emotional intelligence unique to the feminine experience. I’m afraid that were we to present this matter to a male officer, we would not be taken seriously. Ridicule alone would be our lot. And I will not put up with that.”

Miragrave let out a heavy sigh, leaning back in her chair.

“I can’t believe Yuliana is able to listen to you two on a daily basis and still oppose the capital punishment. What do you two have to complain about now?”

“I am also against the death penalty, by the way,” Hila replied.

“As am I,” Tilfa concurred. “I’m not a voter, but I’d vote to abolish such barbarism—if it ever did come down to open vote, that is.”

“Speaking of which,” Hila continued, “before we go any further with this, does the diplomatic immunity also apply against domestic actors? Do you know? I feel I should clear this up first and foremost.”

“Would you mind getting to the point now?” Miragrave requested, impatiently tapping the table with her fingers.

“Ahem. Marshal,” Tilfa complied, “the matter I’d like to bring to your attention is quite difficult to put into words, not to mention embarrassing, but I shall endeavor to do so in all frankness and brevity. You see, the thing is that since a while back, I have been sexually harassed by a walking weapon of mass destruction whenever I come aboard the Thule. It is getting quite bothersome, to be honest with you, so I would appreciate if something was done about this individual.”

“Marshal,” Hila added, “similarly to my colleague, I have been, as of late, been made very forward proposals to by a female army operative bearing a gaudy prosthetic. I'd be very grateful if you could do something about this, since it falls under your jurisdiction. For your information—and for your ears alone—my shame and chastity belong entirely to her majesty, and my bodily services are currently not for sale. Also, having sex in the uniform is considered an extreme taboo at the Court, and worthy of the capital punishment, of which you so kindly reminded us. Please try and get this uncouth mutt to understand that this is the law and there is nothing at all I can do about it.”

“That is absolutely correct!” Tilfa concurred, nodding. “It would be one thing if it were her majesty asking, but I am not at all eager to risk my neck and get frisky with a commoner who has cogwheels for eyes. It is disturbing and a major turn-off—even if fairly profitable, and apparently worth triple my annual salary. This puts me to a very difficult position, you understand?”

“Indeed, Marshal,” Hila said, “please do something about this undisciplined automaton, before the offer gets so high I might actually begin to consider it. Giving in to such a deviant's proposals would be absolutely beneath me as her majesty’s faithful servant! Even if the thrill associated with this extremely twisted, forbidden perversion appears mysteriously lucrative to me in my rare moments of human weakness.”

“Verily,” Tilfa resumed, “these are trying times we are living and the mortal flesh is famously weak. I cannot stress how important it is that immediate action is taken, before the growing pressure on the market may compel me to consider a sum which would make my dignity as a woman appear not all that valuable—and only so that I wouldn’t end up outbidden by my whore of a colleague.”

“True enough, Marshal,” Hila added, “something has to be soon done, before my prospects of making bank and retiring in luxury are undermined by my sell-out co-worker, who doubtless secretly dreams of being ravaged by abominations and probably free of charge too. Ah, damn it! I’ve ruined another underwear bottom…!”

Hila leaned on her knees, suddenly out of breath.

Meanwhile, Miragrave put down her pen and rose from her seat, leaning heavily on her desk with both hands, and answered,

“Be very, very grateful that it is outside office hours, and that you are in no way associated with the armed forces. Learn some self-restraint and how to say no, and your problem is settled. And come tomorrow morning, I’ll think up various other things for you to occupy yourselves with, in place of your so-called virtue. Now, get lost.”

Miragrave’s tone and expression allowed them no retort and like this, the maids were sent away.

Not long after they were gone and Miragrave had sat back down, there came knocking from the door again. Without waiting for permission, Admiral Wittingam stepped into the cabin, toting a sheet of paper in hand.

“The corsairs have issued their demands,” he announced.

“Oh?”

Coming over to the Marshal’s desk, the Admiral passed the message to her and proceeded to summarize the contents.

“They want immediate cessation of the tribunals and for all the captured pirates to be released from custody, in exchange for her majesty’s return. All indicted individuals are to be pardoned, and the Imperial forces must withdraw from the Principality’s territory within the next two weeks. Detailed below are the necessary steps on how the Empress may be recovered, after all the conditions have been met.”

“Awfully good timing, don’t you think?” Miragrave asked, examining the message. “After a week of nothing, they decide their terms on the very day the Prince of Luctretz chooses to make his appearance? Furthermore, they are all related to the recent developments in the city, instead of anything promoting the Confederate agenda out in the world…One might begin to assume we sit in a kingdom of pirates!”

