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‘At least we’ll have this time together, and we’ll be safe from the Mieren.’
    ‘That’s right.’ Ronnyn rose and held out his hand to Vittor. ‘Come with me. You need to get dressed.’
    ‘What about Vella and Tani?’ the six-year-old asked. They’d never been separated.
    Ronnyn looked to Aravelle to explain. She had to harden her heart and be strong. ‘Go with Ronnyn, Vittor. We’ll be fine.’
    He was a good boy and did what he was told.
    This left her and Itania alone with the survivors of a sisterhood, but at least they were together. Aravelle hugged her little sister who played with their father’s cane. He’d carved it after the sea-boar gored his leg, and it was the only thing they had from their previous life.
    Soon the ship were beyond the headlands; the deck rose and fell as it ploughed through the waves. Soon there was moaning and then nearly everyone became seasick.
    Except for Aravelle. She was used to their family’s fishing boat.
    A Malaunje woman arrived with mint tea to help settle people’s stomachs, and another came in looking for Aravelle.
    They were led downstairs to the Malaunje deck, which was overcrowded and chaotic. There Aravelle was introduced to a harassed woman, who shoved a change of clothes in her hands and told her to bathe herself and her sister. Then she spent the next few days cleaning up vomit, until people become accustomed to the pitch and yaw of the deck.
    To think she had secretly wished to return to the city so her life wouldn’t be filled with drudgery.

 
     
    Chapter Three
     
     
    A S HE RODE up from the docks towards the palace, Sorne made sure the people had a clear view of the young prince and future king. The boy didn’t know it, but Sorne was his half-brother, the king’s eldest, unwanted half-blood son.
    ‘Where’s Ma?’ Cedon asked, as he rode in Sorne’s arms. He’d overcome his lisp and his club foot had been healed by the Wyrds, but he had not forgotten his mother.
    ‘Queen Jaraile wanted to be here, but the bad man took her,’ Sorne said, wishing he’d anticipated Eskarnor. The southern baron had outwitted him and that stung. But he’d been focused on coordinating the Wyrd exile and finding his half-blood sister at the time. At least Valendia was safe with Graelen.
    On Sorne’s right rode King Charald, High King of the Secluded Sea. With one hand on the reins and the other on his sword hilt, you could not spot the trembling that had afflicted him this last year. It had been two days since the seizure that had given everyone such a fright.
    As they made their way through the streets, the people cheered their king and prince.
    Charald had come to the throne at fifteen, and he was now fifty-seven. In just over forty years he’d made Chalcedonia the most powerful kingdom of the Secluded Sea, and he’d banished the Wyrds. He was a legend in his own time.
    He was also a bully, distrustful of everyone and only good for making war.
    But King Charald the Great was failing.
    When his piss turned the colour of port-wine, he lost his hold on reality. That left Baron Nitzane, who rode on Sorne’s left, to hold the kingdom for the young prince. Nitzane was the grandson of the man who’d helped Charald hold the throne at fifteen, and he was the wealthiest, most powerful baron in the kingdom. He was also in love with Queen Jaraile, but Charald did not need to fear him because he was a good man.
    Unfortunately, a good man was not what the country needed right now. It needed a great leader, and they did not have one.
    Which was why Baron Eskarnor had dared to make a play for the throne. First he had tried to kill the prince to trigger a war between the king and Nitzane, whose son was the next in line for the throne; when this failed, he’d snatched the queen.
    The people did not know that their queen had been abducted. They did not know that the kingdom was about to be split by civil war.
    Even King Charald did not know. Sorne had advised Nitzane not