“It is certainly a strange coincidence,” the Admiral cautiously replied, still reluctant to believe the royalty of his nation could have ties to the rogues. “But there can be no doubt that the message is by the group that holds her majesty. You see, this was delivered along with the letter.”

The Admiral set down on the desk a ring, a golden ring with a red stone embedded, with an engraving of the emblem of the Imperial Throne.

The symbol of power only the Sovereign was allowed to wear.

Miragrave took the item to examine it closer, taking care not to show her hands trembling. She soon had to admit it was genuine.

“Suppose I should be glad the finger didn’t come with it,” she sighed, squeezing the accessory in her fist. “Oh, I will make them pay…!”

“What should be done?” Admiral Wittingam asked. “It was stated that they will return her majesty one week after all the terms are considered fulfilled. A solitary ship may then recover her from the island of Leet, which lies roughly three hundred nautical miles northwest from here. I know Leet to have a fresh water spring, so it is expected she could survive there perhaps weeks, even by herself. Foretelling the exact moment or method of her delivery will therefore be difficult. If any of our ships are sighted in the area in advance, they will call off the trade. I suppose there is nothing we may do but comply.”

“And who’s to say there won’t be another list of demands after we honor the first one?” Miragrave dryly answered. “No, Admiral. You give a little finger to the sea, and she will take the whole man, and his ship on top of the bargain. Now is no time to compromise. Not yet.”

“But,” the Admiral shrugged his shoulders, “if we don’t meet the terms, her majesty could lose her life. Was this not what you were aiming for?”

“She’s worth more to them alive than dead at this point. That was my only aim all along, damn their demands. Tie the noose firm enough and even the great sea monster will become a vendor.”

“I’m...not sure I see your meaning.”

“This list isn’t what they had in mind when they first captured her majesty,” Miragrave explained, throwing away the parchment. “The fact that they’ve changed their priorities means our message has hit home. Both sides have things they cannot afford to lose. But their list is a lot longer than mine. So is the leverage against them that much heavier. This is not where we fold, it is where we raise the stakes.”

“I...see?”

At that moment, there came another knock from the cabin door.

“Yes?” Miragrave raised her voice and shortly, the tall figure of Major Uleison in his black cloak shifted into the cabin.

“Marshal, Admiral,” the Major greeted the other two with a smile.

Though Uleison was a soldier, on paper, the air about him was more that of a philosopher than a warrior. Less rigid and tense, more aloof and composed, with awareness of the power inside him. But there was also humility in the man. Luctretz did not employ magicians in their army. Most wizards in the world considered becoming involved in such worldly matters a violation against the Art. Due to this, Admiral Wittingam wasn’t quite sure how to deal with the Major as a person and he courteously stepped aside, despite being superior in rank.

“You have news?” Miragrave asked Uleison.

“That I do,” he replied, standing before her desk with his staff. “His highness set sail in the afternoon, as you surmised he would. In quite the haste, I should add. He boarded the Mayflower, a Royal schooner, with minimum crew and departed northwest from the city. I had Louvierre, my falcon, tail him, as instructed.”

“And?”

“The island of Gatting was his destination, as he had assured us,” the mage explained. “However, I’m afraid his highness never expected you to answer his invitation and join him there. For you see, there was another ship waiting for him, hidden behind the island, and he soon resumed his voyage thence. This ship did not bear the Principality’s colors, nor the flag of any land, yet via Louvierre’s eyes, I was able to obtain her name.”

The Major took a pause of one beat, presumably for drama, before giving away the answer:

“‘Jade Tempest’.”

Admiral Wittingam widened his eyes at the report, startled to hear that name. Certainly, there was no one living with a view of the sea, who hadn’t heard of that legendary vessel by now, or who steered her.

Miragrave slowly got up from her chair and turned to face the cabin windows behind, which displayed through the stern the darkening panorama on the Edrian Bay.

“Look! There's devilry at sea!” she grunted, wrath and irony intertwined in her voice. “Not just a messenger boy, after all! He who saw the Dead Shores and lived; the Dragonlord; the King of Pyrates! Whoever thought to play such a deadly game with kingdoms and empires can only be either the bravest of men, or the greatest of fools. But here your own fame has become your undoing, Prince. Fly with your terms then. We’ll see you parley yet!”